Page 4 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
I jerk my chin at the back of the building. “This way,” I growl.
I carry the case out the back, Theresa hurrying along behind. I haul it up the narrow stairwell, towards the front door of the flat, which stands open at the top of the stairs. I reach the top and step into the place the American is going to be calling her home, and drop the suitcase on the floor.
The woman comes to a halt beside me and looks around uneasily. “This is it?”
“What were you expecting—a palace? We don’t all live in castles here, you know?”
She narrows her dark eyes at me. “I know that. My father was British. Plus, I’m not a complete idiot. I guess I’d just thought someone would have been in to clean up after my aunt passed. You did get the letter from the lawyer, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I got it. Together with the suggested rent increase.”
I see her bristle.
“That increase is more than fair. If anything, you should be paying more. You’ve been taking my aunt for a ride for the past few years.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “I’m guessing you weren’t exactly watching out for her, or you might have been aware of that and done something about it while she was still alive.”
Tension vibrates in the air between us, but I spot hurt in her eyes at the mention of her aunt no longer being alive. Have I taken it too far? No. I harden my heart. I don’t need some chick stepping into my business, and this one hasn’t just stepped in, she’s thrown her entire body in and then rolled around in it. If I lay down with her, she’ll tread all over me.
Theresa Dawson needs to know I’m not going to be a pushover.
4
TESS
Oh, God. This place is disgusting.
I’m kicking myself for not sending a team of cleaners in here before I packed my bags and flew over. What had I been thinking? It certainly hadn’t occurred to me that the apartment would be in this sort of mess. I’d known about the tattoo studio downstairs, but I’d figured the two places had remained independent of each other, with the doors shut between them. I’d thought the apartment might have been dusty and in need of a good airing, but I’d been told it had been left to me furnished, and so I’d assumed I’d have been able to move straight in. I certainly hadn’t thought the guys downstairs would have been using it as some kind of flophouse.
I stare around at the mess. Empty beer cans, pizza boxes, and overflowing ashtrays fill every surface. I don’t even want to think what the bathroom will be like.
This guy, Art, is an asshole, too. My whole ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ thing had been completely wrong. I absolutely could judge this one. He looks like a hard-ass, and he acts like one, too. I’m amazed he carried my suitcase for me and hadn’t just watched me struggle up the stairs with it while he laughed with his friends.
I hesitate. I have two options—I can turn around and walk out again, and find a hotel until this place is cleaned up, or I can roll up my sleeves and get stuck in. While the hotel option is more appealing, I’m not exactly drowning in money. It cost a lot to fly out here, and even though the property might be worth a fortune, I’m not cash rich. A hotel and cleaning crew would set me back several hundred pounds, which is even more in dollars. Plus, I can tell this guy is spoiling for a fight. I bet he deliberately left it like this, hoping to frighten me off. Well, it isn’t going to work.
Instead, I force myself to smile brightly. “What time do you guys finish?”
He narrows his blue eyes. “Why? Are you taking us out?”
“No, you’re going to come up here and help me sort this place out.”
He barks laughter. “The guys are never gonna go for that.”
I glance at the empty boxes and cans. “How about if I throw in free pizza and beer.” I don’t think I should need to bribe them into doing the chores—after all, they aren’t ten years old and this is their mess, but I figure a few pizzas and some beer is going to be cheaper than a professional cleaning crew and a hotel.
“Besides,” I continue, “it looks like a lot of stuff here belongs to you all, and I’m sure as hell not going to be sorting through it. If you can’t be bothered to come up and help, I’ll be throwing everything into black bags and it’ll be going in the trash.”
He scowls at me again, but I know I’ve won this battle at least.
“Fine,” he snaps. “I think the last client is at seven. We’ll be up after that.”
“Great.”
He leans into me, and for a moment, I have the strange idea that he’s going to press the side of his face against mine. My heart beats hard, the masculine scent of him making me headyand my stomach swirling in a sensation I haven’t felt for some time. He’s totally male, unrefined, coarse, yet somehow my body reacts to him on a purely primitive level.
He snatches something from behind me and moves away, and the moment is gone.
“Sorry.” One side of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “I need this for later.”
