Page 17 of Devilish Ink

It was easier once I covered the artwork with a large swath of plastic. I could convince myself I was adhering medical tape to just another random man’s back.

He wasn’t the first guy I’d tattooed with attractive muscles.

If I spoke like a robot going through the aftercare instructions, it was all the better.

I’d been too forward with him anyway. Sent too many signals I never should have sent. The way I leaned so close to him, accidentally brushing against him, the way I touched him… I’d wanted a reaction. I’d played a dangerous game.

And lost. Best not to make things worse.

“It’ll be sore for a few days,” I said, letting my voice form the words mechanically, “but the tenderness should fade quickly, especially if you don’t aggravate it.”

He watched my fingers as they absentmindedly trailed over him even after I’d secured the bandage.

I snatched my hands from him, my cheeks flaring hot.

I spun around to hide my shame. “I’m going to give you a little tube of ointment to take with you.”

I walked over to the rack of drawers along the left wall to collect some things, fingers shaking as I put the aftercare items in a small plastic bag. I forced my breaths to slow.

Fine. I was fine. Soon he’d be gone and I’d be safe…

I turned and bumped right into him, his bare chest against mine, the sudden proximity robbing me of my breath.

I’d been this close to him for several hours now. But this was different.

The intensity of his eyes with no barrier between him and me: not the crook of his elbow, not the vibrating gun between us, not the reflection of a mirror. His heartbeat directly against mine.

His gaze dropped to my lips.

I parted them on an inhale.

The way he looked at me like he’d been holding himself back for too long and could take it no longer, his eyes burning, almost angry. The searing warmth of his naked skin against my suddenly all too thin shirt, like tissue paper against a flame. The way he inhaled like someone who just realised he’d slipped off a cliff and there was no possible way now to stop himself from falling.

He was going to kiss me.

My core ached. Fuck. I really wanted him to kiss me.

My heart seized in my chest as he reached for me…reached past me to grab his shirt. The brush of his flannel shirt against my forearm felt like steel wool.

Could he see my disappointment? Could he sense in the way I lowered my eyes a little too quickly that I’d expected something more? Feared it, yet wanted it? Prayed it didn’t happen, but begged for it to be true?

“I’ll probably be needing this,” Lee said, holding the shirt between us like it was an apology.

I forced a smile. “Of course. It’s cold out there.”

He winced as he tried to shrug it on but his fresh tattoo was restricting his movements.

He gave me a sheepish look. “Do you mind?”

He handed me his shirt and turned around, presenting hisentire back to me. Fuck, his body was beautiful. Thick muscles like the rolling Irish hills on a wide V shape, lats I could hang off, his jeans showcasing his round ass.

I fought the urge to lick the entire length of his spine and helped him shrug on his shirt then his jacket, heat rising up my arms as my fingers brushed his warm smooth skin.

I was still staring when he turned, his fingers working the buttons of his shirt from bottom to top.

He smirked. “Wanna help me button it up, too?”

I scowled and stomped over to the main counter, hiding my burning cheeks.

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