Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (7 page)

She needed some space to think—a lot of it—and it needed to
not
be anywhere near him. The trailer could wait.

“Let’s move our meeting to this afternoon?” she called out.

He didn’t turn around but raised a hand with a short wave. “Perfect,” he said.

Blair swallowed and gazed after his retreating figure. “No, it’s not,” she whispered to herself. “Far, far from it.”

Chapter Six

Blair stood outside Skinnovations that afternoon, her hand paused on the large, brass door handle. She was in over her head. Way over.

Before she’d even really had a chance to swim to the surface and make sense of her new life, she’d sabotaged herself. Jesus H, she hadn’t kissed a man in over two years, and she had to break that streak by kissing her brand-new assistant? What would she do next, run naked down Main Street with the Easter queen crown on her head?

A giggle burbled up in her throat at the thought. And when she envisioned the look that would be on Lola’s face, she snorted. “Good
heavens
,” she murmured, mimicking her aunt. A second later, she giggled again.

“Welcome to my studio!”

The deep, overly
loud
voice coming from the other side of the glass door startled Blair and she shrieked, jumping back on the sidewalk. “Oh,
God
,” she said, clutching at the front of her dress. She stared at Ben, who poked his head outside the door. “You scared the—”

“Shit out of you,” he finished. “Sorry.” He opened the door wider and ushered her inside.

“It’s okay,” she said automatically. It wasn’t, though. She was so keyed up that her fingertips throbbed. Not good.

But still, she stepped into the studio, nodding as if she even knew what she was looking at. “Black walls—nice. I like the floor. Is that concrete?”

“It came with the place.”

He shrugged, and she watched him as he walked, loose-limbed, into the open space and dropped down into what looked kind of like a hairdresser’s chair. It stood in front of a desk area that was crowded with a lot of intimidating-looking equipment.

“Hey,” he said, that irresistible smile playing around his lips.

Blair didn’t move from the doorway. She tore her gaze away from him and looked at the pictures on the walls. There were dozens of them—tattoo designs, she guessed. Some were beautiful, intricate knots, kind of Celtic-looking. Some were downright frightening. Like a sketch of a skull with bleeding eyes. Jesus.

“Blair? You can come in if you like.”

He drummed his fingers on his thighs. “Don’t you want to start planning? Get your ducks in a row?”

Blair frowned. “How do you know about my ducks?”

“Huh?” Ben’s smile grew wider.

She waved a hand. “Never mind. Why don’t we take that tour?” She opened her purse and pulled out her list, setting it down on the long counter next to the cash register. “But first maybe you could start by telling me about some of the other businesses downtown.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Ben said as if agreeing with her. “I could do that. But not right now. I have a client coming in.”

“You do? Then why did you agree to meet me this afternoon?”

“Because I’m a multitasker.” He stretched lazily, got up and walked toward her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. It was a predatory walk.

Her breath caught and she looked away—right at another skull, this one with daggers for teeth. It grinned at her from its place on the wall.

Ben laughed and she glanced toward him, her eyes huge—not because of the skull, but because he had grabbed her
list
from the counter and was looking at it.

Hastily, she rounded the counter, her heels skidding on the slick concrete floor. “I’ll take that,” she said, pulling on the notepad.

“What is this?” he asked with a chuckle.

“It’s personal,” she answered, tugging.

Ben leaned into the tug and she let go. “Convince Ben to move his tattoo festival,” he read and then looked up. “Oh come on. I already told you that’s not going to happen.”

Her cheeks hot, Blair snatched the notepad away. “I’d appreciate it if we could set a new date for it
now
, since you’re obviously short on time. When is your client coming in?”

He slouched onto a stool next to the cash register and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Three. But you’re welcome to stay. Crystal Waters—she’s my client—is totally cool with it.”

“Oh.”

What else was she supposed to say? That the idea of watching someone stick needles into another person was disgusting?

“Does the sight of blood bother you?”

Her eyes widened. “Not really, unless it’s…gushing out or something.”

He laughed. “No. Nothing like that. It’s like watching someone paint with ink.”

“Okay. So…about your festival. It’s too close to the Fourth of July. Since this is such a small town, I want to make sure there aren’t any issues with leftover tattoo crowds still hanging around the town commons area. The parade route will be tight.” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

Ben didn’t answer for a moment. He looked at Blair, his gaze traveling over her body and then back up to her face. “No, I’m not going to move Ink Fest. But since you seem so concerned, I’ll tell you what I
will
do. What I’d be more than
happy
to do.”

Ravish me?
The thought popped into Blair’s head unexpectedly, and she shoved it away. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

He grinned and rubbed at his jaw. “You’re a professional event planner.”

“Yes,” Blair said stiffly. “A damn good one.”

“Perfect. I know you agreed to give me advice, but I think I’m going to need a little more than that. I’d like to hire you as the event planner for Ink Fest.”

He’d hire her? For
Ink Fest
?

Her lips worked for a few seconds before she found her voice. “Pardon me?”

“It’s a win-win, Firefly. We have to work together anyway.” He stood up slowly and took a couple of steps toward her, stopping just short of reaching distance, but she could feel the heat of his body. She put her hands behind her back.

Her mind raced, and she looked away from him, back toward the wall, her gaze drifting until she wasn’t staring at a horrific skull. Why the hell would he want her to plan his festival? He had to have some reason besides actually
needing
a good planner.

“I don’t know anything about tattooing. Obviously. I’m sure there are plenty of other people you could contact.”

“I’m sure there are,” he agreed. “But they aren’t here in Celebration, and they aren’t already working with me. As for your lack of knowledge, I don’t care. You’ll learn. If you want to, that is.”

He leaned closer and like this morning, even though she
knew
she should pull away, she didn’t. His chest was so close to hers that if she took one deep breath, she’d be rubbing her breasts all over him.

“What do you say?” His voice was deep, and his question echoed in her mind.

What
should
she say? No, of course. Absolutely not.

But…if she was in charge of Ink Fest, she could direct him the way she wanted. Within a few days—tops—she’d have that festival moved out of the way of the parade.

And really, Ink Fest
would
be one more thing on her résumé. Companies like to see variety. They liked to see cutting-edge event planning. She could take a ton of photos—of the vendor-booth area, of the town commons all ready to go—before the scarier-looking of the tattoo people got there, of course. Like the parade contest, Ink Fest might well propel her directly into her next job.

She nodded, her head moving faster as she thought.

“Does that mean yes?” Ben asked.

She looked up at him—his lips were closer than they had been even a few seconds ago.

“Okay,” she said, giving him a small smile before taking a step back.

Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second, but then he smiled back. “Great. We’ll make sure to get Ink Fest completely cleaned up in plenty of time for the parade, okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll build it into my plans to hire a crew. And the minute it’s over, they’ll get to work. I want anything and everything tattoo-related off the town commons before the parade floats need to get staged. Can we agree on that?”

“Sure. All of this is not too much for you to handle is it?” He flicked a finger at the notebook in her hand.

“Of course not. As long as we keep it all business,” she replied, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral. He wouldn’t bring up the kiss, would he? Damn. She probably shouldn’t have alluded to it at all.

He met her gaze for a second, not moving, but then nodded. “I can agree to that. But just so you know, I’m flexible.”

With a grin, he turned before she could comment and opened his arms wide to gesture toward the tattoo area. “Come on. I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

She bet he would.

…

Humming filled the air in Skinnovations, and the sound of his tattoo machine brought a smile to Ben’s face. He curved the needle in a sweep, following the stencil as he applied a thin line of black to Crystal’s arm.

Inking someone always centered him, and he’d felt unsettled since that moment with Blair in the alley this morning. He’d felt nervous, but something else, too. Something bordering on euphoric. She had
kissed
him. There was no mistake about it—she was interested and not just a little bit. Why else would she have agreed to plan Ink Fest for him?

It was still hard to believe that she
had
agreed. Part of him was shocked, and the other part—completely relieved. He was in way over his head with that festival and even though he didn’t really know Blair…well, didn’t know her beyond a few heated conversations and even more heated kisses, he had a gut feeling that the festival was in great hands. She was a planner, through and through. She was methodical. And despite those less than exciting qualities, she was sexy as hell. Even if she wasn’t able to watch him work.

She’d given it a valiant effort, but at the first wells of blood that had seeped up on Crystal’s arm, Blair’s face had turned a bit green. That’s when he’d told her about the stacks of tattoo-festival brochures in his office, and that’s where she was right now, poring over them. Probably making copious notes.

He gave in to a chuckle and glanced down at Crystal Waters, who reclined, completely still, on the chair.

“Doing okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming. “Sure. I need a minute to adjust to the pain. Keep going.”

Ben nodded and continued to apply the outline of the tattoo on Crystal’s arm. “Breathe evenly. So, how are things at the diner?”

She blew dark bangs out of her eyes. “Same old, same old. Get up at five, open at six. Sling breakfast. Sling lunch. Prep for dinner, order supplies. Hand the keys to the night manager at six and go home to crash.” Her voice was a bit breathy. “Ow.”

“Sounds like an exciting life, Crys.”

She rolled her eyes. “Trying to tell me something, Ben? I’m not the only one who needs to get out more.”

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally. He planned to get out a lot more in the very near future, and it wasn’t wise to advertise in a town this small, but every time Blair popped into his head, he grinned. Like right now.

Crystal turned her head slightly toward him. “Oh, I see how it is. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Whatever I choose not to tell,” he said, his grin bigger. He kept his eyes on her arm, loving the organic shapes of the trees that were taking form on her biceps. “Cool choice, Crys.”

“You did a great job designing it.”

She didn’t comment further, and aside from the hum, silence filled the space. He knew that if she wanted to talk about it, she would. Some clients liked to keep their reasons to themselves and he understood that completely. His own tattoos were nobody’s business but his.

“They liked to sit in the backyard on a blanket and hold hands,” she said, her voice faltering a bit.

“Who?” But even as he asked, Ben had a pretty good idea. Crystal’s parents had been killed in a car accident about five years ago and this tattoo was probably about them.

“There were two trees in the yard. Tall old oaks and the branches were kind of tangled together,” she said. “My folks would sit under them and that’s how I like to remember them.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

“You need a break?” he asked, patting wells of blood from the curving branches.

“Not from this,” she said, taking a shuddering breath. “But in all honesty, I would like something in my life besides waiting on customers. For God’s sake, I’m only thirty years old and my best buds are the breakfast regulars from the senior center.”

Ben laughed. “I’m thirty, too. And my best bud is a senior citizen, although he’d probably wring my neck for saying that.”

“Who?” Crystal sucked in a breath. “Okay. The pain’s getting easier.”

“The guy who taught me to tattoo. Name is Grizz.” Ben applied another curving line. “He’s like a dad to me.”

“Hmm. There’s a story there, Ben. I just spilled about my parents, so tell me about yours. Keep my mind focused.”

Ben glanced toward the open office door across the room and lowered his voice. “Not much to tell. They haven’t approved of me since I decided to go to a two-year community college.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “I’d been accepted to Harvard.”

“No shit?” Crystal’s mouth dropped open a bit. “Why didn’t you go, idiot?” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. They couldn’t afford it, I guess.”

Ben focused on the outline of tiny leaves. “Oh, they could afford it. They could afford to send me and ten other people at the same time,” he muttered.

Crystal was silent for a moment. “So you’re a country-club castoff. I like you more than I did before, and that was a lot.”

“I like you, too. You and your little brother.”

“Brandon.” Crystal sighed. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Next time you see him, tell him you heard that the cops are after him.”

Ben paused, the machine in midair. “Are they?”

“No. But it will make him paranoid enough to stop and think before pulling his next stupid stunt, like sneaking a joint out by the Dumpster at the diner—in broad daylight in full view of the side street where the old ladies park for their monthly book-club meetings. We done for a sec?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “That
is
stupid. Almost like he’s trying to get caught.” Glancing at her, he noted the set of her jaw and decided not to say a word about Brandon stopping by the week before, wanting a tattoo.