Page 68 of The First Spark

Not that I’m entirely surewhyAsh is so damn aggravated.

“That’ll do it,” Braden proclaims. “The ink stays on the skin for several days, but the more you wash the area, the faster it fades. I’m off to grab a drink. See you later, Ori.”

I trace a finger along my arm, careful not to smudge the still tacky ink. “Thanks for the lily.”

Ash sinks into his brother’s vacated chair and reaches for my arm, a grimace creasing his features. “At least it’s temporary.”

What an odd sentiment from a tattoo artist, especially when the design in question is high quality.

“Braden is very talented and I’ve considered getting a tattoo. This seems like a good spot for one and a flower is so delicate and feminine?—”

“No.”

My eyes search out Ash’s, shocked by his forceful reply. “Excuse me?”

Ash shrugs, as if his demand is the most normal response in the world. “Some women are born to wear ink. Others aren’t.”

I stiffen at his insinuation, jerking my gaze to the floor as a surge of anger shoots through me. “And I’m the latter, I suppose.”

“Exactly.” He slides a finger beneath my chin, tipping my head up. “You’re perfect, just as you are. You don’t need any of this.”

What Asher Hammond doesn’t realize is he just gave me the greatest compliment of my life. I’ve always opted to blend into the background, seeking safety in the shadows. That a man like Ash, with throngs of women clamoring for his attention, considers me the ideal, is mind-boggling.

It’s also turned on a very different emotion—one that involves a dimly lit basement and our favorite couch.

A flush climbs my cheeks as his fingers make meandering circles along my inner wrist. “Can’t say that’s a very good business plan for the owner of a tattoo parlor.”

Ash grins, his sex on a stick dimple at the ready. “Maybe that’s because I want a different kind of business with you.”

Yes, please. In every language.

Okay, under normal circumstances, I would never ask a man out again when he’s already shot me down once, but this isn’t a normal situation.

There’s no way Ash doesn’t feel something for me, even if most of that feeling is below the waist.

Not after spouting that indescribably romantic line.

Ash grabs a gauze pad and piece of plastic film, placingit over my newly acquired skin art. “Don’t want it to smudge.”

“Yes, you do. You want it gone,” I tease.

He offers another shrug as he pulls my sleeve down to cover my arm. “Braden is right. The ink really pops on your fair skin.”

“Does that mean you’ve adopted a new stance on me and tattoos?”

“Not at all.”

I lean my arms on the table and suck in a deep breath, fully prepared to make a fool of myself again. “Think I can steal you away for a minute?”

Ash matches my posture, our faces mere inches apart. “What do you have in mind?”

“Food.”

“Damn, I thought you had a different idea entirely.” He leans back against his chair and strokes a hand along his jaw. “I just got back from that wine bar you mentioned, but I’ll go again.”

A furrow creases my brow. “You already went?”

Maybe he went looking for me, since I’d mentioned I would be there.

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