Page 54 of Illicit Illustration

In my experience, there were only a few ways people reacted during a session. This woman was one of the nervous ramblers who would not stop talking—or, in her case, relentlessly flirting—the entire session because the adrenaline and endorphins turned them into motormouths. My favorite were the ones who came in nervous but then promptly fell asleep as soon as the initial rush wore off.

Then there was a special third type that turned the stress hormone rush into another kind of hormone rush and wanted to fuck me after we were done. Those were the ones I was most dreading because I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. Unless I happened to be tattooing a certain feisty redhead that I couldn’t keep from invading my every waking thought.

“Now that you’re almost done, I was wondering if…” the woman in the chair’s voice had suddenly dropped lower as I finished up the last few details on her piece, wiping away the excess ink and setting my equipment on the nearby cart.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I cut her off, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. “I’ll send home a sheet of care instructions and some healing balm for you to use. As long as you keep it clean and dry so it can heal, you don’t need to worry about coming back in here again.”

“That’s so kind of you,” she cooed, placing her hand on my arm again and brushing her thumb across the edge of my wrist. And instead of my brain deciding it was horny and things perking up inside my jeans, I felt nothing. Not a damn fucking thing. “But I was hoping…”

A flash of movement outside the door to my private room had the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, and my eyes kept flitting between where my hands were smoothing the bandage over the fresh ink on this woman’s hip and trying to figure out who was out there.

The door was cracked open since we weren’t super busy this afternoon, but I also liked to leave the door partially open when I had women clients, so they didn’t feel trapped in a small room with a strange man.

“I’m booked out several months in advance right now, but if you had any other pieces in mind, Gray would be happy to get you settled out front. I usually recommend waiting at least two months so this one can have a chance to fully heal before you get another one.”

Her lips pursed and settled into a pout, which for a woman in her late thirties was not exactly a good look. Not that I had a thing against older women, but typically they were a little more mature than resorting to pouting when it was clear they were getting shot down.

“Oh, I definitely will,” she replied, reaching out to press her hand against my chest as I cupped her elbow and helped her sit upright. “I really liked the feel of your hands on me.”

Sometimes being in one position for a few hours and the letdown of happy chemicals tattoos usually sent roaring through your veins, made people a little unsteady, but as her hand crept upmy shirt and settled on the side of my neck, it was clear she wasn’t trying to steady herself.

Gently prying her fingers away from my skin, I squeezed her hand and gently settled it back on her leg.

“If my schedule is too full to fit you in, I also have several other artists on staff who are just as talented, if not more so than I am. Gray can set you up with an appointment if you feel like their style fits what you need better. We each have a portfolio available at the desk for clients to look at.”

She grinned, biting her lip, but it only smeared her bright pink lipstick across the bottom of her teeth. Objectively, she was an attractive woman, and under other circumstances, I would have been encouraging her advances, but I didn’t want that anymore.

“I appreciate that, Reid. But I have very specific tastes, and you fit them very, very well. I’m more than happy to wait for you. I enjoy the prolonged satisfaction of having to wait to get what I want.”

Taking a deep breath, I stepped back, busying myself with getting my equipment sorted and disassembled so I could get it sanitized before my next client. I was hoping I could spend my hour break hunting down the woman who’d been on my mind all last night while I tried to get the payroll under control so I could be free for the weekend after Valentine’s.

“That works. Like I said, Gray can get you booked when you check out. But you shouldn’t need to see me again until our next consult as long as you follow your care instructions.”

When I turned back around, her clothing was re-situated, and she was zipping up her coat…with her eyes focused squarely on my ass. I wanted to be flattered, I really did, but it also had me questioning all my life choices over the last decade. I’d created this impression of myself for the world, and unfortunately, I was now having to deal with the consequences.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr.Harding,” she purred, standing in front of me and pressing a piece of paper into my palm. I clenched it into my fist as I watched her leave through the partially open door, stopping short when she saw the woman leaning against theopposite wall before she turned and headed toward the reception area.

Hazel’s expressive eyes flashed to mine, her cheeks turning an enticing shade of pink as we stared at each other, but when her lip quivered and she looked away, I knew she’d been standing there long enough to hear what was going on with my flirty client.Fuck.

Pulling off the apron I wore when I worked, I tossed it toward the chair, dropping the crumpled paper in my wastebasket as I headed in the only direction my heart wanted to go right now. When I reached the doorway, I noticed how tightly Hazel’s fingers were clenched in the material of her coat and knew I needed to do some damage control.

“Hey, kitten. Why didn’t you tell me you’d be coming over? Got another project for us to work on?”

She shook her head, stepping away when I held my hand out toward her.

“No. No more projects.”

Frowning, I stepped forward again, grasping her fingers and trying to tug her inside my room. “Let’s talk.”

“Not in there,” she whispered, pulling free and balling her hands into fists.

“The new couch in my office hasn’t been unwrapped yet, but if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I can get all the plastic wrap off. They just delivered it this morning.”

“Can we…” she trailed off, clearing her throat. “Can we go sit in the break room or something? I can’t say this in your office.”

Frowning, I watched her expressions shift from anxious to disappointment to sadness and I wasn’t sure why the happy sarcastic girl she’d been around me for the last week was suddenly absent. She’d seen women hit on me before, and if she’d been out in the hallway long enough, she’d surely have heard that I wasn’t encouraging it and kept things strictly professional.

Not that I needed to explain myself to her, but I wanted to.

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