Indelibly Intimate (3 page)

Her grin at him was infectious. “Let’s do it.”

“You got it, Sparky.” He passed her the clipboard with the consent form, she signed and then his black latex gloves went on with a snap.

This was Hammer’s milieu. When he was creating art—on paper, on canvas, on skin—he was truly happy. Each line spoke to him, each small shading mark or blush of color was a note in the symphony. His peace came with the beauty he created, made more lasting by the fact its canvas was alive.

But he’d never tattooed Quinn LaBrea before.

After snapping a quick picture of the existing tattoo, he decided to draw the lines for the new one directly on her thigh before inking them over the amateurish and faded design. By wielding the pen on her skin, he could maximize the flow of the piece, make sure every line was exactly where he wanted it. He hadn’t counted on his canvas to tempt the ever-loving hell out of him.

Quinn’s breasts rose and fell as she breathed. It was damn distracting.

Her voice floated over him like sweet smoke. “Are you okay? You’re a little pale.”

Hammer glanced up at her. That evil twinkle was back in her beautiful eyes and her arm was draped over the back of his tattoo chair. She looked as if she didn’t have a damn care in the world. Her comfortable position only emphasized Hammer’s sudden and unexpected tension.

“Yep. I’m fine. Let me focus please.”

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be too chatty.” Like a precocious child, Quinn mimed zipping her lips together, locking them and tossing away the key. Despite his internal turbulence, Hammer couldn’t help but laugh.

“Much better.” She settled back into the chair, shifting her other leg slightly.

Oh man
.
Hammer’s brain buzzed. She couldn’t know it but her new position gave him a glimpse of delicate lavender lace between her thighs. If it had been hard to focus before, now it was nearly impossible. He’d only sketched about half the phoenix’s outline on her skin. This would be the most challenging tattoo he’d ever done. If he could pull this off, it’d be one for the record books. He bit the inside of his cheek, put on his mental blinders and focused on the job.

“That’s looking pretty good.”

Hammer smothered his laugh. Even imaginary locks couldn’t prevent Quinn from talking. “Thanks.”

“So what made you want to be a tattoo artist?”

He finished the curve of the wing he’d been drawing before answering. “I love art. Always have. Dropped out of law school to get my art degree and once I started getting ink of my own, I realized it was something I wanted. It sort of took off from there.”

Quinn’s sigh drew Hammer’s attention from his work. “That’s nice. It must be cool to know what you want out of life.”

He crooked a brow at her. “You don’t?”

She smoothed her hair back into her topknot. “Nope. Not a damn clue. Right now all I want is to be out of debt and without one regrettable tattoo.”

“Well.” He bent back to his work. “I can help with half of that.”

The sketch was done several moments later. Hammer helped Quinn to her feet then showed her to the full-length mirror across the room.

“Check it out from all angles. Let me know if anything isn’t the way you want it. It’s a hell of a lot easier to change it now than it will be when all’s said and done.”

“Don’t I know it,” Quinn muttered as she lifted the hem of her skirt to get a closer inspection.

Hammer jammed his hands in his pockets as he watched her. He sure as hell didn’t want her to notice the erection that stood at half-mast the entire time he’d been beside her. What the fuck was wrong with him? Normally he was completely in control of his body, of his emotions. Something about her sent his self-control to the deepest circles of hell. And the worst part was, he wasn’t sure if he even gave a shit.

“Looks great,” she said, hopping back into the chair. “Go ahead and do me.”

Chapter Three

Quinn wasn’t exactly sure why she’d said that the way she had. But once the words were out and that wanting expression crossed Hammer’s face, she wouldn’t have taken them back for anything. She slowly drew her knee upward, keenly aware of the cool air kissing the small gap between her thighs.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” As she said it, her heart beat faster than before. She couldn’t take her gaze off him, the way the stubble on his jaw caught the light, the way his eyes darkened as they roamed her body, the way his hands in his pockets couldn’t quite cover up the obvious erection there.

She felt like a temptress, like a siren from the sea who could crook a finger and lead a sailor to his death. Control was something she hadn’t felt in a damn long time but for some reason she felt it with Hammer. Maybe it was time to see how close she could dance to the edge. For fun.

“Well, Quinn.” Hammer drew out the “I” in her name. “If that’s what you’d like…” He trailed off as she parted her thighs even farther.

“Absolutely,” she said and patted her marked-up leg. “Give me my new tattoo.”

As if there’d been no double meaning to her words, she modestly adjusted her skirt to be sure not a glimpse of anything showed. It was all she could do to keep from laughing at Hammer’s frustrated expression. As if she’d have jumped in bed with a perfect stranger. Or was he a stranger with a perfect face, a perfect ass and perfectly beautiful ink? He was all of that.

“What, isn’t it ‘Hammer time’ yet?” She was beginning to understand why he’d been intentionally pissing her off. If that was anywhere near as fun as yanking
his
chain, she’d be doing it all damn night.

He kept his jaw set but the glint in his eyes was undeniable. “You get one free pass. Any more than that and I’ll put the kanji symbol for waitress on your leg.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

He grinned and her stupid heart fluttered again. “Try me.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “No more nineties rap jokes. But that’s the only promise I’m giving.”

“Good. I’d hate to put an ugly tattoo on top of an ugly tattoo tonight,” Hammer said as he busied himself on the tray beside Quinn’s chair. She watched raptly as he measured ink into tiny little cups. He moved quickly, with a surety that spoke of lots of practice.

A knock grabbed her attention. The receptionist peeked through the crack she’d made in the door. “Bones isn’t coming in and neither is Rodney. Do you need me to stay?”

Hammer shook his head as he swabbed Quinn’s thigh with a soapy solution. “Not on a Tuesday night. I’m knocking off after I finish this one.”

“Cool.” She disappeared without another word.

“Must have a hot date tonight,” Quinn mused, looking after the young receptionist.

Hammer ripped several soft paper towels from the roll beside him. “Nah. Lesli’s married.”

Quinn’s brows arched so high she was sure they’d hit her hairline. “You’re shitting me. That girl can’t be more than seventeen years old.”

Hammer shrugged and inked his buzzing tattoo gun. “Good genes, that’s all. You ready?”

She swallowed hard as he laid his hand atop her thigh. It would be uncomfortable, that was for damn sure. But she didn’t know if the discomfort would come from what he was doing or what he wasn’t doing. Namely, running his hands all over her.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

The angry bee sound resumed and Hammer carefully started inking the first line. A smile stretched Quinn’s lips.

“Damn. You’re good. I can barely feel that.”

Hammer glimpsed up at her. “Do me a favor. Don’t let anybody but me tattoo you from now on.”

A laugh escaped her. “If you finish as good as you start, you don’t have to worry about a damn thing. I’ll be a one-man girl for the rest of my days.”

Without comment, Hammer immediately directed his attention back to her leg and the swooping phoenix. Why had she said that? Sure, he was frickin’ gorgeous. The next couple hours would be torture for her, wondering what it’d be like to have those big hands on more than her thigh, but realistically there was no way she could get involved.

Besides, she was pretty committed to the no-more-tattoo-artists idea. She had a pile of shit called “Quinn’s life” to clean up and adding Hammer to that mix wouldn’t do either of them any favors.

As if even the thought of his name startled him, he spoke. “Are you hurting?”

The leather seat beneath her free leg creaked as she shifted in surprise. “No, why?”

“I’m pretty good at reading people and you had a crease on your forehead. You looked uncomfortable. You need a break?”

Goddammit. Gorgeous, talented and sensitive too? He must do drugs, or hate puppies. There had to be something horribly wrong with him. Anything to balance out all the good stuff, because it was piling up quick.

“Oh, I’m fine. Sorry. Was just up in my head.” She laughed nervously.

“Okay. But promise you’ll let me know if you need a break.”

She searched for judgment in his eyes, any sign of disapproval, but all she saw in the clear green depths was concern. She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “I promise. It’s cool.”

With Quinn keeping a careful rein on her thoughts, Hammer was able to continue his work. He worked quickly, smoothly, his light touch with the tattoo gun causing the least amount of discomfort Quinn had ever experienced while getting ink done. He was mesmerizing as he worked, inking a line, gently wiping the excess color away with a damp paper towel and bending back to his work. The smooth rhythmic motions lulled Quinn into an almost trancelike state. Her worries floated away, carried on the backs of the angry bees that signaled Hammer was at work.

After about an hour, Hammer wiped over the entire outline. “Do you want to check it out?”

Quinn locked her fingers together and stretched, arching her back. “I trust you. I just need to stretch for a second.”

“You’d better tuck your hem up, otherwise you’ll get ink and blood on that white skirt.”

She scooted to the end of the chair. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

He had to look away. She’d rolled the waistband of her skirt a couple times so it wouldn’t touch the fresh tattoo. The curve of her ass was barely visible when she stood and it was too damn much for Hammer. She was killing him, she really was.

If he could get through this night without making another move on her, it’d be a fucking miracle. “Can you excuse me for a minute? I’ll be right back.”

Her expression was just like spring sunshine. “Sure. This is great already, by the way.”

He smiled back, knowing it was strained. “Thanks. Two minutes.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click. As he crossed the lobby, he looked at the front of the shop. Lesli had locked the door and flipped the sign to closed. A wicked thought popped into his brain, one that had a lot to do with taking advantage of their sudden and unexpected solitude, but as he entered the tiny bathroom with the cracked mirror and yellowed light fixture, he slammed the thought back down.

No. No fucking way
.
He wasn’t like his damn brother, who’d fucked his way through Baltimore and back again. Quinn was cute as hell, from her messy hair to the curve of her ass, to the sweet legs he’d spent the better part of an hour leaning over. But she’d made it clear she wasn’t here for some fun and unlike the other men in his family, he respected that. Besides, he had a career to look forward to.

He eyed himself in the mirror.
Get this done, get her out of here. No complications.

The cool water he splashed on helped to calm him, ease his turbulent brain. Business. That was all he was interested in. Another couple days in this little shop, then the Inktastic Convention to get his name out there, and then he’d move on to the heart of the city, have his own shop. And he’d do it all on his own. His body’s wants could keep their spot in the backseat.

With his mind made up and his lust under control, Hammer made his way back to the studio where Quinn waited for him.

She was already in the chair and the smile she gave him when he came back hit him like an ice-cream truck.

“I hope you don’t mind if I get right back to work.” Hammer kept his voice all business as he thoroughly washed his hands and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves.

A perplexed look crossed Quinn’s face. “Sure, no problem.”

Without another word, Hammer re-inked his gun and started in on the color. Vibrant reds for the center of the feathers and the body, fading to brilliant oranges and yellows for the tips. A burst of fire surrounded the bird, still bright but paling in comparison to the exquisite creature.

Sweat beaded on Hammer’s forehead as he concentrated but he ignored it. He was successful in blocking out the entire world, even the woman he was currently tattooing. She held perfectly still beneath his touch, allowing him to focus on his work.

The tattoo was finished nearly two hours later. If he was honest with himself, it was the best cover-up he’d ever done.

“All right, Sparky.” Even though he used the nickname, he kept his voice cool as he cleansed the tender skin. “See what you think.”

Quinn scootched off the leather chair and tried to hop to the ground. Her knees buckled. Hammer rocketed to his feet and steadied her, his palms on her upper arms and her back to his chest.

“Are you okay?” He did his dead-level best to ignore her soft ass pressing gently against his groin. He failed. His cock twitched eagerly despite his best efforts to suppress his reaction.

“Yeah, guess I’d been sitting in one spot for too long.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

He stepped back reluctantly, severing their contact. “It’s okay. You probably stood up too fast. Take it easy.”

She nodded and stepped toward the mirror.

His gut tied in knots. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t only unsatisfied lust. He was desperate to make sure she liked what he’d done. And why shouldn’t he be? Every client was important to him. When they came to him for his work, his art, it was critical that they be satisfied with the job he’d done. But with Quinn it was something more. The leaden worry in his chest glued his gaze to her, searching for a clue as to what she was thinking.

The seconds ticked by so slowly, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “What do you think?”

She stood in front of the mirror, that little white skirt still rolled high. Hammer watched her, his heart thumping steadily as she rotated her thigh right to left, her expression unreadable in the mirror. When he thought he’d die if she didn’t say something, anything, she faced him.

“Hammer.” Her face was blank. “This is the most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen.” The eyes he’d thought he wouldn’t recognize without their mischievous twinkle were suspiciously bright. She wasn’t going to cry, was she?

“Are you sure you like it?” Why would she cry if she liked it?

She bit her lip and nodded emphatically. “I mean it.” She glanced back to the mirror. “I can’t imagine anything more perfect. You captured exactly what I’m going through. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

Before Hammer could protest, she threw her arms around his waist. He returned her embrace instinctively, even though his brain shouted at him it was a bad idea. Her breasts pressed against him. The fight between his brain and his cock was changing into a war, and he was desperately afraid he knew who’d win.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his chest.

“You’re welcome.” He gently rubbed her arms.
God, her skin is like silk.
He didn’t want to pull away. He wanted to bend down and kiss that clever mouth of hers. But he couldn’t. With a gentle squeeze, he stepped back.

“So,” she said, sniffing slightly as she wiped the dampness from her cheeks, “what do I owe you?”

Hammer looked at the phoenix. It was a larger piece, fairly detailed, and he’d put a lot of himself into it. Normally for a custom cover-up like this, he’d charge at least four hundred. But he’d promised her he’d cut her a deal and, as he admired both the work and the body it was on, a great idea came to mind.

“Here. Sit down and let me cover it first.” He rolled his stool close once more as she sat. He rubbed a generous amount of antibiotic ointment over the fresh ink, covering it lightly with a gauze bandage.

When it was safely covered, he spoke. “I’ve got a proposition for you. How’d you like to be my assistant at the Inktastic Convention in a couple weeks?” Her eyes widened, cheeks paling, but he kept talking. “I’d like to enter that cover-up in the competition. I’ll pay the entry and you can help me around the booth. You agree to that and there’s no charge for this.”

Her lips stiffened into a firm line. Hammer sat silent, watching her. He didn’t think it was a bad idea. He could use some help around the booth and he really thought he’d enjoy her company. Not to mention entering some of his work in the competition. It was a great way to build business and he’d need some steady clients to establish a shop of his own.

“Wow, Hammer, I don’t know what to say. I mean, that’s incredibly generous, but…” She trailed off as she stood. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she trained her gaze over his shoulder at the wall. Apparently he’d crossed a line.