Indelibly Intimate (2 page)

“Can we stop for a minute? I need a second to get some air.” The thin voice sounded odd coming from the large man.

“Sure,” Hammer said and laid the tattoo gun on the tray table beside him. He admired the half-finished tattoo of a leaping koi. Clean lines, smooth, good. It would be one of his most impressive works if this seven-foot-tall baby could make it through the discomfort.

Taking momentary pity on the guy, Hammer stood. “Did you pop a couple Advil beforehand like I told you?”

The customer wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “No, I didn’t think I’d need it.”

The latex gloves snapped as Hammer pulled them off. “I’ll be right back.”

He let the door to his studio swing shut behind him as he moved into the lobby. Wuss or not, this guy would be wearing Hammer’s ink, and he’d be pissed as hell if this tattoo was ruined because of the dude’s pain intolerance.

“Hey Lesli, I’ve got to run across the street.”

The receptionist crooked a white-blonde brow at him. “Aren’t you in the middle of a tattoo?”

Hammer nodded. “Yep. And I won’t be able to finish it unless I run a quick errand.”

The afternoon light was golden with tinges of red, shining off the windshields in the parking lot. The early summer day had been mild but the evening promised a whisper of cooler temperatures. Hammer sucked in a deep breath as he walked to the gas station across the street, savoring the sweet taste of fresh air. He’d miss the sprawled-out atmosphere of the Baltimore suburb when he took his business into the heart of the city but his career demanded the change. If he was going to become a name, a major respected artist in his field, he’d need more clients than this area could provide.

The sharp tang of gasoline wrinkled Hammer’s nose as he passed the pumps. A cute girl with long, slender legs leaned against the back of her beat-up old Accord as she filled her tank. Hammer let his gaze linger on the flare of her hip, the generous curve of her ass in the short skirt she wore. The front of his jeans tightened slightly and he shook his head as he gripped the pull-bar of the store’s door.

Keep it together, man. Just because it’s been awhile doesn’t mean you have to mac on complete strangers.

The ibuprofen inside the tiny convenient mart was way overpriced but to Hammer it was worth it to keep his client calm and still. He stood in line behind a wrinkled old man toting a six-pack of beer. The pimple-faced teenage boy behind the counter was obviously flustered and the line that now stood four-deep was testament to that.

The bell above the door jangled. Hammer’s attention was drawn to the motion and he didn’t try to stop the lazy smile that curled his lips. The girl who had been pumping gas queued up behind him. She didn’t look up from the huge purse she dug through.

A faded black tank molded to her breasts. Her bare arms were sun-kissed, giving her skin a healthy glow. The short white skirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, revealing a faded and unattractive tattoo. Hammer winced in sympathy at the sight. Bad ink shouldn’t happen to good people, and from where he was standing she was very, very good.

“I think it might be awhile.” Hammer smiled when she looked up. He hadn’t realized how beautiful her face was. Clear blue eyes, like a summer sky, peered at him with an almost wicked twinkle from beneath long bangs. A tiny gem winked from the side of her nose.

She leaned over, surveying the rest of the line. “Yeah, looks like it.” She sighed, tucking an errant hair behind her ear, which held multiple piercings. The curl sprang back as soon as her fingers fell, the dusky dark-red threads catching the light. “Just my freaking luck.”

Hammer itched to tuck that stray hair back for her, more for the pleasure of feeling its softness than anything else. “Bad day?”

She shook her head as the line inched forward. “You don’t know the half of it.”

He smiled at her, hoping his expression was more encouraging than lustful. It was tough. He’d not been so physically attracted to a woman in a long damn time. A horny teenager had nothing on Hamilton Dean right now. “Try me.”

“Really? You want me to dump this day on you? Okay, fine. Why the hell not. My asshole ex-boyfriend ran out on me and ruined my credit. I can’t afford my rent, much less the crap he got me to finance for him before he bolted. I work in a restaurant and some douchebag kid dumped soda all over me at lunch service today.”

She yanked the skirt up higher on her left leg, revealing the tired tattoo. Hammer swallowed hard as she continued. “I left work early to try to get this tattoo covered up but the shop I was going to is closed forever. The fucking gas pump jammed and wouldn’t print my receipt. All in all, it’s been a shit day and right now I want to go home and eat a whole gallon of Ben & Jerry’s. It’s your turn.”

Hammer shook his head slightly, a bit overwhelmed. “What, to tell you about my day?”

“No. To check out.” She gestured to the counter, where the teenager waited impatiently. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh.” Hammer’s brows lowered while he completed his transaction. He wasn’t used to being taken off guard, and this girl had done exactly that since he’d first glimpsed her. It was disconcerting.

Time to take the situation back and own it
.
He laughed to himself and shoved the bottle of ibuprofen into his pocket along with his change. His heavy boots were soundless on the tiled floor as he stepped toward the door, watching in one of the round security mirrors as the girl moved up to the counter.

“I got thirty on pump two. It wouldn’t print my receipt.”

Hammer sauntered outside into the slightly darkened evening. Lesli would be panicking if he wasn’t back soon. His client might even walk out, taking the beginnings of the best piece Hammer had done in a good while with him. Hammer didn’t give a shit. He leaned against the trunk of the old burgundy Honda Accord and waited for the beautiful girl with the bad tattoo.

She stuffed the receipt in her purse, not even looking where she was going until she stood a foot or two from him. She stopped short, her hand in midair. “Why are you touching my car?”

It wasn’t the most comfortable seat he’d enjoyed but he didn’t move. Something about that irritated expression she wore was really adorable. “I was waiting for you.”

The messy knot of her ponytail flopped as she vehemently shook her head. “No. You heard the kind of day I’ve had. Getting hit on isn’t going to be the cherry on this shit sundae of a day.”

Hammer’s tight gray tee stretched over his shoulders as he folded his arms. He wasn’t imagining the flare of her nostrils as she took in the sight of him. Maybe this attraction wasn’t so one-sided. “I’m not trying to hit on you.”

“What do you want then?” She adjusted the strap of her purse, keeping her gaze trained on a point past his left ear.

He shifted slightly, hoping to draw her gaze again. It worked. “I’m a tattoo artist. I work at the shop across the street. I’m on a client right now but his session will be done within an hour. If you want to wait around, I can help you with that cover-up job.”

She eyed him warily. “The guy I was going to see would have cut me a deal. Can you do that?”

He laughed. “I’ll take care of you, Sparky.”

She took three steps toward him and speared his chest with a fingernail. “No cutesy nicknames and I’m not going to reimburse you with blowjobs, got it?”

Hammer indulged his itchy fingers and tucked that reddish curl behind her ear. She didn’t flinch, just kept stabbing him with her nail. “Sure, Sparky. For the record, that’s not a cutesy name. It’s apropos.”

If she stayed motionless for another five seconds, he would lean down and kiss her and damn the consequences. At four seconds, she stepped off to get into her car.

“Where’s your place?” she asked through the descending glass of the driver-side window.

Hammer pointed across the street and winked. “See you there, Sparky.” He laughed loud when he heard her frustrated growl. This promised to be an interesting night.

Chapter Two

Quinn sat in her car and watched him push open the scratched and grimy glass door of the shop. It was impossible not to take stock of him. He looked like a genuine badass—shaved head, plenty of muscles, dangerous smile and a magnetism that threatened to rip her from her axis. When he left, taking those gorgeous tattoos and that perfectly formed man ass with him, she flipped down the visor and stared at the lighted mirror.

“Amanda Quinn LaBrea,” she said sternly to the bright-eyed woman in the mirror. “The last thing you need is another man. The first one just left you high and dry. Besides, Vincent Vibrator is doing a pretty damn good job right now and we wouldn’t want to rob him of his fun, now would we? So go inside, get your tattoo fixed and that is IT.”

For some reason, the reflection staring back at her didn’t seem very intimidated or obedient. The mirror clicked loudly as she smacked it shut.

The sign above the door to the tattoo shop was dimly lit, yellowish light shining through the cracked plastic. It read “No Regrets Tattoo”. Quinn blew out a heavy breath as she pushed open the car door. Her last tattoo was nothing
but
regret. Hopefully this guy and his shop could live up to the name.

An electronic beep sounded as she pushed open the door to the shop. A tiny girl with bleached-blonde hair and pink bangs glanced up from the manga she was reading behind the counter. Quinn herself wasn’t exactly a candidate for Social Security but this girl looked as if she should still be awaiting her first period.

“Hey. What can I do for you?”

Quinn gave the girl a tight nod. “I’m waiting for somebody.”

“Okay. No problem.” She went back to reading her manga without a second glance at Quinn.

Trying not to feel dismissed, Quinn let her purse slide to the floor as she sank into one of the scarred leather sofas. A soft buzzing permeated the air, along with someone’s pained whimpers. What an uncomfortable assortment of sounds. There were several doors around the waiting area but all the rooms were dark with the exception of one with a shut door. That had to be where the agonized moaning came from.

Quinn shrugged and crossed to the back of the waiting area, flipping through pages of tattoo flash art that were mounted to the walls.

Page after page of generic tattoos passed her by, plastic holders clicking against each other as the seconds ticked away. She slowly examined each picture, trying to forget how gorgeous her new friend was by imaging what the art would look like covering up the currently occupied space on her thigh. She hadn’t thought about what else she’d like on her leg, she just wanted the memory of Guy’s leaving erased.

Both her other tattoos had been carefully researched, meditated on, thought through. The Guy tattoo? Happened after a way-too-wild party. She regretted it then, and she’d been with him. Now that he’d disappeared? It ranked on up there with the worst decisions she’d ever made.

The squeak of a door opening brought her head around. Her hand clapped across her mouth, thankfully muffling the squeak of laughter that nearly escaped.

The whimpering client had to be close to seven foot tall, built like an NFL lineman. He was pale except for the vibrant red splotches on his cheeks. Had he been crying?

“If you’ve got any more questions about the aftercare, I want you to call me. Don’t wait for it to get infected. My cell is on the back of the card there, call me anytime.” Her friend from the gas station emerged from behind the football player. He was a tall guy himself but he didn’t look it next to his giant client. The cool and compassionate way he handled the client didn’t escape her notice.

Quinn made her way back to the chair to collect her purse as the two men finished talking. Awkwardness gripped her spine, crippling her normally proud stance. What was up with her? So her new friend had a great way with his customers. So what? So did she, when she wasn’t being taken advantage of. She shook off her odd feelings and stood tall when the football player left and the man she’d met turned to her.

“Hi.” She was proud of her blasé and professional tone.
Point, LaBrea
.
“Thank you for fitting me into your schedule. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, Sparky.”
Point, gorgeous man.

The nickname grated on her nerves like a nail file on concrete. Her teeth hurt, she ground them together so hard. To save face in front of the slack-jawed receptionist, Quinn followed him into the room without replying, keeping her gaze well above his perfect posterior.

“I told you no cutesy nicknames,” she said, dropping her purse into a brown metal folding chair when the door shut behind them. “I meant it.”

He didn’t answer, busying himself at the tray table across the room. Quinn cautiously allowed herself another lingering glimpse at the current source of her irritation.

His earlobes were stretched and he wore beautiful dark, carved horn plugs. His shaved head lent him a slightly intimidating air. A heather-gray tee molded to his broad shoulders, cuffs rolled up slightly to reveal full sleeves of tattoos on both arms. Gothic artwork, angels and demons, decorated one arm in rich shades of black and gray. The other arm was splashed in vibrant colors, Japanese waves and flowers surrounding geishas and kanji symbols. Dark-wash jeans rode low on his hips.

Well
, Quinn thought as she looked down at the only tattoo currently visible on her body,
if you judge tattoo artists by their ink, I’ve landed a good one.

A lot of men, like her previous boyfriend Guy, had no ass. Not so her tattoo artist. His firmly rounded posterior reminded her of the science teacher she’d crushed on in high school.
The ass of a Greek god.
She laughed.

“What’s so funny, Sparky?” He turned then and she clamped her lips together. “Come on, share with the class.”

“I was thinking about biology.”

He smiled cryptically, tilting his head to the side. His questioning look made him seem much younger. “Have a seat.”

She did as he asked, plopping down on a black leather chair that had obviously just been cleaned. He rolled a stool up beside her chair and straddled it, sitting much closer than a perfect stranger should.

Despite the way her body reacted, or maybe because of it, she leaned forward, crowding him a bit. He didn’t take the bait.

“I’m Quinn. Quinn LaBrea.” She stuck her hand out, nearly hitting his chest. He’d have to move back now.

“Hamilton Dean. You can call me Hammer.” Smooth as a milkshake, he shook her hand without budging his torso a bit. The awkward angle didn’t prohibit his touch from causing a flutter in her chest.

“What kind of a name is Hammer?” She didn’t pull away and he didn’t let her go.

“The kind of name people respect in this business. Try telling some of these customers that their tattoo artist is named Hamilton.”

Quinn laughed and pulled from his warm grip. “I guess you’re right.”

He smiled in the silence. She’d have to be an idiot not to notice the way his gaze lingered on her mouth. Despite her conscious brain saying
no
, her tongue darted out to dampen her lips.

“So,” he said, moving away abruptly. Quinn had to fight to keep from clutching her temples. He’d spun so quickly it made her dizzy. “What did you want to cover that bad boy with?”

Decision time. Why hadn’t she thought about this before? She blurted the first thing she could think of. “A dragon.”

She couldn’t blame him for the dubious expression he quickly hid. “A dragon.”

“No,” she sighed. “A rose?”

He didn’t say a word, only stared at her with raised brows.

“All right, fine.” She smacked the leather arms of her seat. “I have no freaking clue. I don’t want to see his damn initials every day.”

Hammer nodded sagely. “I thought it was something like that. What kind of crap artist did you get who would put a boyfriend’s initials on you?” He grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil from the cupboard.

Quinn was glad he looked away. The annoyance and frustration boiled away at her insides and she needed a second to control the venom. After all, she needed this shit covered
tonight
. Even if she had to survive on Ramen noodles for the next three months, she wasn’t going another night with the reminder of her loneliness emblazoned like a neon sign reading “pathetic loser” on her thigh.

“The so-called ‘artist’ was my boyfriend at the time. I’m not an idiot and I won’t be doing anything like that again. So if you could save the lecture,
Mom
, I’d appreciate it.”

Hammer was not a stupid man. He kept his gaze glued to his sketchbook. He hadn’t meant to pluck a nerve with Quinn but that was obviously what had happened. He’d have to choose his words more carefully if he wanted to get to know her. And if the slow, deep throb in his groin was any indication, he really,
really
wanted to get to know her.

“I’d love to help you figure out what would be best to cover that spot with. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” He glanced up in time to see her nod. “Great. Just relax and we’ll come up with something special. So your name is Quinn. And you’re a waitress.”

Her knuckles went white and Hammer began to be nervous for the leather chair arms. Surely she wasn’t digging her fingernails into them.

“So help me god, if you suggest a waitress-themed tattoo, I will kick your ass so hard…”

His laugh interrupted her. “No worries, Sparky, I wouldn’t do you like that.”

Her glare was murderous and it made him laugh harder. She was definitely a firecracker. The nickname was perfect.

“So nothing waitress-like.” He nodded down at the sketchpad’s blank page. An idea gripped him, something that would be the perfect combination of Quinn’s fire and his ability. He began sketching as he talked. “So what do you like? What’s your favorite hobby, color, animal? Talk to me, let me get to know you. I’m thinking we can get some good ideas for your cover-up that way.”

“I like to read, I guess. Um, I write poetry now and then. Red and orange are my favorite colors. Like a fiery sunset.” Her voice was a little husky when she wasn’t busting his balls. He liked it. “I have goldfish at my apartment. I love dogs and cats but I’m not home enough to take care of them, so I stick with fish.” It wasn’t hard to hear the little thread of regret in her words.

Hammer stopped sketching and looked at her. She stared across the room at nothing at all, the corners of her full lips downturned. Her bangs nearly covered her left eye, almost making her appear as if she was hiding from the world.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to brush her cheek with a finger. “You okay?”

She nodded but drew back a little. His fingers went cold without the soft heat of her skin. Dipping his head, he went back to his sketch.

“Goldfish, huh? I’d have figured you were more into the aggressive aquarium life, Sparky.”

Her angry snort lightened the mood by a ton. “Why do you enjoy irritating me so much?”

“Because you’re cute when you’re pissed.” He didn’t pause, even though her outraged gasp covered most of his next sentence. “So where are you from? Where’d you grow up?”

Quinn scooted up to the edge of the chair, readying herself to jump down. She was apparently in such a mood she didn’t notice how her white skirt rode up indecently high on her thighs.

Hammer sucked in a breath and put down his sketchpad. Standing up, he straddled her legs. “Hey. Relax. This is business, okay Sparky?”

He’d stepped much closer than he intended to. But once he was there, he couldn’t stop. Leaning forward, he braced himself on the armrests of the tattoo chair. Her sweet mouth was only inches away now.

“Hammer?” Quinn’s eyes were wide and soft as she looked up at him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, halfway to her mouth already.

She nearly spat the words. “Back the fuck off.”

She didn’t hit him but her knee jerked upright enough to show him that she could have if she’d wanted. He backed up slowly.

“Business. That’s it. Nothing like that will happen again.” He turned back to his sketchpad. The “tonight” came out so softly he was sure she didn’t hear. He might not have won this battle but he was patient. And Quinn had something he desperately wanted.

“The only reason I’m not leaving is that deal you were going to cut me. I can’t afford another artist and I refuse to go one more day with Guy’s shit on my leg.” Quinn sat back in the chair. “It doesn’t matter a damn bit what you cover it with as long as it’s not his name.”

Hammer smiled down at the sketch he’d finished roughing in. “Are you sure?”

She crossed her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Positive.”

“Well,” he said, holding the sketchbook toward her, “what about something like this?”

She was completely silent, not even breathing for a long while. Hammer’s gaze never left her, searching for some response to what he’d drawn. Did she like it? Hate it? Would it matter either way? He was afraid he knew the answer to that question, but he sure as hell didn’t know why.

“Hammer,” she whispered, tracing a line with her forefinger. “It’s perfect.”

Leaning against the top of the chair, he watched over her shoulder. The phoenix rising from the flames on the page wasn’t what he meant when he said, “You’re right. Perfect.”