Page 42 of The First Spark

My hand reaches out to smack him against the back of his skull before my brain can even contemplate why. “I said, shut the fuck up about Ori.”

“Leave it alone, Zane.” As usual, Braden steps into his role as the official peacekeeper of the shop.

“Whatever,” Zane replies, his mouth set in a tight line.

“Hey Ash,” Braden says, pointing toward his office. “I need your opinion on my custom piece. Want to take a look?”

Cracking my knuckles, I roll my shoulders and follow Braden to the back of the shop, catching Zane’s glower as I pass.

Once inside my brother’s office, I collapse into a chair with a loud exhale.

“You okay?” Braden inquires, leaning against the desk.

I shrug. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Judging by his expression, my brother doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. “You sure about that? I know Zane’s a little crass, but you don’t normally take his head off like that.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes squeezed shut as if that alone could stop the aggravation from spilling over. “Idon’t appreciate the shit Zane said about Ori. He doesn’t know her.”

“And you do?”

Must be my brother’s turn to tread on thin ice.

“Not you too, man.”

Braden shakes his head and gives me a light punch in the arm. “Nah, it’s not my business, although Zane is right. Oriana is a beauty. Wicked smart, too.”

Does he think I overlooked those parts of her after spending hours locked in her arms?

I scowl at Braden, but his grin only widens at my obvious discomfort over this topic.

Brothers. Can’t live with ‘em, illegal to bury them in a shallow, unmarked grave.

“Just saying. You could do way worse than a woman of that caliber.”

“Nothing happened.” I grit out the words, my patience at its end. If Braden refuses to change the direction of our conversation, I’ll steer the train off the damn track.

Grabbing his tablet, I scan over the intricate floral and vine design.

Gotta hand it to my brother—he’s a genius with floral blackwork shading.

“My client has real pale skin, so it’s going to pop,” Braden remarks.

I know someone else with pale skin. But she doesn’t have any ink. I should know. I saw every inch of her last night.

She doesn’t need it. Her body is its own work of art.

Every inch of Oriana Thorne is luscious fruit—delicious, tempting, and fucking forbidden after last night.

No matter how much my dick and mind hate the concept.

Braden nudges me, snapping me from my thoughts. “What do you think? Yes or no? It works, right?”

I toss down the tablet and release an aggravated grunt. “Will you stop asking about last night? There is nothing between Oriana and me. Case closed.”

Braden grabs the tablet, closing out the drawing app. “I meant my design. But now I know whereyourhead is at.”

I surviveanother fifteen minutes before Oriana once again pervades my brain, dancing around my thoughts like a siren beckoning me to the depths.

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