Page 24 of Perfect Harmony

“You gotta be eighteen to get a tattoo,”Eric said. “Mr. Preacher said so.” His eyes lit up. “You could give Ms.Moore a tattoo. She’s really old like my mommy.”

Thanks, kid.

“Yeah!” Isabelle looked at the other kidsin the class. “Ms. Moore should get a tattoo so we can watch Mr. Preacher be atattoo artist.”

The idea spread like wildfire through the kidsuntil they were all shouting about Ms. Moore’s tattoo.

Addison clapped her hands. “Quiet down, please.”

They quieted with a few grumbles ofcomplaint but before Addison could say anything else, Isabelle aimed anotherfull wattage smile at Preacher. “Will you do it, Mr. Preacher? Will you giveMs. Moore a tattoo?”

“Yes,” Preacher said.

Addison’s breath caught in her throat. Hecouldn’t give her a tattoo right here. Could he?

“But it’s only going to be a temporary tattoo,”Preacher said. He rummaged through his kit and produced a pen. “This is calleda skin marker pen. It’ll wash off with water.”

He glanced up at her, a challenge in his darkchocolate eyes as he pulled out one of the chairs from the table. “Ms. Moore? Areyou ready?”

“Please, Ms. Moore,” Isabelle wheedled. “Wewanna see him draw!”

Feeling weirdly nervous, she joined them atthe table, sinking down into the chair as Preacher pulled out a second chair andmoved it close to hers before sitting. The kids had already crowded around herand Preacher. Isabelle climbed into Preacher’s lap, balancing on one thickthigh as she clapped her hands.

“Isabelle, give Mr. Preacher room to work,”Addison said.

“It’s fine.” Preacher winked at the littlegirl before turning his gaze to Addison. “Inner forearm?”

“Um, sure, okay,” she said.

“What kind of tattoo should I give Ms.Moore?” Preacher asked.

Peppa PigandElmoandSpongeBob, were all shouted out.

“Rocky fromPaw Patrol,” Tarek said.

“No, Rubble. She should have a bulldog,”Eric said.

“My name.” Isabelle smiled at Preacher. “I’mher favourite student.”

Preacher laughed, and Addison’s heartratecranked up a notch. She’d never heard Preacher laugh before.

“How about a flower?” Preacher said. “Arose with leaves around it.”

“Yeah!” Isabelle said. “Roses are my mommy’sfavourite.”

“Ready, Ms. Moore?” Preacher said.

“Yes.” She rested her arm on the tablewith her inner arm facing up. Preacher’s rough fingers touched her skin andshe jumped so hard that a few of the kids made small squeaks of alarm.

“You okay?” Preacher’s gaze wasunreadable.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Her skin tingled fromthat brief contact and, good God, were her nipples getting hard again? Whatwaswrongwith her?

Preacher touched her again, and this timeshe held still with sheer willpower alone. “This spot work for you?”

She nodded and watched as Preacher bentover her arm. His warm breath kissed over her skin as he sketched onto herarm. Meaningless lines and curves took shape with a few skilled strokes of hispen. In five minutes, she had a small and perfect rose etched across her paleskin.

“Oh my gosh,” she breathed as Preacherstraightened and capped the pen.

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