We’re going to be here a couple of hours, so I figure she wants to keep the phone handy in case whoever texted needs to contact her again.
“No worries. Everything okay?”
She seems distracted, but fixes a smile on her face and nods. “Yeah, absolutely. Nothing to worry about.”
Discretely, I check out her left hand. Is she married? There isn’t a ring on her finger, but do I see the faintest line of white? Perhaps it’s just the light.
I tear my gaze away from her. I need to concentrate. The last thing I want is to mess up and have a client put in a complaint against me. It won’t only look bad on me, it’ll reflect badly on the whole studio.
I care about the tattoo studio,Carved in Ink. Art had taken a chance on me by giving me a job when many wouldn’t. The trouble I’d got into when I’d been younger had been a red flag to most, even when I’d been desperate to start afresh and lead a decent life. People don’t seem to understand that if you’ve been in trouble, it’s like a vicious circle. Even when you want to get out of it, no one will even give you an interview, meaning you have little choice but to fall back on the crime that got you into trouble in the first place. Art had seen a spark of talent in me and allowed me to develop my skills, offering nothing but support and encouragement, despite having problems of his own to deal with. My boss put absolutely everything he had into the shop, and I’m not about to start messing things up for him. This place almost burned down a few months back. The whole studio has been refurbished since the fire, which almost ended in tragedy. But the shop came back better and stronger than ever.
I turn my attention back to the job at hand.
“So, going on the pictures you sent me, I drew up what you wanted. It’s on the computer, so I can alter the size as you want, and I’m always happy to freehand any changes as well. What do you think?”
I spin the computer screen around so she can see my work.
3
HOLLY
The tattoo Kane shows me is absolutely stunning.
A beautiful koi fish in red, orange, and yellow looks as though it’s moving across the screen, droplets of water splashing from its fins and tail. It isn’t a copy of any one of the pictures I’d emailed, but a completely new one all of my own. No one else will have this exact tattoo.
My nerves fall away. “My God, Kane. It’s gorgeous. You drew that?”
He grins and rakes his hand through his hair. A habit of his, I think, just from the small amount of time I’ve spent with him.
“Sure did.”
“It’s incredible. So lifelike. Will it look the same as the tattoo?”
“Pretty much. Some of the colours may appear a little duller over time, but otherwise it will be the same.”
The thought of having such beautiful artwork on my skin lifts something inside me. It’s both exotic and elegant. It makes me feel as though I’m a more daring type of person than the dull woman approaching middle age, which is how I’ve come to think of myself more and more these days.
“You want any changes made?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. I want it exactly how you’ve drawn it. Every single detail.”
A smile spreads across his face. From my words? The thought makes my breath catch. I thought he was good-looking when I first saw him, but something about his smile makes him striking. But he’s far too young for me, and besides, I’m supposed to be a responsible adult and am not the sort of lithe twenty-one-year-old I imagine guys like Kane go for.
“And you still want it done on your hip?”
I nod. “Yes, I haven’t changed my mind from the emails I sent you.”
“Hop up on the bed then,” he tells me as he turns away to prepare inks in a cart on wheels. He glances back over his shoulder. “You’ll need to be on your side, and roll down your jeans enough to expose the area where the tattoo is going to go.”
Dammit. I hadn’t considered that I’m going to need to roll down my jeans in front of this guy. Okay, I hadn’t considered that the tattoo artist was going to be ridiculously hot, or maybe I would have done.
Shit, shit, shit.
It isn’t as though I can suddenly change my mind now and decide I want the tattoo on my shoulder or something. I’ve always been one hundred percent sure I want it on my hip.
I don’t have any choice but to do as he instructed. I tell myself he’s like a doctor, impartial, having seen far too much skin for it to have any effect on him anymore. And besides, he’s the kind of guy who probably has nubile twenty-year-olds hanging off his every word. He won’t be bothered about seeing the hip of a thirty-something-year-old woman.
I undo the top button of my jeans, wishing I’d worn something a little baggier, and pull down the material as much as I dare. I don’t want to flash Kane my knickers, especially as they’re one of my more sensible pairs from Marks and Spencer,rather than my sexy ones from a local lingerie shop. He’s busy, preoccupied with getting everything ready. This is his job. He’s a professional, and I need to remember that.
