Blank Canvas-epub (2 page)

God, why couldn’t she shake that word from her vocabulary? Marcus had walked out on her almost a year earlier. It was time to let it go.

It was actually the arrival of the final divorce papers in the mail shortly before Christmas—
happy holidays to me
, she thought sardonically—that had jarred her out of her numb state and convinced her she needed to do something unpredictable and adventurous. When New Year’s Eve arrived, she’d decided—with the help of a bottle of Pinot Grigio—this would be the year she sorted her shit out. She was going to break free of her same old routine and force herself to try different things.

Unfortunately, so far, the wildest thing she’d conjured up was getting this tattoo. She was so lame.

She glanced at the table before her.

“You’re going to lie on your stomach, Jen. I need to sit down to work. I’m steadier that way.”

She blushed as she crawled onto the table. She wasn’t sure why, but the position made her feel vulnerable. Maybe it was because her dirty mind had invented too many fantasies the past two weeks about her getting horizontal with the gentle giant currently looming over her.

Then she considered how he’d shortened her name, calling her Jen. It was something only her family and closest friends did and it made her feel more at ease.

He didn’t speak again as he put her into the position he wanted, lowering her tube top a wee bit as he lightly touched and cleaned her skin. She’d elected to have the tattoo put on her upper back, near her right shoulder. That way it would be hidden beneath her clothing. The owner of the hotel didn’t have a policy about managers and tattoos, but that was probably because she seemed like the person least likely to ever get one. Even so, she didn’t want to test the theory. She needed her job.

Then she recalled her wardrobe once more. With the exception of when she went swimming, this tat would probably
never
see the light of day. Bare skin wasn’t part of her repertoire.

Neither of them spoke as he sprayed liquid soap to the spot and transferred the image on her skin. Jennifer took the time to study his face as he concentrated on his work, his warm hands gently smoothing the paper over her skin. It occurred to her she didn’t have a clue how old he was. His face was tanned; his jaw covered with dark stubble that indicated he probably hadn’t shaved this morning. There were laugh lines around his eyes she had the irresistible urge to run her fingertips over. The man could be anywhere between twenty-five and forty.

His fingers felt like magic, firing up some hot buttons that had lain dormant for far too long. She struggled to pull air into her lungs.

Caliph must have mistaken her arousal for nervousness. “Relax, beauty. You don’t want to tense your muscles like that. The reality of this is it’s going to hurt, but if you could loosen up a little, it’ll be easier for you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, closing her eyes and cursing her suddenly tight throat, afraid of how she’d react to the pain. She wanted this damn tattoo. She really did. So why was she acting like a scared mouse? Why couldn’t she summon even an ounce of bravery? Caliph probably thought she was a wuss.

He leaned closer. “Jen. Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, trying not to reveal what his close proximity did to her. Mercifully, her position facedown on the table hid the fact her nipples had just gone hard, but it was more difficult to shield her flushing face and accelerated breathing.

He stroked her cheek gently with one finger. She pressed her legs together, trying to calm her arousal. Her pussy clenched hungrily and her panties were definitely damp.

“I’m finished with the sketch. Now comes the hard part. If it starts to be too much, tell me to stop and I will.”

“Should I have a safe word?” She’d meant the words as a risqué joke, amazed she’d found the balls for off-color humor, but something about Caliph made her think
Dom
.

After her husband walked out, Jennifer had turned to books—reading voraciously for hours each night after work. Her love for historical romances soon drifted toward the erotic genre when the sweet, closed-door love scenes stopped doing it for her. She’d gone through a shifter phase, then a ménage one. These days she couldn’t get enough of BDSM stories.

Caliph’s gaze darkened and Jennifer reconsidered her previous assessment about his gentle personality. This man was no puppy dog. He was pure Pit Bull. Foolishly, that discovery didn’t make her want to run. It only ramped up her desires even more.

“I was just kidding,” she hastily added. “Very bad joke.”

Caliph didn’t reply, didn’t let her off the hook easily. She fought the desire to stand and walk out of the shop. What on earth had possessed her to make such an inappropriate comment to a virtual stranger? She’d always considered common sense one of her better traits. Where the hell had that gone?

Finally, a slight smile tipped his lips. “You’re an interesting woman, Jen. I like that.”

Interesting? It was on the tip of her tongue to correct his misapprehension. He’d just caught her on a good day.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded once, then braced herself for the first pierce of the needle.

He’d warned her about the pain, but holy shit!

“Ohmigod! Jesus Christ! Fuck me!”

Caliph chuckled. “If you insist.”

It took a second for the haze of pain to clear enough for her to understand his joke.

She glared at him. “That hurt.”

“Never said it wouldn’t. You wanna go on?”

No. She didn’t. But as Caliph said, fate was a wicked bitch and she chose that moment to arrive and bless Jennifer with courage. Or was it pride?

“Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth.

Once again, he murmured his standard good girl, the compliment inciting an unfamiliar warmth inside her.

The tattoo gun fired up again, provoking another long stream of curse words to fly from her lips. Caliph grinned, but he didn’t stop this time.

For several moments, he worked in silence as Jennifer tried to adapt to the pain. The initial hurt had started to wane and soon she learned to regulate her breathing as she anticipated his moves. Before too long, the buzz of the gun turned to white noise and she actually became drowsy.

Caliph must have sensed when she’d finally managed to relax because he broke the silence, his question rousing her just before she drifted off.

“Why a daisy?”

She jerked slightly and he apologized softly.

“Sorry. Were you falling asleep?”

She shook her head, lying so he wouldn’t feel bad. “No.”

He repeated the question. “Why a daisy tattoo?”

Jennifer considered her response, wishing he hadn’t asked. The real reason was too personal, too revealing, too damn girly. She didn’t want to know what Caliph would think if she told him the truth.

“It’s my favorite flower.” That much was true. Maybe that would be enough of a reason for him.

Unfortunately the man was too astute. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

She frowned, feeling an odd need to protest his dismissal. “It really is my favorite.”

“I’m sure it is. How old are you?”

She tried to understand his bizarre switch in subjects. “I’m going to be forty in August.”

He smiled. “You know, most women would have said thirty-nine rather than confess to hitting the big four-oh so soon.”

She considered the truth of that. “Forty is coming whether I admit it or not.”

Her answer pleased him. She could see it in his expression. It increased the warmth inside her, leaving her confused about why his happiness left her feeling so content, gratified.

“Glad to hear you’re not one of those women who has issues with age.”

Jennifer winced slightly when his needle poked a sore spot. Suddenly she was glad for the distraction of conversation. “Nope. No sense fighting the inevitable. Besides I’m sort of looking forward to getting the hell out of my thirties.” She’d spent most of that decade with Marcus and look how well that turned out. She’d started this year determined to make some changes, so why not start with a new number in front of her age?

“Good for you.” Caliph picked up something from his tray, but Jennifer averted her eyes. There was a big difference between knowing there was a needle jabbing into her skin and seeing said needle. “Which leads me back to my original question. Why a daisy?”

She tried to dodge answering with an inquiry of her own. “Why did you want to know how old I was?”

His eyes never left the site of the tattoo. She found his intense concentration sexy as hell.

Jesus, lock the hormones away, Jennifer. Pretty soon you’ll start drooling.

“It’s not unusual for women to get a tattoo when those big birthdays start looming, but for most of them, I think it’s a way to pretend the clock isn’t ticking. It’s their attempt to turn back time. You don’t seem to care about age, so clearly that’s not the impetus for this tat.”

Impetus? Tattoo artist armchair psychiatry. “Where did you go to school?” She didn’t specify high school or college on the off chance she was wrong and she’d somehow offend him.

“ULM.”

Nope, not wrong. College grad. She tried to school her features, but she didn’t fool him.

He chuckled. “Surprised to find out your tattoo artist has a bachelor’s degree?”

She shook her head as more of the stereotypes fell away. God. Was she really so narrow-minded?

“It’s okay, Jen. Tattoo artists aren’t obligated to get a degree in art. That requirement came from my mother. She’d preached about the importance of a college education from the day I was born until I graduated from high school and nothing short of a zombie apocalypse was going to be a good enough excuse not to further my education.”

“She sounds scary. And awesome.”

He stopped working for a moment to capture her gaze. “You’re right. She’s both. But enough of that. You keep changing the subject. If you don’t want to tell me what the daisy represents, just say ‘fuck off’.”

Even with his permission, she’d never say that to him. Probably because part of her was afraid he would and she didn’t like the thought of him leaving.

She shook that thought out of her head instantly. She was just getting a tattoo from the guy, not dating him.

“I don’t understand why you keep insisting there’s some deep meaning behind it. Can’t I just like a flower?”

“You’ve left this soft, pale skin untouched for thirty-nine years. You don’t strike me as the impulsive type. I’d be willing to bet you’re a planner, a list maker. Someone who thinks before they act. You’re also intelligent and sensitive. There’s a story behind the daisy.”

His astute observations left her speechless. He was right. She’d spent countless hours pouring over images of tattoos as she considered what was right for her. When she’d seen the delicate rendering of the daisy with several of its petals lightly drifting down, it had spoken to her, felt right.

“My husband left me for another woman last year.” She hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud. In fact, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually admitted to Marcus’ desertion. A few close friends knew the truth. As for the rest of her acquaintances, she’d used the tried and true
we just drifted apart
lie.

“What a jackass.”

Caliph had muttered his reply, but his vehemence caught her off-guard. She giggled.

“Don’t move,” he instructed, lifting the tattoo gun away.

She apologized as she struggled to compose herself again.

“Thanks. Jackass fits,” she said after he’d resumed his work.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just stating a fact.”

More warmth. More happiness. So much in fact, she wondered if there was some narcotic in the ink that was drugging her senses, serving as an aphrodisiac.

“I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

Caliph turned off the gun, frowning. “
He
had the affair and you think
you
did something wrong?”

“People who are happily married don’t stray.”

“Maybe not, but fucking someone else is a surefire way
not
to fix the marriage.”

His strong opinions made her curious. “Have you ever been married?”

He released a long sigh. “No, Jen, I haven’t. Marriage isn’t really something I aspire to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I’ve had a couple long-term relationships go south. Maybe there weren’t wedding rings on our fingers, but I was committed just the same.”

“I’m saying this badly. Marcus and I were together for seventeen years. Long enough for me to start becoming complacent, maybe even a little lazy. In the future, I won’t take my relationships for granted.”

“I get that, but I don’t like that you’re blaming yourself.”

“My ex was an asshole. The way he chose to leave was cowardly and wrong. I’m not denying that, but it would be very shallow and shortsighted of me to pretend it was all his fault. Takes two to tango.”

“That still doesn’t explain the tat.”

“I’ve spent the past year feeling like complete dog shit.”

Caliph chuckled at her description; his eyes were brimming with compassion.

“I got my divorce papers just before the holidays and they sort of woke me up. Jerked me out of my depression.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

She released a long breath, wondering why she found it so easy to talk to Caliph. “It wasn’t. I spent the last year dwelling on the negative, feeling sorry for myself. This year, I’m going for the positive. That’s where the daisy comes in.”

Caliph’s brow creased. “How?”

She smiled when she considered her reason. “It’s going to be my reminder that we don’t get just one shot at happiness in life. Marcus loved me. Then he loved me not.”

Caliph pressed a soft finger to a spot on her back. Though she couldn’t see it, she suspected it was one of the petals that had fallen from the flower.

“There are a lot more petals on that flower.” Maybe it would sound silly to Caliph, but to her the reason for getting this tattoo made sense. “I have a lot more chances to find my happily ever after.”