Hard as It Gets (24 page)

Her keepsakes filling his hands, he turned to Becca and apologized. “I forgot I have this tattoo to do. It’s gonna take an hour. Maybe two. Go ’head up with the guys and grab some dinner. I’ll be up later.”

“You seriously do ink?” Shane asked, hiking Becca’s medic kit on his shoulder.

Rixey braced.
Oh, goody, something else for him to ride me about
. “Yeah, I seriously do. Occasionally.” He shrugged.

“You any good?”

“Bare some skin and find out.”

Shane grinned, his expression making it clear he enjoyed harassing Nick. “If you wanna get me out of my clothes, lovah boy, you gotta wine and dine me first.”

It was maybe the first smile Nick had cracked around Shane since the guy had arrived yesterday. And, damn, it felt good. Normal. Like before. “Asshole.”

“That’s southern fried asshole, to you.”

“Only you would want a more descriptive version of asshole, and then consider it a compliment.”

“We do everything bigger in the South.” Shane winked at Becca, whose face brightened with the bit of levity. It was miles better than the despair she’d worn the whole way from her house. And Nick wanted to buy Shane a barbeque dinner for cheering her up. Even if for only a minute.

“Here.” He jammed the box into Shane’s gut, enjoying the surprised “
Oof
” he earned, then dropped the tote bag on top of it. “Make yourself useful and carry this up for Becca, will ya?”

“Sonofabitch,” Shane said, half laughing. He and Beckett turned toward the steps, but paused for Becca to go first.

Holding the sketches, the booklet on the gang, and the remainder of the flyers tight against her chest, she glanced between the guys waiting to go upstairs and Nick, standing with his hand on Hard Ink’s doorknob. “Um,” she finally said. “Mind if I stay with you?”

The uncertainty in her voice slayed him. Like he might actually say no. Guilt parked itself on his chest again for being an angst-ridden asshole this morning, because that was probably why she’d wonder if he wanted her around. “Of course. Just, uh, give that gang profile and Charlie’s note to Beck to give to Marz. See what kind of sense he can make of those.”

Murda slipped them from her pile of papers. “Probably speed read it in about fifteen minutes,” he said, giving Becca what passed for a smile. “We’ll take care of your stuff. Don’t worry.” Neither of his teammates had been upstairs when Becca had broken down, but Rixey suspected they’d both heard it. He also suspected that accounted for the big guy’s gentleness with her now. There was a lot more beneath Beckett’s hard-ass surface than met the eye. He just didn’t like people to know it.

“Thanks,” she said.

“What’s this ‘we’ bullshit?” Shane said, starting up the steps. “I don’t see your ass schlepping anything.”

Beckett followed after, boots stomping out a rhythm on the concrete steps. “You that out of shape, McCallan?” The ribbing continued as they went up the stairs.

Becca smiled as she glanced at Nick. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

The words hauled him to her, and he leaned his forehead on hers. “I’d never mind having you with me. Come on. You get the fun of hearing Jeremy ream me out. Guard your eardrums.” He tugged open the door and held it for her.

“I’m sorry I made you late,” she said, twisting her lips. “I forgot about your appointment.”

“Not your fault. What we were doing was important.” Rixey entered the lounge with a
mea culpa
on his tongue. Whatever pile of pissed off he was about to step in, he totally deserved.

Jeremy leaned around the corner from the front desk, glared, and ducked back out. “Give us a few, Alek. We’ll be right with you,” Nick heard him say. Then his brother barreled down the hall toward him. “This might not be your thing. I get that. But it’s my business. My livelihood. My reputation. And I don’t appreciate you fucking with it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The anger he could deal with, but that look of disappointment in his brother’s eyes was a real kick in the ass.

Becca stepped in close, her arm touching Nick’s, providing a united front. “It was my fault, Jeremy. I’m sorry. We were looking for my brother.”

“No. My commitment, my fault.” Nick reached out and squeezed her shoulder in silent thanks.

Jer looked between them like he was at a tennis match. “Fine. Whatever. Got your head on straight?”

“Yeah. I’ll take good care of the guy. Alek’s his name?” Jeremy gave a tight nod. “I’ll go meet him and get set up.” Jeremy turned on his heel and stalked back toward the front. Rixey gave her a little smile. “Thanks for the help.”

“It’s the least I could do.” She shifted her feet and tilted her head. “So, I don’t suppose there’s any way I could watch you, is there? Probably violates some kind of confidentiality, or something.”

The thought of her being in the room with him stirred heat in his groin, both because she wanted to watch him work, and because it made him think of working on her. “It’s up to the client. I’ll ask.” He crossed to the closet in the corner where he hung his jacket and gun holster. It was probably on the wrong side of paranoid, but given the situation, he felt better remaining armed, so he slipped the piece into the back of his jeans and made sure his T-shirt covered it.

“Do you think that’s necessary?” she asked.

“What?” he said, turning. She gestured to his back. “Probably not. Have a seat for a few.”

“Okay.” She dropped her purse and the stack of papers onto one of the round tables and settled into the couch. The puppy loped over to her and hopped her front paws onto Becca’s lap.

Grabbing his sketch from the desk in the office, Nick made for the reception area.

“Awwwww, you’re in troubllllle,” Jess said in a gratingly annoying voice when he passed her room.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m aware.”

She snickered. Typical Jess. Good thing he liked her. Mostly. When she wasn’t busting his balls. Then again, when was that?

Sitting on the big green couch, his client was a man probably in his mid-thirties, dark hair, tall by the length of the legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Nick approached and extended his hand. “Really sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Nick Rixey.” For the next ten minutes, he talked to Alek about the tattoo, its placement, and his past experience getting inked, and he got permission for Becca to watch.

Nick grabbed his stencil from the office and leaned around the corner where Becca sat. “We’re a go if you’re still interested.”

Becca smiled up at him. “Really? Yeah.”

“You sure you wouldn’t rather go up and have some grub? Lunch was a long time ago.” If he hadn’t had to do this tat, he’d have been three slices into some leftover pizza himself.

“I’ll eat with you after.”

He crossed to the fridge in the corner and grabbed two bottles of water. “Well, at least have something to drink. Come on.” He led them into the rectangular tattoo room and gestured to the visitor chair often inhabited by a client’s friend.

She sat and watched him as he prepared his workspace and tools. “How did you first learn to do this, anyway?”

He scrubbed his hands and forearms at the sink. “Jeremy. He got an apprenticeship his freshman year at the College of Art here in town, and by his junior year he was working almost full-time for the guy and doing some fantastic work. Along the way he taught me what he’d learned. I enjoyed it enough that Jer bought me a basic set of my own machines for Christmas one year, and I practiced a lot because at that point I was trying to decide what the hell I wanted to do with myself. I was in college but felt restless as hell. I figured, why not.”

“How do you practice tattooing?”

Rixey chuckled. “Not on real people. They have this rubber practice skin you can use to get familiar with the tattoo machine, and some people practice on fruit and pig skin. Anyway, Jeremy wanted to drop out of college, but my parents had a shit fit.”

“So he didn’t?” she asked.

“No, he graduated. I was the one who dropped out.”

Her eyes went wide. “Why?”

“September eleventh. I finally knew what I was supposed to be doing. Was like a light switch flipped. Six weeks into my senior year, I took a leave of absence and enlisted in the Army. Never looked back.”

He cleaned his table and collected his ink, tools, and supplies.

“When I came home last year, I was still laid up with recovery for a few months, so Jer suggested I apprentice with him for real since I had the time to practice again. Once I was on my feet, I got the process service job to pay the bills, but I brushed up on my skills and then started doing clients in my off hours. Small pieces, mostly.”

She was watching him like she didn’t want to miss a step of what he was doing, and it made him slow down and remember the enjoyment he found in this art. “You okay?”

Becca grinned. “Yeah, this is fun.”

“If you say so. I’ll go get Alek.” Rixey made for the lobby. Within another fifteen minutes, he was ready to tattoo. “Keep your arm positioned on the armrest like that and just relax,” Rixey said, sliding on a mask and some eye protection.

Two hits of ink with the needle, he held the skin taut and outlined the bottom of the image first, the vibration of the machine familiar in his hand. He’d do a long line, then wipe away the excess ink the skin pushed back out. And repeat. “Doing okay, Alek?”

“Yup.”

“Becca?” He finished a line and spared her a glance, and she appeared absolutely rapt.

She nodded. “Great.”

“So you don’t have any tattoos, Becca?” Alek asked.

“No. I like them, but I’d never thought seriously about it. Until recently.”

Those last two words pinged around inside Rixey’s skull for a few minutes.

“What would you get?” he asked. Nick was grateful Alek was asking the questions. Truth be told, he was damned curious, but it wasn’t like he could focus on a conversation with her when he needed to pay attention to what he was doing.

“I’m not sure. I’d definitely want something with meaning. Maybe something to remember my older brother who died. His favorite thing in the world was playing the . . .” She gasped.

Forcing himself to finish out the line, Rixey resisted looking at what had caused her reaction. He pulled the machine away from Alek’s skin and glanced at her. “You okay?” he asked, concern curling into his gut.

Her wide eyes cut to him. “The guitar. His favorite thing was playing the guitar. I could . . . maybe . . .” She looked to him with a small shrug, like that revelation hadn’t just been the big fucking deal Rixey knew it was. A blush filled her cheeks. “I had his guitar, but it got broken.”

“Definitely sounds meaningful, then,” the guy said.

Rixey bored his gaze into her, wishing like hell they were alone so he could hold her and comfort her and paint a picture on her skin. Man, this woman had the ability to tie him up in knots like no one he’d ever known, and it was crystal fucking clear why. He was falling for her. Hard. Part of the reason he’d been so pissed at himself this morning was that he’d known being with her hadn’t just been about the physical.

Damn, he hated that this stranger was in the room with them when she shared that idea for a first tattoo. It was too personal, too sentimental, and the thought that Alek might be sitting there imagining her naked with the dark lines of a fretboard running up her spine had the blood nearly boiling in his veins.

But Rixey couldn’t say any of that right now, could he? He didn’t have the time or the privacy to tell her how special he thought her idea was, how special he thought
she
was. Instead, he just said, “I think it sounds perfect, Becca.” He bottled the rest of that shit up, took two more hits of ink, and dove back into outlining, shutting their occasional chitchat out.

Seventy-five minutes later, he was done, and Alek’s soldier-fireman had come to life on the skin of the man’s arm. “See what you think,” Rixey said, pointing to the mirror. He leaned out of the doorway. “Hey, Jeremy? You out there?”

“Yo!” came his voice from the lounge. He appeared a moment later.

The guy examined it for a couple minutes. “Wow, man. It’s . . . frickin’ phenomenal.”

“Damn, Nick, he’s right,” Jeremy said, stepping into the room. “That’s some fine work. I
knew
this one was yours.”

The piece
was
good. Maybe his best. “Mind if I take a picture of it for my portfolio?”

“Sure. Actually, would you take a shot with my phone, too?”

Rixey took a few snaps with the office camera and a few on Alek’s smartphone. Jeremy clapped Nick on the back, then excused himself.

“What do you think?” Alek asked Becca, standing in front of her and flexing.

She smiled. “I think it’s pretty fantastic. Looks great on you,” she said, her gaze sliding to Nick. “Consider me impressed.”

Man, the way she was looking at him did all kinds of bad things to his body. Her gaze was appraising, appreciative, as if she was seeing him in a whole new—and approving—way. Heat and arousal licked down his spine and brought his cock to life. He arched an eyebrow, but he still had work to do. He put a dressing on Alek’s arm and secured it with a wrap, then gave the guy his aftercare instructions.

Finally, Nick walked him out, locked the door behind him, and killed the front lights. The shop had closed about an hour earlier. He’d heard Jeremy and Jess finish up with their clients, and Jess had left a while ago. When he returned to his room, he found Becca exactly where he’d left her, a faraway look in her eyes. The moment his gaze landed on her, she blushed. He stopped in his tracks. “What is
that
about?”

“What?” she said, playing it off.

“Horrible. Liar. Remember?” Crouching in front of her, he rested his hands on her thighs. “What’s the blush about?” He gently squeezed her quads.

Her gaze brushed over his face, lingered on his lips, and fell to his hands on her legs. “Just thinking.”

He tilted his head to catch her eye. “That sounds promising.”

Becca chuckled and shook her head. “I was just wondering what it felt like to get a tattoo.”

“It differs by placement, pain threshold, size, how much color,” he said, watching emotions run over her expression that had nothing to do with curiosity. She was turned on. He’d put money on it.