Full Contact (5 page)

“Ray, I was hoping I’d catch you before you left.”

My eyes fly open as Shayla bounds over to us, all toned, sculpted muscles and not a jiggle in sight. Her gaze fixes on Ray’s hand on my cheek, and she gives me a tight smile.

“Oh, hi, Sia. That was you at the fight the other night wasn’t it?”

Oh God. How embarrassing is this. I give her an abrupt nod, then pull away. “I’d better get going. It’s almost dark. Fuzzy will freak if I’m still here when the sun sets.”

Shayla barks a laugh. “Why? You turn into a vampire or a werewolf or something?”

“No, but he does.”

Her cheeks redden, and she licks her lips. “I’d like to see that. Fuzz as a werewolf. He’d be covered with fuzz for real. Fucking hot. What I wouldn’t give for a bit of that.”

I glance over at Ray, but he’s watching me and doesn’t seem to care that his girlfriend is lusting over another guy in front of him. Also, AWKWARD. Tag is my brother and he belongs to Jess, although he doesn’t know it yet.

“I’ll leave you two…together.” I pick up my portfolio and head for the door.

“We’re not together,” Shayla calls out in an indiscreet, embarrass-the-hell-out-of-Sia tone of voice. “Me ’n’ Ray are just friends. I’m him, but a girl. Not a good combo when you got two dominant personalities in the bedroom.”

Stunned into inactivity, I stare at the front door.
He’s not with her.
My brain gets stuck in an endless loop of wondering if he would ever want to be with me and knowing it could never happen.

“Uh…thanks for that.” I turn and force a smile. “Actually, I was just here for business reasons.”

Shayla gives me a sly grin. “Sorry. I got confused. I guess all Ray’s petting was because you had something on your cheek, or maybe it’s that perpetual lost-kitten look that has men falling at your feet.”

What
men? What the hell is she talking about?

“Shayla.” Ray’s warning growl does nothing more than egg her on.

Shayla grins. “And Sia was—”

“Leaving.” No way am I sticking around to have my feelings brutally exposed, especially when I’m not used to having feelings at all. I’m used to bland firefighters and blander accountants. I’m used to cold sheets, hot fantasies, and a box of vibrators under the bed. I’m used to staying strong, staying safe, staying sane. And yet I’m inexorably drawn to Ray, body and soul, as if we somehow fit together.

“Sia.” Ray’s deep growl stops me in my tracks, and I look over my shoulder.

“Seven o’clock. Tuesday. We go late, I’ll take you home. Keep Tag happy.”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

Ray gives a satisfied grunt and I turn and walk away. But I can feel his gaze on me, burning into my skin. A shiver ripples down my spine, but I don’t know whether it’s from anticipation or fear.

Or both.

He didn’t pee on my feet

“You’re going to ink Ray tonight? Shut the front door!”

Jess shrieks after I tell her about my meeting with Ray at Redemption, the “sexy” comment, the cheek stroking, and my oh-so-exciting evening ahead. Of course, shrieks don’t go down very well in tiny vegan cafés in the Haight District, and her outburst attracts a lot of attention. The unwanted kind.

“I kinda wish he was still a fantasy man.” I stir my lentil chili and then take a little nibble.
Not
bad
. Jess is always trying to convince me of the benefits of a vegan lifestyle, and although she’s introduced me to some tasty dishes, I just can’t give up my hamburgers. “He’s a bit much to handle in real life. Very intense. Very dominant. And so damn hot I think I’ll combust every time I’m near him.”

“And taken.”

“Well…no.” I sigh and lower my spoon. “Which is a shame because I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“You haven’t been looking for a relationship for years.” She gives a sarcastic snort. “Even when you were in a relationship, you said you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

“They weren’t real relationships. What I had with Charlie and James was comfortable, and I was so grateful for everything they did for me, I felt I owed it to them to try to be in a relationship. And Peter was—”

“A pig.” Jess curses as she has done every time I mention the name of the man who broke it off with me because I had too much “baggage.”

“Seriously,” I say. “I need to focus on my work so I can help out Mom and Dad, and save money so I can open up my own studio one day. And I’ve got to shake off the Tag shackles.”

Longing flickers across her face. “Tag’s overprotective because he cares.”

But not about her. The unspoken words hang between us. Tag has always treated her like another little sister; never once did he give any sign he saw her as anything other than a friend.

She takes a bite of her tofu scramble. “If you really wanted to throw off the Tag shackles, you’d just tell him. You wouldn’t call him up when you need help. You wouldn’t ask his advice about everything. You wouldn’t ride home with him after work. You wouldn’t ride criminal-shotgun in the back of his police car. Of course, there are some of us who would die for a big brother like that, but if you want to throw it all away for a little independence, well, that’s up to you.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” I try for a withering stare and make her laugh instead.

“And anger doesn’t become you. People with a smiley face generally look smiley even when they’re annoyed, which I know you are because you’ve stirred that chili into mush.”

“Okay then, man whispering genius.” I dab my lips with my napkin and hold up my phone. “Ray offered to take me home if we go late tonight. How do I play it with Tag? He always picks me up when I work late.”

Jess strokes an imaginary beard. “Tell him you have a date.”

“I don’t have a date. I have a client.”

“Seriously?” Jess throws her napkin on the table. “He shows up at your studio demanding your ink, kisses you, then invites you to Redemption on the pretense of seeing your designs but in reality so he can show off his cut, half-naked, muscular fighter’s body, then he says you’re sexy, and you don’t think you have a date?”

“Not really.”

She shakes her head. “That’s how the males of most species work. They show off the plumage in the hopes of attracting a mate. And as a vet’s assistant, I would know.”

Leaning back in my seat, I raise an eyebrow. “You know about dogs, cats, snakes, gerbils, fish, and other small city-type pets. You ever get a peacock or a baboon or even a lion in your clinic?”

Jess pouts. “Now you’re just being mean. I took the job because I like animals. I read about them. I watch
Nature
and the Discovery Channel. I’m telling you, this is primal stuff. After the display, the winning alpha males make an assertion of dominance.”

“He didn’t pee on my feet, if that’s where you’re going with this.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing because Jess is dead serious.

She frowns and takes another bite of her tofu. “Did he beat his chest?”

“No.”

“Shout and wave his arms?”

“No.”

“Drag you around by your hair?”

“No.

“Did he assume a physically superior position?”

“Ah…”

Jess’s eyes widen. “Ah?”

“Well, when Tag came storming toward me, Ray kinda…stood between us. At first I thought I imagined it, but I wasn’t too sure.”

“Protective. Key alpha-male trait. He’s marked you. It means he wants you on a primal level.”

I give my lentil mush a vigorous stir. “How about if he just likes me on a normal level?”

Jess snorts a laugh. “I’ve seen him in the ring. That man is one hot, dominant alpha-male package all wrapped up with a fancy, badass bow. Men like that don’t do normal. They live on the edge. Push it to the max. It’s all or nothing. All out or all in. No mercy. No surrender.”

“No control.” I sigh and put down my fork. “Too dangerous for me. I need someone calm and predictable. Someone I can trust.”

“You had that and you were bored out of your mind.” Jess waves the waitress over. “And now the epitome of alpha male-dom is clearly interested, and you don’t want that either. What do you want?”

Emotion wells up in my chest, and I drop my spoon on the table. “I want to let someone into my life without worrying that I’ve totally misjudged him or that I won’t be safe. I want to be normal, Jess. I want to be able to trust someone, intimately.”

“What’s so great about normal?” She keeps her voice low. “Taking a bottle of sleeping pills and slitting your wrists at the age of seventeen isn’t normal, but I do okay.”

“Jess…” I’ve never been able to understand how she can be so candid about what happened to her the night we met, or about the abuse she suffered that led her down that path. But that’s Jess. She puts it all out there, and if you can’t deal, she walks away.

“He’s perfect for you. Don’t push him away like you have everyone else.” She asks the waitress for dessert menus and another two cups of coffee. Jess and I share many things, a coffee addiction being one of them. “You need someone to shake you up, pull you out of your cocoon. He’s the calculated risk your therapist told you to take. You need a little badass, but you know he’s a safe badass. He’s no stranger. Tag knows him. The guys at Redemption know him. And you like him. Who spends a year watching someone if they aren’t drawn to them for some reason?” She leans over and grins. “A primal reason. Just like him.”

I squirm in my seat and then take a menu from the waitress. “He just wants a tat, Jess, so let’s talk about something else. What’s good for dessert?”

“He wants you and you want him.” She pulls out her purse and throws twenty dollars on the table. “Twenty says you make out by the end of the night despite all your hang-ups.”

Hmmm. Can I afford to lose twenty dollars? Just the thought of making out with the Predator sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

“Okay.” I throw a twenty on the table.

Jess grins. “And no turning him down just to win. If he makes the move, you play the game.”

“No hardship there.” So long as it’s just a game.

The waitress arrives to take our orders and Jess points to my phone on the table. “Call Tag and tell him Ray’s driving you home. I want to hear the explosion.”

“Not this time. Tag’s been acting kind of strange since last weekend. Almost punched Ray in the gym. And down on the wharf he was close to losing it. I don’t know what would have happened if Ray hadn’t shown up. I think it has to do with a new case he’s on. He tried to tell me about it, but I just couldn’t listen.”

Her face creases with concern. “Poor Tag. He takes on too much. Sometimes you need a little help when you’re trying to save the world.”

“And sometimes you need a little help when you’re trying to hide from it.”

* * *

“Hi, Slim. Bye, Christos.” I press myself back against the door as Christos sails past me and out onto the sidewalk.

“Got a gig at the Cage tonight. Have to run.” He blows me a kiss and then races down the street.

Slim looks up from Rose’s desk and shakes his head. “He’s more about the music than the ink.”

“That’s not true. He’s about both.” I dump my stuff and perch on the edge of the desk beside him. “And if you think he’s going to leave us, I can promise you he won’t. He loves it here. He loves his work. And although I hate to say it, his band is never going to make it big. They’re good but not that good. Plus, he’s loyal. Like me and Duncan.”

Slim sniffs and shoves his Fedora to the side. “You said you want to open up your own studio. Doesn’t sound loyal to me.”

“I’m talking years from now. Like so many years you’ll probably be sick of me by then, and I’ll have forgotten everything I learned in my business management course and come crawling back begging for a chair.”

“That kinda attitude, you’re right.” Slim leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. “You gotta have confidence in yourself. Coupla times I left you running the shop, you did a bang-up job, but you were always second-guessing yourself. You got good instincts. Trust ’em.”

Ha
. If he knew about my lack of judgment, he would never say that. “You trying to make me leave? Bolster my confidence enough and I might just walk out of here.”

“You’re not there yet. If you were, I’d be hiding my client list.”

We chat about some of the mind-blowing artists who have made names for themselves in the city with clever designs, crazy colors, and bold line work. I tell Slim they’re killing at what they do while I’m stuck in the same place. Slim laughs and says they’re all basically doing the same thing, scamming on the styles of the masters. True art is unique, pure creation. One day when I’m doing freehand, I’ll understand.

I wish that day was now.

The little bell on the front door jangles and Slim gives my arm a warning squeeze. “Speaking of clients, here comes your man.”

“He’s not my man. He’s a friend.”

Slim laughs. “My friends don’t look at me like they want to devour me. They also don’t call up Rose, order her to clear your schedule for the evening, and offer to pay for the extra time. That kind of attention usually means something more than friendship.” He winks and tips back his hat. “Just sayin’.”

Pressing my lips together, I glare. “Don’t you have an ass to ink out back? I thought Rose mentioned your favorite soldier got drunk again at a party and can’t go home until you’ve covered ‘Whore Lover’ with his wife’s name.”

Slim scrubs his hands over his face. “Fifth time now. I’m running out of ideas for stylized versions of ‘Ava’ that are long enough to cover the tats he gets when he’s on tour overseas.”

He heads to the back and I spin around to find Ray in the doorway. He’s wearing his usual delicious khaki commando pants, sitting low on his narrow hips, and a tight black Harley-Davidson T-shirt. His biceps bulge from beneath his short sleeves and my mouth waters.

“Ready for me?”

Oh
boy. Am I ready.

When we reach my station, I pull out the stencil of the original design I finished up after Jess left for work. We discuss shading and the best way to make use of the design to cover his scar—a nice, professional conversation, although the thoughts going through my mind are anything but nice. Or professional.

Once we’re done, I wash up and remove my sterilized equipment from the autoclave, then I pull on my gloves and bring the water, razor, and rubbing alcohol to prepare the skin I’m about to ink. By the time I return to my station, Ray has stripped off his shirt and is now lounging half-naked in my chair.

My breath catches in my throat. Dear God. His lightly tanned skin is stretched tight over rock-hard muscle and his tattoos shimmer under the overhead light. Seated, still, he is at the mercy of my slow, meticulous perusal. And boy, do I peruse.

After I’ve drunk my fill and calmed the raging desire in my blood, I adjust my artist’s chair and pull it up so I am only inches away from his breathtaking body. “You can put your arm across my lap.” My voice is remarkably calm. “It’ll give me better access.”

Better access? Cringe. I dip my head and swallow hard. How about I keep the mouth shut and just get busy?

He nods and places his forearm across my thighs, his clenched fist at my waist. Warm and heavy, his arm rests perilously close to the juncture of my thighs and I steel myself to keep my thoughts away from images of that hand between my legs, his fingers stroking my folds.

Taking a deep breath, I run a warm washcloth slowly over his skin. “Too hot?” I look up through my eyelashes and the intensity of his gaze as he shakes his head takes my breath away.

His muscles tighten when I dip the cloth again and gently wash his chest and shoulder. His skin is smooth and taut over rigid muscle. I silently curse the gloves that stop me from feeling his skin, and the soap that cannot mask the sinful, masculine scent that is driving me to distraction. When I pull out the rubbing alcohol, I curse that too because it means I have to stop touching him.

Except for the White Buffalo’s cover of “House of the Rising Sun” playing in the background, there is no sound except the rasp of Ray’s breath as his chest rises and falls under my hand. Although I’ve done shoulder and pec tats countless times, the intimacy of this position sends a shiver through my body. Longing grips me hard and fierce, and I scramble to regain some semblance of control. Maybe a little conversation.

“So, did you catch your bad guy?”

“No. Still after him.”

When I look up, Ray is watching me. He is so close I can see the stubble of his five o’clock shadow, the thickness of his lashes, his eyes deepening to an azure blue. I force myself to look into them and swallow hard. “Everything okay?”

Apparently not. Jaw tight, muscles quivering, he captures me with his glance. “Your hair.”

I give my head a slight shake and my ponytail swings back and forth. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Take it down.” He fingers a loose tendril beside my ear, his authoritative tone sending a wave of heat raging through me.