Page 4 of Devilish Ink

I frowned. He was obviously fishing for my name. But if he’d been sent by Balor, he’d already know it.

Come to think about it, why bother with all this…pretence? Why pretend to be a customer? Why not just grab me?

“What kind of tattoo?” I said, suspicion lining my tone.

He grinned and for a split second I was blindsided. It was a glorious grin, wide and showing off his straight white teeth, crinkled his expressive green eyes.

“I thought maybe you could pick.”

My mind short circuited. That never happened. A customer giving their artist free reign was the holy grail for any tattoo artist. Usually it was,I want three roses in this pattern with this exact shade of pink, five leaves and a realistic-looking skull.

Neveryou pick.

For a moment I wished hewasan actual customer.

I shook my head.Focus, Ry.

“Really?” I said. “You want me to pick.”

“Yes. Where would you put it?” he asked.

I crossed my arms. Ha-ha. Got him. Nobody wants a tattoo that someone else picks. “Isn’t that a question I should be askingyou?”

He shot me that bashful grin again and shrugged. “You’re the expert.”

I snatched up my tattoo gun, I held it in front of me, ready tostab at him if he lunged for me. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was all I had. I braced for him to lunge at me. But he just stood there, seemingly happy to keep smiling at me.

He waved his finger at my gun, pointed at him like a pistol. “Is this part of your…artistic process?” He sounded so fucking sincere, I almost dropped my tattoo gun.

“Your back is broad,” I blurted out. “It’d look good on your back.”

His grin turned into a smirk. “You noticed that, huh?”

To my utter surprise, I blushed. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was blushing at my own damn stalker and would-be kidnapper.

“Take off your shirt and get on your stomach then.” I pointed with my tattoo gun to the tattoo chair farthest away from the door.

I eyed his movements. It was now or never. If he was going to grab me, it’d be now…

Instead he chuckled. “Normally, I’d expect dinner before I took off my clothes.” Then he winked at me. My would-be kidnapper,winkedat me.

Was heflirting with me?

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up next to mine by the pegs up along the left wall, looking back to give me a quizzical look as he nodded at one of Rachel’s pink feather boas that was draped on one of the hooks. “You moonlight as a burlesque dancer?”

Underneath his jacket he wore a casual plaid button-up shirt rolled up at the sleeves that clung to his shoulders. My mouth went dry as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.

Holy shite, he was built as fuck. I gaped at the smooth plains of his firm chest, his bleedin’ eight-pack and those thick V muscles that disappeared into the tops of his low-slung jeans. I heard a choking noise before I realised it was coming from me. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, did he carry bricks for a living?

No, my sarcastic inner voice said,he kidnaps girls for a living.

I backed up as he walked through the centre of the room, my eyes mesmerised by the way his back muscles rippled—fucking rippled—as he walked.

He went straight to the leather table I’d indicated.

I stood there holding the tattoo gun staring with my mouth open like an idiot. I snapped my jaw shut.Ry, stop it.I did not need to be confusing my kidnapper for a love interest.

He picked up something from the headrest that clanked and held it up.

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