Page 47 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
Her words still strike me in the chest. I don’t have the best background, but I’m lucky Art took a chance on me. I understand that I’m not exactly someone a woman would be proud to have on her arm. Maybe I’m fine to mess around with in the bedroom, but I’m not right for someone like Holly. She needs a serious man, a family man—a man like the ex who’d walked into the bedroom that morning, only less of a dick.
The first customer of the day arrives, and the staff ofCarved in Inkbursts into action. The conversation is over, but that doesn’t mean thoughts of Holly McCarty have left my head.
I get on with my morning’s work. I have a cover-up to do, but as much as I try, I can’t focus. Lunch time rolls around, and my mind is still full of the curvy blonde. I still have Holly’s phone number from the contact info she’d filled in before she’d got the tattoo. I have her email address, too, but emailing feels wrong. Cold and impersonal. Business-like.
I reach for my mobile phone, and I dial a couple of numbers but then hang up again and sigh. She won’t want me to call. I’mjust a one-night thing to her. No more. She has a life. A serious life. And it doesn’t seem like there’s any room in it for me.
Rocco’s shaved head appears around the side of my door. “Hey, dude. There’s a hot blonde outside to see you.”
I straighten. A hot blonde? My stomach lurches. Is that who I think it might be?
“Okay. I’m just finishing up here. I’ll be out in ten.”
“Sure.” Rocco throws me a wink. “Don’t keep her waiting too long, or I might steal her out from under you.”
I flip him the bird and Rocco’s laughter filters through the door as it shuts behind him.
I turn back to my client, knowing I can’t rush through the final stages of the tattoo, while feeling desperate to get out there and see if it’s Holly waiting for me. Who else could it be? Okay, I probably do know quite a few hot blondes, but none who would be paying me a visit on a Monday lunchtime. My mind churns. What do we have to say to each other? Holly has a kid. Nothing can change that. And not only does she have a kid, but she lied to me about it.
I want her, though. Deep down, I know that. But single mothers aren’t the kind of women you just mess around with. They’re serious people and deserve respect. Plus, her ex-husband seems like a total arsehole.
11
HOLLY
Isit in the tattoo shop, trying to stop my knee bouncing up and down. The American woman behind the desk keeps looking at me, and I find myself shrinking under the scrutiny. How much does the brunette know? Had Kane come in to work this morning and told them everything? God, I must look like a total bitch. And not only that, I feel like a failure. One thing I always manage to fail at is relationships, and this is no different. Not that Kane and I even have a relationship. It had been one date, and I’d messed it up. I’m not expecting anything else from him. I just want to apologise, and doing it over the phone hadn’t seemed right.
“Can I get you anything?” the American—who I think is called Tess—asks me. “Coffee, tea? Water?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” I reply, shaking my head.
Another of the tattoo artists walk in and stop behind the reception desk. He sports a shaved head and a beard. He’s attractive, in a rough-and-ready kind of way—with full lips and cheekbones to die for. He glances over at me sitting in the waiting area and then leans in and says something quietly to Tess. They both look back to me, and my cheeks flame with heat. Okay, so Kane obviously told them all what happened. Shit. Ijust about want to die. Maybe this was a mistake coming here. I should probably leave.
Then the door to Kane’s studio opens, and a man I don’t recognise comes out, pulling down his shirt sleeve, his biceps covered in the same cling film that had been covering my hip on Saturday, but which I’ve since removed, as per the instructions I’d been given.
Kane follows the guy out, and my heart flips. He’s just as gorgeous as I remember. The jaw-length blond hair, the broad shoulders. The gold-flecked green eyes. I’m drawn to him like nothing else, and something in my chest tightens. I wish we could start again and that I hadn’t screwed up so badly.
Mentally, I shake my head at myself. No, I’m here to say sorry, that’s all. Not try to restart things. I’m a single mother with responsibilities. I need stability, not some tattoo artist who’s too young for me.
But our eyes lock across the room, and Kane gives me a slow nod. His attention is taken with the client he’d been working on, but as soon as he passes the guy over to Tess to pay, he crosses the room towards me.
I get to my feet, pulling at the bottom of my shirt and readjusting the position of my handbag strap on my shoulder.
“Holly?” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry. It was really stupid of me. I should probably go.”
I suddenly lose my nerve. I turn from him, but he reaches out and catches me by the elbow. “No, I’m glad you came. I’ve been thinking about calling you all morning but didn’t want to feel like I was putting you in a difficult position.”
I blink. “Youputtingmein a difficult position? I think I was the one who did that!”
He chuckles. “Okay, yeah, maybe a bit. But I’m glad you’re here.” He jerks his head past the reception desk. The others are all trying to look busy, while they’re quite clearly listening in onthe conversation. “Come out the back, and I’ll make us both a drink, okay?”
I exhale a sigh of relief. He doesn’t seem to be angry with me, which is a good thing. I’d half expected him to roll his eyes and ask me what the hell I thought I was playing at, but while he’s obviously been surprised to see me, he looks pleased I’m here. Self-consciousness sweeps over me as we pass Kane’s co-workers to go out the back of the building. I feel out of place here and know they must have been told what happened.
We move into a small room, which contains a couch, a refrigerator, and a kettle. There’s also narrow kitchen surface for us to use. Kane fills the kettle and clicks it on to boil.
“I’d offer you coffee,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “But I reckon you’re more of a tea drinker.”
