Page 10 of Lock 'em Down

I look up at him. Fear, excitement, desire flooding my senses.

Where the hell are we? Am I really going to follow a man I just met through a random, unmarked door in Vegas?

For a heartbeat, that night from Barcelona, the one that changed the course of my life, reverberates in my mind. Levi and the cocaine and the pictures… I shake my head.

Leif waits for my response. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with those mesmerizing eyes and pure patience. Like he would wait all night.

“Sure,” I say, taking a leap of faith.

Then, Leif leads me through the door, and it closes behind us.

We move through a heavy curtain into another area. My heart gallops and I pinch Leif’s fingers. Sensing my unease, he wraps his arm around my waist, banding me to his side.

When we emerge on the other side of the curtain, the bright light assaults my eyes and I blink rapidly.

A buzzing sound rattles in my eardrums. I look around.

“This is a tattoo parlor!” I announce.

Leif smirks. “Yeah. I know it’s not conventional, but Marco mixes a good fucking cocktail.” He flips his chin toward a guy behind a bar, concocting something in a shaker. Two women and a man hang out in front of the bar, talking casually. “And I’ve been meaning to roll through.” Leif bumps his shoulder against mine. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

“Of course,” I say. What the fuck are we doing? I do not voice that.

“Laid-back Leif,” a large dude says, moving toward us.

Leif drops his hold on my fingers to do some bromance shake with this large, towering man. “What’s good, Skip?”

Skip shakes his head and laughs. “Hey, little mama.” He holds out his fist to me.

I pound it.

“You getting a piece tonight, too?” Skip asks me.

“I, um, say that again?” I try to process his question.

Skips laughs, while Leif grins and wraps that strong arm around me again.

I try not to be too obvious as I melt into his side.

“Nah, tonight, I want to finish mine,” Leif explains.

Skip guffaws. “Tonight? I love how you think I’d have nothing else going on.”

Leif glances around the chill space. Turns back toward Skip. “Can you fit me in, Skippy?”

Skip flashes him the middle finger. “Don’t fucking call me peanut butter.”

I grin. Leif laughs.

“And I always got time for you, you fucker,” Skip continues, turning toward his station.

Leif and I follow and Leif leans against the tattoo table.

“Wait, you’re getting a tattoo?” I ask.

Skip snorts and Leif’s grin widens. He pulls off his shirt and I inhale sharply. Jesus, the man is all muscle!

His shoulders are broad and strong. His pecs could do a damn dance. His abs comprise a literal washboard. Corded ropes for veins in those strong forearms. But his back, his back makes me audibly groan.

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