Page 6 of Mountain Challenge

“Hello?” he asked, his tone wary. She suddenly realized this wasn’t the first time he’d spoken. He’d been trying to get her attention.While you were staring at him, like a fool.

He must think she was simple. She put on what she hoped was a professional smile and quickly ushered him inside to where the couple was sitting.

“I’ll get you the forms to fill out,” she said, finally finding her voice and addressing the three of them together. “While you wait, feel free to look through the album for inspiration.”

3

Ry

Ry looked around at the small waiting room. It was different from other tattoo studios he’d been to over the years. He remembered the tattoo studio back home, in Perth, where he’d gotten his first tattoo. A traditional, no-frills establishment, with black walls, colorful art pinned on the walls and a strong smell of antiseptic.

He sniffed the air. He guessed that was one similarity, though here there was something else in the air as well, something almost floral. The space was cozy, welcoming, with light-colored walls and no pinned drawings in sight. Instead, art was displayed in elegant frames, highlighting the tattoo artist’s talent.

And the manwastalented. Just looking at the designs, Ry knew he’d been right to trust Gael and come here, rather than driving all the way to Annecy to the studio he used to visit before his PGHM team moved to Chamonix.

Ry turned to look at the couple who’d walked in ahead of him. They were both young, really young, and looked nervous. Maybe it was their first tattoo. He leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee, knowing this might take a while. His first time, he’d been sixteen. It’d taken him three weeks to gather the courage to walk inside the store, and then a further two weeks to settle on the design he wanted. He’d been a pimply pain in the ass, full of questions and misconceptions, but the tattoo artist had been nothing but kind and professional, making it clear no needle would touch his skin until Ry was one hundred percent certain of what he wanted.

He glanced at the door to the inner studio, which hadn’t opened once since they’d come in. Apparently he was happy to let the young receptionist do most of the work.

Now that she was busy talking to the couple, Ry allowed his gaze to fall back on the woman. He was finding it hard to take his eyes off her. Which was odd, because she wasn’t his type at all. He usually went for tall, voluptuous women, women he wouldn’t crush in bed by mistake. This woman was the exact opposite. About his age, or maybe a couple of years younger, dressed simply in jeans, a black T-shirt and well-worn black boots. She looked comfortable in her skin, confident, and absolutely unconcerned with what anybody else might think. Her hair, dark with blue streaks, fell to her chin in the front but was shorter around the back. There had to be a name for that cut, though damned if Ry knew what it was. Her hair looked soft. Perhaps the only soft thing about her, when the rest of her looked sharp, almost elfin. His gaze moved to her heart-shaped mouth—and those plump lips that looked like they should be painted in bright red, but instead were the softest shade of pink. Another contradiction. Fuck, but she was pretty.

She was talking to the couple, her expression carefully neutral as they described matching sculptures of hearts, roses and thorns.

Ry sighed, settling back to wait. He should have known better than to come in on Valentine’s Day. But he was off work tonight, and there was a gap in his heart that waited to be filled. It was hard enough, living so far away from his family, and the family tree tattooed on his upper chest made him feel closer to them—a visual reminder of the enduring bond that time and distance couldn’t shatter.

Except it was incomplete—had been incomplete since the birth of his baby niece, Ava Grace, two weeks earlier. His sister’s child and, according to Ry’s mother, the most beautiful child in the world. Ry was tempted to agree. He couldn’t wait to meet her in person but, until he could fly there in a few months’ time for his vacation, this would have to do. The design he’d drawn the day his niece was born burned a hole in his pocket. He couldn’t wait to have her initials on his skin. His family, complete again, close to his heart.

He went through the form quickly. No surprise in the first few questions, though they got a bit more interesting half-way down.What are the motives behind the piece? What would you like to transmit or say with it?

A sharp voice made him look up from his writing. The discussion between the young man and the receptionist was getting heated. After years of living in France, Ry’s French was excellent, but he didn’t think he’d be able to speak half as fast as the man was talking—in any language.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said calmly. Her French r’s sounded guttural to Ry’s ear. If he had to guess, he’d say Belgian, but he couldn’t be sure. “If you don’t have ID to show you’re eighteen, I’m going to need this form filled in by your parents ortutors. I can leave copies with you for you to bring back when you’re ready.”

Right. These two were nowhere near eighteen.Sixteen, tops. Maybe younger.

The young girl grasped her boyfriend’s hand, her expression beseeching, her body language clear. She wanted to get out of there. For a moment, it seemed to Ry the young man softened to his date’s unspoken request. Then something hard entered his eyes, and he straightened his bony shoulders, taking a step forward into the receptionist’s personal space.

Ry tensed.

Wrong choice, asshole.

To her credit, the woman stood her ground, though the young man towered over her. Her expression still calm, she raised her chin to meet the young man’s eyes. “If you prefer to come back with ID another day, that’s also?—“

“We want to get the tattoos today,” the man whined, getting even closer to the receptionist’s personal space. “We’re not leaving until you do them.”

Ry looked at the closed door, wondering why the hell her boss wasn’t coming out to help.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen.” For the first time, a note of frustration entered her voice. “Not until I see ID for both of you, or get the signed parental authorization.”

“Écoute, salope,” the boy hissed.So many words for slut in French. Ry wasn’t above swearing—hell, he came from Perth. He’d read once the average Sandgroper dropped fourteen profanities per day, and he was pretty sure he did better than that most days. But he didn’t swear at women, and he certainly didn’t threaten them or allow other people to do so in his presence.

He stood to his full height, towering over the juvenile jerk.See how you like this. “Is there a problem?”

Isla

Isla almost jumped at the growled question. She’d forgotten about the sexy stranger.

She snuck a look at him—yes, he was still hot, even hotter now that he looked pissed off. He didn’t say anything else, but glared at the teenager with a look that would have made Isla quake if it’d been directed at her.

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