Indelibly Intimate (6 page)

Scooting under the covers, she flopped back against his pillows without a word and was asleep only seconds later. Hammer followed her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Her shivering stopped as she absorbed the heat from his body.

“Good night, Sparky,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.

When they woke up in the morning, he was going to ask her about those tattoos. And if the dying leaf represented what that jackass boyfriend of hers had put her through? He would seriously consider going after the punk, and not only for the pleasure of breaking his bones. Anybody who dimmed the flames of this girl even for a moment deserved torture, and Hammer was more than willing to do it.

Chapter Six

Quinn stretched and yawned without opening her eyes. Man, she didn’t remember her bed being this comfortable. Her pillows weren’t memory foam before, were they? Was this a down comforter? Who was snoring beside her?

She sat up like a shot, clutching the sheet to her chest. Hammer sighed in his sleep and rolled over onto his stomach.
Hammer
.
The tattoo artist she’d just met. Why was she in bed with him?

She scrambled out from beneath the covers and tried her best to stop hyperventilating and think. Last night. She’d gotten her tattoo covered. That was clear in her memory as well as in the dull throbbing ache on the skin of her thigh. She’d gone home… Quinn clapped a palm to her forehead. The lights. The call to Hammer. She’d followed him here, drank about a case of beer and enjoyed being in control a wee bit too much.

She’d had sex with him. “Fuck.”

Hammer twitched at the sudden sound of her voice in the otherwise quiet room but his breathing soon evened back out.

Quinn tiptoed to the door, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the still-sleeping man. He’d been great to her, so thoughtful, helpful even. She was the bitch who’d pushed this to happen. He’d been trying to help her out and she’d strong-armed him into fucking her at his damn table. Quinn sighed with regret as she scooted downstairs to the dining room where her clothes were still scattered.

If she had her way, she’d disappear. Not that she wasn’t interested in Hammer. That was the problem. She was too interested. Pulling on her panties and then her skirt, she made up her mind. She’d leave him a note. Disappearing without a word was rude, especially after he’d been so great to her last night. She owed him the help at the convention as she’d promised.

After she dressed, she eyed the wallet she’d tossed atop his clothes last night. She’d promised to help at the convention and he’d promised her money back. Feeling like a shit, and a desperate one at that, she grabbed a single hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.

I’ll tell him about it in the note. It’s not stealing if he promised it to me. Shit, I feel like a scuzzy ho-bag. I should have taken the change when he offered it. Too damn little, too damn late.

After grabbing a pen and a wrinkled scrap of paper from her bag, Quinn scribbled the message. She left it on the side table then shouldered her purse and walked into the bright sunlight feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. Why the fuck had she jumped him like that? She’d used him, plain and simple. He didn’t deserve that, not after being so nice to her.

Shame dogged her steps from his door all the way home, from the chilly shower in her dark apartment to the employee entrance of Buzzard’s. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the guilt. Especially whenever she glanced down and remembered the beautiful tattoo on her leg.

“Just made it, LaBrea. Get to work.”

She didn’t even acknowledge Tony’s self-satisfied tone or the words themselves. She stowed her purse, donned her apron and trudged out to the dining room. Even Yancey didn’t yank her chain. Her don’t-fuck-with-me expression was firmly in place, with no sign of budging today at all.

Kim was already there, seated at a four-top, marrying the ketchups. She gave Quinn a smile and patted the seat next to her. “You look like you need a hug. C’mere.”

Quinn slogged over and flopped down across from her friend. Laying her cheek on her folded arms, she said, “A hug is the least of my worries. You got a time machine?”

“What has Guy done now?” Kim’s sympathetic voice was accompanied by the rasp of a metal lid against the top of a glass ketchup bottle.

“It’s not what Guy’s done. It’s what I’ve done. I feel like a fucking skank.” Quinn stared down at the floor as she spoke, trying like hell not to look at her leg. It was impossible. The brilliantly colored phoenix mocked her with its beauty, despite the lingering redness and slight swelling.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. It can’t be that bad.”

“I slept with a man I met yesterday.”

The clink of bottles silenced abruptly.

Quinn raised her head with a sigh. “Told you.”

“Quinn, why the hell would you do that? I’m not saying you shouldn’t move on from Guy, because you know how I felt about that asshat, but you met this man yesterday? He didn’t pressure you, did he?”

“No, nothing like that. I know it was a stupid idea. I’m not sure why I did it.” Even while Quinn said the last sentence, she knew it was a lie. He’d been kind and he was gorgeous, and she’d wanted to feel in control of her life for one night. He’d given her that and she’d taken it all and run away at the first opportunity.

She groaned and covered her face. “I’m a horrible human being.”

“No, you’re not.” Kim pried Quinn’s fingers away from her eyes. “You’re a great person who’s made some bad choices. You did use protection, right?”

“Yeah.” Quinn raked her bangs away from her forehead. They flopped back into place as soon as her hand fell away. “I left before he woke up.”

“You stayed over at his house?” Kim’s dark brows climbed high. “You should probably start over. How’d you meet him?”

And over a table full of Heinz’s finest, Quinn told Kim the story of how she’d met Hamilton, his generous offer of a tattoo and a place to stay and how she’d landed in his lap face-first almost immediately thereafter. Not her favorite list of accomplishments but if anyone would get it, it was Kim.

When Quinn was done, Kim stood. “Come on. Help me get these bottles in place. It’s almost time to open.”

Quinn followed in silence, arms loaded with ketchup.
Why hasn’t Kim said anything? What does she think about me now? Maybe I shouldn’t have told her. It’s not like I have a lot of friends anyway. I can’t afford to lose her.

Before her thoughts could bury her in what-ifs, Quinn cornered Kim by the waitress’ station. “Hey. You’re not upset with me, are you?”

Kim laughed. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you haven’t said anything. Come on, tell me I’m a sleaze and let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot, not a sleaze. I’m not upset with you. I want some time to think about how to help you with this.”

Quinn slumped back against the counter, arms crossed around her waist. “Help me with what? I screwed up last night. It’s not like I can fix it at this point.”

Kim sighed. After crossing over to Quinn, she draped an arm around her shoulders. “Obviously you don’t get it. Hammer. You. I think it could work.”

“You don’t even know the guy. Hell, for that matter neither do I. And Guy…” Quinn trailed off, staring at the wall.

“You didn’t see yourself when you talked about him.” Kim gave her a quick squeeze as the front door beeped. “I think he may be the rebound you need to get over Guy.”

Quinn stacked menus in her arms, the plastic covers making angry smacking sounds against each other. “Hammer’s too good for a rebound man.”

“I know.” Kim’s soft voice followed Quinn as she went to greet her first customers.

Kim had to be wrong. Quinn didn’t have feelings for him, she couldn’t. There was chemistry there and he’d been good to her, that was all. She’d taken advantage of him. Once this tattoo convention was over, she’d never see him again. For that matter, maybe she should think about moving away.

It’s not like there is anything holding me here
, she thought with a sad twinge in her chest. Not her family, not Guy and Hammer wasn’t even a remote possibility.

Her smile of greeting to the young couple seated in the first booth was patently fake. She hoped they couldn’t tell. She’d need all the tips she could get plus the money she’d taken from Hammer in order to get her lights back on. But lights or no, she’d be staying in that apartment tonight. Alone.

When Hammer woke, he felt better than he had in years. Blood hummed through his veins, imbuing each muscle with life and vitality. He sat up and stretched, reveling in the crack and pop of his joints as his body realigned itself.

Yawning, he rubbed the short, bristly stubble on his head and cast around for Quinn. She wasn’t in the bed next to him so she must be in the bathroom. He’d hurry to the kitchen and get breakfast started to surprise her.

Tossing back the covers, he swung his legs over the bed. And paused.

The bathroom door lolled open, the room itself dark and empty. Coming to his feet, he left the room. The hope that she was already in the kitchen was thin and dying swiftly. As he descended the stairs, he told himself she had already left. That didn’t stop his gut from sinking when he saw that her clothes were gone.

“Son of a bitch.” His fist softly connected with the wall. He hung his head for a moment. He’d hoped she’d want to stay. Let them start over a little, get to know each other. He wouldn’t trade last night for anything but it wasn’t something he normally did, especially since Ben and Lora…

He mentally slammed the door on that thought at the same moment he saw the wrinkled scrap of paper lying beside the lamp in the living room.
What the hell?

The paper crinkled beneath his fingers as he smoothed it out.

Hammer,

I’m sorry about last night. Thanks for the refund, I really appreciate it. I’ll drop by your shop someday soon to get the details for the convention.

~Q

He turned the note over. It had been ripped from a roll of receipt paper. The back was printed in yellow with “Buzzard’s Sports Bar and Grill”. It fluttered to the table as he turned and headed into the dining room.

His clothes were still strewn on the floor where she’d thrown them, his wallet still atop his pants. A quick riffle through the black leather billfold confirmed what he’d suspected. She’d taken a single hundred-dollar bill. Never mind the other three large that were in there, she only took the one she’d paid him. He’d almost rather she’d robbed him blind. He’d feel more justified for wanting to throttle her.

Sinking into the same chair he’d sat in last night, he slumped forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and rubbing the stubble on his skull with both palms. He could have sworn she was sober enough last night to make up her mind about what she wanted, but what if she hadn’t been? What if he’d pushed her into something she didn’t want to do? He’d given her the upper hand, so to speak, but that didn’t guarantee she didn’t regret it this morning. The uncertainty slammed him in the chest, wrapping his lungs in an iron grip.

With a heavy breath, Hammer tightened his jaw and went upstairs to shave and change. He had to see her, whether she wanted it or not. He took the stairs two at a time as he made his plan of attack. He’d be willing to bet all the money she didn’t take that she worked at Buzzard’s. He was going to stay there until he saw her again and figured out exactly what was going on.

The usual purr of his bike sounded more like a growl today as Hammer pulled into the lot in front of Buzzard’s. Tension lined his shoulders as he yanked the helmet off and strode into the restaurant. He didn’t like feeling this way. Too wound up and involved. But damn it, he deserved some kind of answer for why she’d bolted. This wasn’t just some one-night stand. He didn’t roll that way.

“Hey,” said the little blonde hostess with a smile. “Welcome to Buzzard’s. How many?”

“Just one.” Hammer nodded. “I’d like to sit in Quinn’s section, if she’s working today.”

“No problem. Follow me.”

If she twitched that ass any harder, she’d fall over. Hammer smothered his wry smile as she indicated a small booth in the corner.

“Quinn will be right with you.” Another smile, and the hostess twitched away.

It was a typical sports bar, big TVs everywhere. A full bar spread across one side of the restaurant, lined-up liquor bottles glinting with the lights of the screens. The scent of hamburgers and chicken wings permeated the air as a cute Asian waitress walked by with a loaded tray. He nodded when he caught her attention.

Stretching out his legs, he crossed his booted feet and scanned the restaurant for Quinn. Only about half the tables were full and other than the waitress who’d passed him, there was one woman on the floor. From her body shape and nearly black hair, it was easy to see it wasn’t his Sparky. Where was she?

The kitchen doors swinging open answered his question. She was completely focused on the five-gallon ice bucket she was toting to the waitresses’ station around the corner so she didn’t even glance up. She looked even better today, her dark reddish hair in a smooth ponytail, those bangs hanging nearly in her eyes. Her legs were lean and athletic in short-shorts with Nikes, framing her fresh ink perfectly. From his vantage point, the tattoo seemed good, other than the expected redness.

The other waitress brought her now-empty tray to the station by Quinn and bent next to her ear. Quinn bolted upright and her gaze flew to him as if magnetized. One corner of his mouth lifted and he gave a casual wave.

Quinn dragged her fellow waitress out of his line of sight. He didn’t mind. He had all the time in the world.

She didn’t keep him waiting long.