Page 61 of The First Spark

“You can create a custom piece that quickly?” I release a low whistle. “Impressive.”

“It’s actually a list of people who tossed their names in a jar over the last month. They’re already signed up to get the work done, but there’s a waiting list. Six months, at this point. The winner jumps the line and gets their approved design inked today. Although I’d like to claim that I can sketch up a custom piece in twenty minutes, I’m notthatgood.”

“Oh yes, you are,” I volley back. “And you know you are.”

A smile creases his face, those dimples evident beneath his beard. “I meant tattooing.”

I press my hand to my chest as I plaster on my best shocked expression. “Obviously. What did you think I meant?”

He leans in, his breath at my ear. “Don’t you dare play innocent. I know how wild you are. You and that smart mouth of yours.”

No, no, no. He is not allowed to segue into sexually charged comments anymore.

But since he is, I’m standing my ground. “Didn’t hear you complaining that night.”

“Why would I? You were fabulous. But be warned. You keep sassing me, and I’ll have to put that mouth of yours to better use.”

How typical. “I’m sure you have plenty of women to fill that position.”

“That I want to hear screaming my name as I devour every inch of her?” He skews his mouth to the right, his eyes sparking fire at me. “Not at all.”

I have two options: continue down this heated path about sensual exploits or ignore his comment and move on to casual conversation.

This time, I’m playing it safe.

My heart and ego still carry bruises from the last time.

Time to turn the focus to his upcoming sexual Olympics, with at least twelve women in contention for a medal.

Taking another sip of wine, I step out from under his arm and twirl around, noting the stern glares coming from the contenders. Seems they don’t like me wasting their man’s precious time.

Tough shit, ladies. I’m hardly holding him against his will.

Maybe they fail to realize that playing too easily into Ash’s hand might render the opposite effect. Perhaps he wants to chat with someone who isn’t undressing him with their eyes and hanging on his every word.

Either way, he’s still here with me.

For whatever reason.

“I see you scoping out the place. What are you searching for—an escape route?” Ash asks, giving me a cocky grin. “There isn’t one, you know. You’re stuck.”

“Damn it. Thought I might make a quick getaway.”

“Running away from me again?”

I shrug, allowing another swallow of the spiced wine to slide down my throat. “Maybe. Sue me, okay? I’m surrounded by Asher Hammond’s hall of fame, which is not a place I ever wanted to visit. You have more trophies than the Yankees.”

Ash rubs a hand over his brow, but he doesn’t deny my claim. Why bother? We both know the truth. “Contrary to what you think, I haven’t slept withanyof these women.”

“Not yet, but that will change before the end of the night.” And that knowledge makes me sick to my stomach.

“Do I get a say in these activities, or is it preordained?”

I arch my brow at him and release a heated sigh. “Like you’d say no.”

“Jesus, what you must think of me?” A muscle ticks in Ash’s jaw as he huffs out a breath. But again, he’s hardly denying my words. “What about you? How many men do you plan to take home tonight?”

I sputter my wine, wiping the stray drop from my lips. “How about none?” I gesture down the length of my bodybefore meeting his stare. “I reserve these curves for a select few.”

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