Page 104 of The Tattoo Artist

I can’t do it again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ARES NICOLAIDES

TWO YEARS AGO

WAITING FOR ADONIS WAS NOT HOW I PLANNED to spend my evening; he just had to forget his stupid bus pass. I keep telling him it’s time for him to get a license, but he always shoots back with his trademark ‘all in due time, brother’ line. So instead, he said he’d come by the library since I had to pick Joey up too.

As I walk through the automatic doors, I catch sight of her standing there, shuffling books on her desk. I keep forgetting that she works here. Alexandra Jones.

Her head raises, and our eyes lock.

She’s always had beautiful eyes, and the way she uses them... well, let’s just say my body reacts in ways I can’t control.

“Are you stalking me?” She asks, her voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Hang on.

Rewind back to the present.

“Excuse me?” I respond, trying to mask the sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through me.

“You’re always here when I am,” she continues, her gaze unwavering. “So, tell me, are you stalking me?” She has got to be joking, right? She cannot be serious.

I furrow my brows in confusion. “Why would I stalk someone like you?” I retort, unable to hide the hint of amusement in my voice.

“Why wouldn’t you?” She counters.

“Because I just wouldn’t want to.” I reply, a smile spreads across her face.

“I like you Ares Nicolaides.”

“And I don’t like you, Alexandra Jones.”

“You’re different, weird…but different.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” I question.

She shakes her head slowly, a rueful smile playing at the corners of her lips. “No, no it isn’t,” she confesses, her gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ALEXANDRA JONES

HE ENTERS THE CARPARK, HIS CAR EFFORTLESSLEY parking withing the marked bays. “Are we going to talk about what happened? In the market?” He just stares ahead of him, and I could tell it was something about our past. The way he acted in the market, it were as if he had lost me before. The fear in his eyes were indescribable, and it isn’t something I ever want to see again. “Ares?”

“Alexandra, please, I don’t want to speak about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

I slowly take his hands in mine, interlocking our fingers. “Does it have something to do about what happened?”

I should probably let it go, but there’s a relentless curiosity burning within me. Especially after discovering my memory loss, being kept in the dark for so long. I refuse to be in the dark again. I want him to open up, to share his thoughts and emotions with me. Men don’t always understand how much women tend to overthink, how we analyse every detail until it drives us crazy.

Ares exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping as he finally turns to face me, shaking his head slightly. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, but I can’t let it go that easily.

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