Seven Years of Bad Luck (10 page)

“Well, you wear it well.”

“Thank you for coming to get us. This whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. We didn’t mean to get into a bar brawl, but those women just came up to us looking for trouble and then—” He stopped me from speaking any further by placing his hand just beneath my jaw and tilting my head back until I was forced to look him in the face.

“When you speak to me, you should look at me in the face, Kathleen.”

And here’s Mr. I’m-so-damn-cocky-and-full-of-myself!

I quickly moved to a different subject as he lightly stroked his thumb across my chin before his hand fell away, and I felt a tiny ache at the loss. His mesmerizing blue-green eyes stayed locked on mine in a way that made me feel naked and exposed before him. “Why do you call me Kathleen? Everyone calls me Kat. Only one person calls me Kathleen.” It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“It’s your given name. I’ll call you by it. Who is the one person who shares my opinion about this subject?”

Oh, you two share a lot more than just an opinion about my name.

I could tell these two men were exactly the same. Handsome, successful, arrogant, self-absorbed jerks who probably went through more women in one month than a gynecologist. I glanced down again, staring at the nail polish covered toe nails that barely stuck out of the front of my peep toe heels. Ben immediately grasped my chin again, tilting my head back up to look him in the face. “I told you Kathleen that you should always look me in the eye.” His voice was lower this time and held a menacing undertone. I jerked my jaw from his grasp and scowled.

“And what if I choose not to do as you say? Would you just boss me around some more? What are you really going to do?”

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest. Then in less time it takes to blink, he had my back to the wall. He caged me in with his amazing body. My breathing caught in my throat when I realized that his body was pinning my lower half. He rolled his hips into mine, and a current shot through my body, ending in my groin, where my steadily building arousal was in full swing. My body was humming with need. He gazed at me for a moment with a wild look in his eyes. His nose was just a hair’s breadth from mine. I was panting and wanton in his grip. His lips appeared so full and soft. I wanted his mouth on me more than I wanted anything else. He broke our silent stare-down and leaned forward, placing his lips just slightly against my ear and whispered. “You won’t want to find out. Goodnight.” He stepped back, releasing me from the wall, slipped his hands into his pockets, and walked casually back to the elevator into which he disappeared.

Holy shit!

When I made it inside my apartment, I was still reeling over the things Ben had said and done and slightly pissed off that he walked away from me when I so clearly wanted more. I somehow managed to sidestep Cheyenne’s barrage of questions by giving her the gift that I safely stowed beneath my bed and telling her the short version of my story about Ben. She loved the book, but she loved my story more. She sat and listened, never wiping the smirk off of her face once. I couldn’t blame her. We both enjoyed a glass of wine and toasted to get-out-of-jail-free cards, overly handsome strangers and memorable birthdays. I went to bed with thoughts of the gorgeous, bossy book thief swirling in my head.

I woke sometime in the early morning after our night out of starting fights and going to jail. I was panting heavily, and my body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. My legs quivered, my heart was racing, and my clit was pulsing ferociously, demanding attention. After catching my breath, I huffed and flopped back down on my pillows and did my best to silence my eager body’s demands for sex… with Ben.

Is this what it’s come to? Wet dreams starring Ben?

Monday, May 20th, 2013. Day 223 since Aidan. I woke early to prepare myself for my interviews. The first interview was that morning, and the second one was in the afternoon, so I would have a couple of hours to burn between the two. I decided to stop by a few tattoo parlors in my spare time, so I made sure to bring my sketches along with me. I wore a navy pencil skirt that rested at the knee, coupled with an ivory-colored, cap-sleeved blouse that flared at the hip and a pair of new taupe-colored high heels. The heels were torture devices, but Cheyenne insisted that they completed the look; her words. I wore pearl stud earrings, and my matching pearl pendant necklace. My fingers were bare of any rings, which reminded me of my single status. All that remained of my wedding band was a faint tan line, and I wondered when it would finally disappear.

My first interview went fine, I suppose, but I was less than impressed with the pay and benefits they were offering. Not to mention the lawyer who interviewed me gave me the creeps. I decided that if they called me back I would decline the offer. I had time to burn after the interview with the creepy lawyer, so I made my way to the nearby coffee shop and decided to use my laptop to gather information about local tattoo artists and parlors. If there was one thing I was very good at, it was research and gathering information. It was why I was quite good at my job. I sat outside of the coffee shop at a small table and accessed their internet connection to begin my search. I was caught off guard when an attractive black man began talking to me. I had seen him when I took a seat at my own table. He sat at the table behind me and had a clear view of my computer screen.

“Looking for a tattoo artist?” His deep voice caused me to jerk, and I swiftly turned to face him.

“It’s rude to snoop on people, you know? But yes I am looking for the best artist this town has to offer. Do you have any recommendations?”

The man smiled at me before he spoke again. “Well I know who the best is. It’s Tuck.” He spoke as if I would know who this Tuck person was.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “Tucker Barrett. He is the best. May I?” The man motioned his hand towards the empty seat at my table, and I nodded, giving my permission to join me. He sat at my table and began unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“What are you doing?” I squeaked out while my eyes flitted around us to see how many onlookers were staring at our table.

“I’m showing you the best.” Just then the man opened his shirt allowing me to view his tattoo. “This is Tuck’s work. He is the best, but he stays booked months out, and being the best, he charges a pretty penny.”

“Wow. That’s beautiful,” I mumbled. I gazed at the man’s tattoo and admired the exquisite work. It covered half of his chest and wrapped over his should and extended down his bicep and forearm. It was an intricate tribal design. There was no denying whoever this Tucker person was his work was indeed the best. The man gave me the name and address where I could find the artist, and I thanked him before he left the coffee shop. I continued sipping on my latte and decided to Google this Tucker person, but before I could clear the search and start a new one I heard a familiar voice from behind me.

“I wouldn’t picture you as being the tattooed type Kathleen.” I spun around and placed my hand above my brows to shield my eyes from the sun while I stared up at Ben from my seat. He was dressed in an outfit very similar to the one he wore when I first saw him at Book Ends. He looked good enough to eat.

“You know, Ben, I am beginning to think this town is not as big as I thought.” He smiled while he made his way around me and sat at my table without bothering to ask.

“Why sure, Ben, please, do sit.” I rolled my eyes at his presumptive rudeness. I mentally noted that the old me was making appearances more and more often. I loved it.

“I come here for coffee often. May I remind you that you are the new kid in town? It’s not my fault you chose to come to the same coffee shop that I frequent.” I groaned at his taunting words.

“So, tattoos?”

“No Ben, I was only doing some research… for a friend.”

“A friend? I see.”

“Well, I would love to sit and entertain you, but I have to get going. I have an interview in a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have to get a job at some point. I had an interview this morning, I have one this afternoon, and I have another tomorrow.” He smiled at me and slightly nodded his head while he sat across from me with his arms folded comfortably across his muscular chest. I couldn’t help wonder why he had a look in his eyes that told me he was refraining from saying something. I had no clue what it might be and quite frankly didn’t really care… much. I stood and began walking away from him, then froze when my curiosity got the best of me.

“Oh, Ben, one more thing; who was your someone special? Who were you buying the book for?” His features went completely serious, and I instantly regretted asking him.

Stupid curiosity!

“I’m looking at her. I gave you the book didn’t I? I saw you. I wanted to talk to you. The opportunity presented itself. I went with it.” He shrugged, then stood up and walked towards where I stood with a stunned expression on my face. He grasped my chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted my head until my eyes met his smoldering blue-green gaze. His thumb stroked a slow path across my bottom lip while I got lost in his all-consuming eyes.

“Someone special.” He whispered for just me to hear. His hand brushed down my arm then fell away as he walked casually away from me. I stood there dazed and utterly shocked for a long moment before I was able to gather myself enough to finally leave.

Well, Kat, at least you now know where to find Ben, the disgustingly-sexy-and-seriously-lacking-fundamental-manners book thief… just in case you get a wild hair and decide to act out one of those dreams.

I had to shake my head at my private thoughts.

I walked into the tattoo parlor, which was called ‘The Ink Well,’ and began looking around. It had a very vintage feel to it and reminded me of Fred’s shop. The floors were waxed to a high-gloss shine and were checkered black and white. There were a few red patent leather and chrome chairs near the entrance. There were six work stations, each of which had a pendant light fixture with a red shade hanging down. Only one tattoo artist was sitting at his station, concentrating on his task which appeared to be some sort of sketch.

Without looking up from his work he spoke to me. “Can I help you?” His head stayed bowed, concentrating on his art.

“Um, yes, I’m looking for an artist named Tucker.” The man suddenly stopped what he was doing and lifted his head to look at me.

“I’m sure you are lady,” he scoffed at me and returned his eyes to his work.

“Pardon me? What’s that supposed to mean? I was told he is the best around so I’m here to speak with him.” I crossed my arms over my chest and kicked out one foot with attitude. The man once again lifted his head from his work and looked at me with a cynical look on his face.

“Lady, listen, you don’t really look like someone who is here for a tat from Tuck, so what is it you want?” I was becoming impatient with this man.

“Listen, man, you don’t know me from Adam, and you’re only judging me based on my clothing. I am, in fact, here to see about getting a tattoo, and I was told he is the best. The work I want done will only be done by the best or not at all. I won’t settle for less. This shit is permanent, you know!” The man quirked an eyebrow at me and grinned, then let out a body-shuddering laugh as he leaned forward clutching his stomach.

“What the hell is so funny?” I shouted. The man was still laughing at me when I saw someone walk into the shop from the back, out of the corner of my eye. The man halted as soon as he saw me, and my jaw hit the floor. The man who was laughing at me slowly stopped and swiped at his eyes to clear out the tears of laughter.

“Hey, Tuck. This lady here wants to talk to you about some ink. Can you believe that?” The man erupted into more laughter while I stood and stared at the man he called ‘Tuck.’ Tucker was the handsome stranger from the bar who stopped our fight and dragged Cheyenne out of the place.

“You!” I said pointing a finger at him. He looked back at me and spoke for the first time.

“Me.” His voice was gravelly and low. The artist who had again stopped laughing at me glanced at Tucker, then to me, then back to Tucker.