Page 9 of Devilish Ink

“What exactly does that mean?” I picked up my tattoo gun from the table and fiddled with it, needing a distraction from my embarrassment.

When he didn’t respond, I looked over at him.

His gaze was distant on the exposed brick wall.

Sighing, he said, “I don’t know. I guess my skin right now is like the land where I grew up. That I’ve only just escap—”

My skin prickled. There was darkness in his past, too.

He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that it’s empty. Just these vast, untouched miles. And, well, I left there for a reason. Because I wanted…I wanted to share something with someone. I wanted a connection. I wanted to not feel like I was so alone in the nothingness.”

His gaze shifted slowly toward mine. His cheeks grew slightly pink as if he’d shared more of himself than he meant to.

I found myself leaning toward him.Wanting more. More of his voice. More of his fresh masculine scent of cut grass and wood. More ofhim.

“You’ve got heart,” he said. “You’ve got this wild, thudding, maybe a little bit crazy thing inside of you. And, well, I’d like you to share a tiny piece of it with me.Onme.”

I froze. “What?”

“Tattoo me with something that means something to you.”

That was insane.

He didn’t know me at all. And this stranger wanted me to tattoo something personal ofmeon him?

I barely showed myself to anyone.

Even Rian, my best friend, didn’t know the worst thing that ever happened to me, the thing I’d been running from for years.

But God, the way he looked at me, with his expressive hopeful eyes.

How could I say no?

He’d shared a piece of himself with me.

Was I brave enough to share myself—even a piece of myself—with this stranger?

LIAM

Rian was right. I was the worst brother in the world.

One thing had led to another. I’d gone from stalking my brother’s girlfriend to her place of work, to pretending to be a customer just to talk to her, and now I was on her table while she tattooed me…

And instead of wincing with pain, I was gettinghard.

I was like one of those eejits who kept saying just a little more, just another sip, just one more hit…until it was too late. They were addicted.

I’d barely flinched as her needle pierced my skin. It was more irritating than painful. But the vibration soon turned to a numb heat.

Then there was her nearness, the way her presence warmed my back, her fingers of her free hand rested on me as she worked, the way her arm or—God fucking help me—the sides of her soft breasts brushed against my skin, lighting me on fire.

I could lie to myself and say it was her fault. She was just too fucking sexy, too mysterious, too…haunted.

Every time our eyes met for a moment, I felt a punch in myguts like I’d leapt off a cliff, before she glanced back to her work all innocent, totally unaware of how utterly hypnotic she was.

I just lay there staring at her, fucking mesmerized.

At the way her small nose appeared perfect from every angle or the way she pursed her lips and tilted her head as she worked or the way her dark hair kept falling over her eyes, getting caught in her long lashes, before she’d tuck it back behind her perfect shell ear, a small semi-colon in black ink behind it peeking through the strands.

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