Page 82 of Haunted

It doesn’t look too hard, they’re just straight lines, but I’m still nervous. Although the thought of marking him in a permanent way sends a thrill through me. It’ll kind of be like I’ll be part of him.

I take a deep, encouraging breath and nod. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, andthatsends a thrill through me too.

He hands me the tattoo machine and shows me the proper way to hold it. He keeps his voice low as he explains, “I’ll press the pedal. You just hold it against my skin, and I’ll help guide you.”

He places a couple of napkins down on the chair beside me, puts the tiny cup of ink on top, then tears off a couple more napkins and folds them twice. He looks to the floor and moves the pedal so it’s easier for him to reach.

“You ready?”

“No,” I tell him honestly and he grins again. I take another deep breath. “Yes. But”—I warn—“if it looks like crap afterward, it’s your fault.”

“I’m not worried.”

“I’m glad one of us isn’t,” I grumble.

All of a sudden, the machine in my hand starts to vibrate and there’s a light buzzing sound. I jump at the unexpected sound, then glower at his chuckle. The vibration stops.

“Dip the tip in the ink,” he rumbles. I do so and the vibration and buzzing start again, then stops seconds later. I lift the machine and his warm hand grabs mine and guides it so the tip is just above the area he wants worked on. When he feels the tremble in my hand, he murmurs, “Relax.”

My chest expands as I blow out air through my nose and try to calm my nerves. I feel his eyes on me, so I give him a nod. The machine vibrates and buzzes again, then he’s gently pressing down. The minute the needle touches his skin, a bead of black ink appears over the already colored portion. A weird sense of excitement fills me as both Luca and I move the machine down his skin, leaving behind a darker black line.

He pulls the machine away and lets my hand go to grab one of the napkins to wipe away the excess ink. The line he reveals looks pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I can’t help but send him a smile.

“You did good,” he compliments. “You want to do the next one by yourself?”

“Umm… you really trust me not to mess it up?”

One corner of his mouth tips up. “There’s not really much you can do to mess it up, Jules. Do what you just did. Move slow and stay along the line that’s already there.”

I purse my lips to the side, both anxious and excited to do it without his aid.

“Okay.”

The area that needs to be touched up is more on his shoulder than his arm. Luca scoots his chair closer, and my breath hitches when my legs are pushed open more to accommodate him. His chest is only inches away from being pressed against my center, and his face is eye level with my breasts. I notice his gaze on them before he looks away. His other forearm lies against my other thigh, his hand resting on the chair beside me.

“You need more ink,” he says hoarsely.

It takes me a moment to register what he said, then I dig the tip of the needle in the ink and he presses the pedal. Having him so close is definitely not helping my nerves, but I force the jitters away and bring the machine to the spot at the bottom ofthe angel wing. The machine turns on and I press it against his skin, concentrating on keeping my hand steady.

Once I’m done, I move the machine away and he releases the pedal. He takes the machine from my hand and lays it back on the tool box, then grabs the napkin and wipes away the extra ink. A sense of pride hits me when I look down and see I did a good job of keeping the line straight.

“Not bad for your first time,” Luca says, looking down at the line himself.

I look at his bent head. He has the longer hair pulled back into a band to keep it from falling in his face while he works. I have a sudden urge to pull the band out of his hair and run my fingers through it to feel how soft it is.

As if feeling my eyes and thoughts on him, he lifts his head. I don’t know what he finds in my expression, but his eyes turn intense. I’ve seen desire on men’s faces before, and what I see on Luca’s couldn’t be construed as anything other than that. It has my thighs clenching against his sides. His arm curls around my waist until his hand touches my side and his fingers dig into the flesh there. He puts his other hand on my butt and slides me forward until I’m flush against him. I suck in a sharp breath at the intimate contact and my hands fly to his broad shoulders. Not to push him away, but to hold on so I don’t fall over at the powerful rush of need I feel.

He gazes up at me, his eyes filled with profound need and fierce yearning. His voice is a tortured whisper when he speaks.

“I know I’ll probably go to hell for this, but goddamn, Jules, I want you so fucking much. I ache every time I’m around you, and I’m fucking miserable when I’m not.”

My heart constricts with his admission. It’s so wrong of me, but I feel the same way. Even after the first time I saw him when I woke up from my coma and I freaked out, he’s been on my mind. I don’t know what it is about him, but he intrigues me.There’s just been… something about him that draws me in and hasn’t let me go. I want to know him. All of him.

“Luca….”

His eyes flare and his hands constrict on me when I whisper his name. My own fingers grip his shoulders tighter. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs and the muscles in his jaw twitch. He’s struggling just as hard as I am with these unfamiliar feelings.

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