Page 8 of Mountain Challenge

A tingle went through her as he handed her the paper.Wow.Just wow.

This was unexpected. It didn’t often happen that a client brought a design that made her want to weep. The artist had used one single ink color, but by varying the angle and pressure had managed to add depth and fierceness to the trees and the mountains woven into the paper. Her hand itched to trace through the strong, bold lines. “Who drew this?” she asked sharply.

His eyebrows drew up. “I did. Why?”

“It’s … striking.”Understatement of the year. “Come inside,” she said, opening the door to her inner studio. “Let’s go through the details.”

She pulled the drawing onto the wall at the far side, lighting it up. Damn, but it was a beautiful design. Tucked inside the bold lines, she could make out two small letters. AG.Wife? Girlfriend? Focus, Isla. That bit’s none of your business. She’d learned early on not to ask too many questions. There were things she needed to know in order to do her best work, so she made sure to ask those questions. Sometimes, clients wanted to share more. That was fine. She didn’t mind silence while sheworked, but she also didn’t mind when clients wanted to chat. What she did not do—ever—was pry.

She stepped back to look at the design from further away. “You want it just like this, in black?”

He nodded. “In black, yes. Take the design as inspiration. I don’t expect you to copy it exactly.”

Isla nodded distractedly, tracing the design with her finger. The more she looked at it, the more she felt something was wrong with it. It made no sense, that something this beautiful would also look so …unbalanced.

“You’re left-handed.”

“Huh? Yes.” She cocked her head sideways, trying to get some distance from the design. To make it fit in her mind. “There’s something missing.”

His eyes opened in what looked like surprise. Then his hands moved to grab the bottom of his long-sleeved Henley, pulling it upwards. Isla forgot to breathe as his hard, ridged stomach muscles were revealed. Her hand itched to trace the golden skin, that perfect eight-pack that rippled as the shirt went higher—upwards and upwards—until his full chest was visible to her. Her mouth went dry.

Holy tat.

The rest of the tattoo—because there was no doubt in her mind that’s exactly what it was—was etched in dark ink on the left side of his chest, right over his heart. Seeing it now, the complete design, she realized the design she’d been looking at earlier was only one branch of a larger tree.

A family tree.

“It’s for my niece,” he explained. “Ava Grace. Born a couple weeks ago.”

“It’s beautiful,” Isla said sincerely, struggling to find her voice.

4

Isla

He didn’t say anything while she prepped her materials, or when she instructed him to sit on the chair.

She looked at the chair proudly. It was the Rolls Royce of tattooing chairs, one she never would have been able to afford, except Tim had been kind enough to leave it for her.No use for it myself, he’d claimed. Except she knew he could have financed months of his trip by selling it.

Ry leaned back, relaxing into the black leather. Isla allowed herself one more instant to admire that beautiful, hard upper body, keeping her gaze above his belt buckle, not wanting to ogle the hard thighs under the well-worn blue jeans.So much male beauty. But he’s a client.“Are you comfortable?” she asked, positioning the light where she needed it.

He nodded. “I’m good.”

She’d already cleaned the skin, but now she applied an alcohol prep pad to the area. Because of the existing tattoo, sheknew exactly where the new piece had to go, but she still brought out the mirror and showed him what she was going to do. Judging by the amount of work he’d had done, he knew it was going to hurt, so she didn’t bother stating the obvious.

“If it gets too uncomfortable at any point, raise your right hand. I’ll stop immediately.”

“I understand.” Those green eyes closed in a show of trust. Isla took a deep breath, steadying herself. The next instant, everything around her disappeared, leaving just her and the design in her mind, ready to be transferred to the canvas.

The proportions of the piece he’d drawn were right, but there was one part, where the new tattoo would meet the old, where she was going to have to figure out how to link them together. She loved it—the challenge, the thrill of doing something truly new. She kept her wrist straight, letting her elbow act as a hinge to ensure the outline was sharp.

Ry didn’t move a muscle throughout the process. Even his breathing remained steady as he pulled the air in through his nose and out of his mouth at a regular rate. Only the tightening of his sharp jaw hinted at the discomfort he must be feeling. But then, she’d expected him to be stoic.

When the outline was finished, she stopped and stretched out her arm, stepping back to admire the clean, crisp lines.

“You okay to keep going?” She could easily stop here and fill it in another day. A part of her hoped he’d say yes. It’d give her another excuse to see him again.

You don’t want to see him again.

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