Ink (The Haven Series) (8 page)

His own gaze drifted to the impressive artwork on her shoulder, exposed ever since she’d shrugged off her leather jacket to leave her in a simple khaki-green vest top that clung to her breasts but then flowed loose to her waist, and Colton gave in to the urge to trace the bold lines with a fingertip. He half expected her to pull away.

He didn’t let the surprise register on his face when she simply turned to watch what he was doing with those soft gray eyes. She couldn’t know she was killing him here. But surely she had to know what was running through his mind. Had to know he was dying to find out how those lips would feel under his ...

And it seemed that maybe she was catching on. That just maybe she felt that spark too.

“Colt ...” she managed, her voice a low whisper he barely heard. He’d always been a man of actions rather than words anyway. And he cut her off in the most effective way he knew how, his mouth finally descending on hers.

For a long moment, she just let him. Then those lips – that were every bit as soft as he’d thought they would be – were parting under his and she was kissing him back. Her eyes drifted closed as his hand slid to the back of her head and he brought her closer, slowly deepening the kiss. Her knees fit between his as their bodies gravitated towards each other on the bench, her hands resting on his thighs as she leaned in.

She tasted so damn good.
Felt
so damn good.

And when he finally pulled away to gauge her reaction, she hadn’t freaked out. Just offered him an admittedly shyer than usual smile as he stood and held out his hand to help her down from her perch …

***

But how that contrasted with the way she failed to meet his gaze when she emerged from Sketch’s office, how she’d only half-listened as he talked her throug
h past club-related designs. Yet Sketch, when he reappeared, had been his usual self – with everyone but Callie, despite the almost pleading looks she was shooting him.

Whatever had gone down between them, it wasn’t their usual type of row where Sketch would simply tease the hell out of the little blonde and she’d have no trouble giving as good as she got and threatening him with a swift boot up the ass.

Had she told him what had happened and he, in protective big brother mode, didn’t approve? Nah, friends or not, Sketch would have confronted him if that was his problem.

Shaking away the scowl that had been darkening, Colton refused to let himself get all bent out of shape over a chick. Even her. Not when there were plenty more women he could have his pick of any night of the week.

Climbing off his bike, he strode purposefully towards the clubhouse, pausing in the doorway only to remove his shades and hook them through the top pocket of his cut. Using the opportunity his vantage point afforded to scan those inside, a predatory smile tugged at his lips when he found a suitable target.

Young, blonde, something close to awe in the wide eyes that met his.

All it took was one crook of his finger and the new girl went to him like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. Meekly, she followed him through the bar as he barely acknowledged her before heading towards the dorms. But while getting her into bed was easy, resisting the urge to kick her straight back out was definitely not.

Up close, she wasn’t nearly as young as she liked to think and if that blonde was natural, then he was a choirboy. Her eyes were pale blue rather than gray and, though it wasn’t usually a complaint to grace the clubhouse, her
tits were too big. And almost certainly out of a catalogue. All in all, nothing that would have been a problem under normal circumstances.

But, with his head seared full of images of a certain 28-year-old tattoo artist, Honey or Hannah or whatever the hell her name was never had a hope.And again he was left asking himself what the fuck his so-called buddy Sketch had managed to do to cock-block him so damn effectively – especially after it seemed he’d been the one trying to push them together in the first place.

***

Sketch felt
a pang of guilt for how he’d treated the girl when she left for the night without even speaking to him, the slightest shine of what looked like tears in her eyes as she hurried out of the studio.

“Cal ...” he sighed, but the door had already closed behind her and left the wind-chimes jingling gently in her wake.

He’d been a bastard about it, he knew that. Their bickering was the status quo, the ice of his silent treatment infinitely more hurtful. He’d over-reacted and was too stubborn to admit it anywhere but in his own head.

And so a half-hour later, when he was still pouring over the neglected books like it was some kind of self-imposed karma-laden punishment, the last thing he expected to hear was the door. It was enough to send him from the office, silently cursing his failure to lock up as soon as he’d closed.

“Anyone coulda been outta here with half the shop.”

Callie. With a huge brown take-away bag in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other, a hesitant look on her face as she tried the vague beginnings of a smile. “Peace offering?”

“Chinese?” he asked casually. Her favourite.

“Mexican.” His.

Sketch was by her side in an instant, taking the bag and poking through it. “Did you get nachos?” he demanded, before finding the answer for himself. “Damn, doll ...” He planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled back, the look flitting across his face for just a second letting her know this was about more than getting the order right. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

And so the two friends ended up sitting cross-legged at opposite ends of the tiny battered couch that was resident in the corner of Sketch’s office, perfect for occasions such as this. Feasting on huge spicy burritos, sharing nachos and cheese and with the supply of Coronas sitting within arm’s reach on the floor.

“If ya weren’t taken, I’d marry ya myself,” Sketch mumbled around a mouthful of food, clinking the neck of his beer bottle off Callie’s in a toast of sorts. The grin he shot her as he swallowed negated the question of whether it was a dig or not.

“So, kid, you
gonna tell me ‘bout this man of yours? I’ve already guessed I might not exactly approve, since you didn’t feel you could tell me before now. I’d probably still be in the dark if I hadn’t taken that call. So, come on, what’s he into? Drugs? Porn?” Sketch’s eyes widened as he thought about that properly, pausing with his burrito halfway to his mouth. “Shit, that’s not it, is it? I mean it, Callie – he comes at you with a camcorder, you knee him in the balls and get the hell out!”

“Are you done?” Callie asked wryly, watching him get himself worked up over nothing. “He ain’t into anything like that. Michael’s ... He’s a good guy, Sketch. Seriously.”

“I’m sensing a
but
.”

“No buts,” she started, but that was less convincing and she took a long sip of her beer before trying to find the words to continue. “Look, he doesn’t exactly set my world alight, okay? But that’s hardly a crime. Or even his fault exactly. You just don’t have to worry about him treating me right or anything like that. Promise.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Sketch nodded. “So what does he do?”

“He’s a lawyer actually,” she said, not expecting him to be impressed. He wasn’t.

“Hmm. Don’t trust ‘em far as I could throw ‘em. But at least he ain’t some douche without a job, leeching off you. But I dunno – good guy, good job. Why the hell didn’t you save on all the aggro and just tell me, Cal?”

Taking a deep breath, the little blonde looked him straight in the eye. “You remember my last birthday?” she waited for the nod, getting it after a few seconds thought. “And the guy who bought me the champagne?”

Sketch choked on the nacho he’d just shoved in his mouth and went into a coughing fit, his eyes wide as he stared at her. “Tell me he ain’t as old as that guy!” he spluttered.

“No as about it,” she sighed. “He
is
that guy. And while we’re doing bombshells – I kissed Colton. More beer?”

***

CHAPTER 10

Fluffing her hair in the reflective glass of one of the many framed photos that adorned the clubhouse’s walls, Lorena Lopez took a deep breath in the midst of the chaos and straightened her shoulders.

Listening to the chatter of the women and raucous laughter of the Fallen Brothers, just audible over the pumping rock music, she realised she needed to act like she belonged. Even if she didn’t always feel it.

She’d made an extra special effort - her shoulder-length dark hair sleek
er and shiner than ever, nails done, cash she didn’t have splurged on a dress she couldn’t afford. It would be worth it though, to see the look on her man’s face when he saw she would make an old lady he could be proud of in front of his beloved brothers.

All because this was no ordinary Friday night – this was the night they’d been so desperately waiting for all year. The night everything would finally fall into place and, in front of the packed out clubhouse, her man would finally be welcomed properly into the fold. And when Paulie was no longer a mere prospect, his patches earned through all manner of unpleasant grunt work over the last twelve months, she would be officially recognised as his. Protected and respected.

“Hey, Lori – last chance, baby!”

Turning at the call, she painted a smile on her face for the notoriously flirtatious sergeant grinning at her. Sam was slapping her man on the back as he herded him towards the inner sanctum where all official club business was conducted. She could see the barely concealed excitement written all over Paulie’s boyish face, though he was doing his best to stay cool in front of his brothers.

“Remember, once the kid gets you inked, the prison clause is your only escape ...” the tall blond warned, with a wink. As Paulie’s sponsor, he’d been taking his duties very seriously – showing him the ropes and, more importantly, leading by example when it came to taking the piss out of his young charge. Convincing him he was only three moves from losing his girl to his mentor at any given time.

Lorena didn’t think he was serious, that he would really go after a brother’s girl in earnest – even if she didn’t have the luxury of old lady status yet. She may have known very little about actual club business, but she knew Sam wasn’t so highly ranked for nothing.

And she’d have been lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the little glimmers of attention from the charismatic biker, knowing that the many women who flocked round the Fallen would give their left arm for a piece of him and consider it fair trade.

But that was only human, enjoying the flattery. She loved Paulie, had done ever since their school days. They were the quintessential childhood sweethearts, with every intention of growing old together.

Why else would someone with a phobia of needles even consider a tattoo, if not for love?

Smiling despite her nerves as Paulie cupped her face in his hands, Lorena kissed him back softly - ignoring the whistles and cheers of those around them and letting him pull her closer.

“All right, kiddies – save it for later,” Sam laughed, hauling Paulie away and propelling him away again. “Patches, ink, pussy. That order, dude. Got it?”

“Got it,” his young charge grinned, looking back over his shoulder at his girlfriend. “Later, baby.”

***

Wrapped in a huge fluffy towel, Callie shot a look at the clock on her nightstand and groaned, reaching for her ringing cell phone and trying to keep the impatience out of her voice when she answered it.

“Hey, honey,” she breezed, tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she tried to put the finishing touches to her make-up. “What’s up?”

“Hey, you – thought I might pick my girl up, take her for a few Friday night drinks ... What d’ya think?”

“Ohhh, Michael, that sounds great,” she sighed, thinking on her feet. “But can we take a rain check? I ... I kinda already have plans tonight and I can’t get out of them.”

“Sure,” he said, but she could hear the disappointment and bit her lip guiltily. “Callie? Everything is okay, right? I just haven’t seen you in a
few days and ...”

“Everything’s fine,” Callie insisted, really not wanting to get into it with him. It was bad enough having Sketch constantly on her case with a stream of never-ending questions. “Look, tomorrow – how about you pick me up tomorrow and we go for dinner somewhere nice? And then maybe we can ... make up for lost time?”

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” he said, though he sounded more resigned than appeased. “Tomorrow then. And Callie?”

The loaded pause rang alarm bells in her mind, the words on the tip of his tongue already seeming to hang heavy in the air. And if she let him say them ... “I gotta go,” she jumped in quickly. Too quick, she cringed. “Running late. Sorry, I really gotta ... Bye.”

Hanging up, she threw the phone on the bed beside her and went back to getting ready. But the gray eyes staring back at her in the mirror of her dresser seemed full of accusations and she dropped her gaze to her lap, wondering just what she’d managed to get herself into.

***

His leather cut on his back, patches proudly on display and surrounded by his brothers, Paulie felt ten feet tall. Ten feet tall and torn between making the most of the clubhouse celebrations or grabbing his girl – no, his old lady – to steal her away for a celebration of a very different kind.