by Nicole James
“I suppose that’s true.”
The buzzing continued to fill the void of conversation. To get her mind off it, she asked another question. “So, Jameson, did you always want to do this?”
He glanced at her with a grin. “What, tattoo you?”
She chuckled. “Become a tattoo artist.”
He turned his attention back to her hip, swiping it with the cloth before starting another area. “Actually, I wanted to be a therapist or counselor of some kind.”
“Max told me your parents were killed in a car accident when you both were teenagers.
His gaze shot to her. “He did, huh?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. When the accident happened, all those plans of mine went out the window.” He shrugged. “I always liked art. This way I get to be creative, and I still get to hear people tell me their stories. You wouldn’t believe the things people tell their tattoo artist. I guess it’s an intimate thing. You’re bent over them, touching their skin, close.” His eyes shot to hers, and a smile pulled at his mouth. “Kind of like I am now.”
She chuckled. “Right.”
He swiped at her skin again, changing position.
“You could have been a bartender,” she teased with a smile.
He shook his head. “Naw. The drunks would have gotten on my nerves, and I would have ended up busting heads. Where’re the tips in that?”
“I’m sure the ladies would have loved you. And tipped you well.”
He grinned, his eyes shifting to hers for a split second. “The ladies still do love me. Now they just pay me several hundred bucks if they want my undivided attention.”
“I see.”
“And this way I don’t have to mop up spilled beer and puke.”
“Gotcha.” She paused, studying him. “You have a nice manner when you tattoo.”
His eyes flicked up to hers. “Why thanks, sweetheart.”
She shifted her arms. Folding them and grasping her wrists, she rested them against her forehead. She stared at the ceiling, blowing a slow breath out, and then her eyes dropped to him, his head bent over her as he worked. “I’ve watched you with clients, especially women. You’re always so gentle with them.”
“No reason I shouldn’t be. Besides, it keeps ‘em coming back for more.” He winked.
“I like this side of you, Jameson. You can be quite charming when you want to be.”
“I’m big on the upsell. I can always talk a woman into coming back for more. If not a tattoo, at least a piercing or two.” He waggled his brows, downplaying her compliment.
“Hmm. I’ve noticed.”
“Have you, now?”
***
Jameson was more moved by her compliment than he’d pretended to be. And that wasn’t the only thing that had affected him about this particular session. As he’d cleaned and prepped Ava’s hip, the whole while feeling her eyes on his every move, he couldn’t deny it felt different, more intimate than it ever had before. Then when he’d placed the stencil, his fingers running over her soft skin, the warmth of her body, her intoxicating smell so close it had him breathing heavier than normal, he definitely knew this was unlike any other time he’d worked on a woman, no matter how beautiful she was.
Ink on skin—it was his art, and as such deserved his best effort, especially a canvas like this one.
Ava’s skin was such a contrast under his hands; soft, untouched pale skin to his own big hands and muscled arms covered in ink. Beauty and the Beast came to mind; she had about as much business being here, that was a fact. No matter what she’d said, he still felt some guilt that he’d pushed her to this, pushed her too far in this game to bring out her rebellious side. If she ever came to regret this tattoo, he knew he’d never forgive himself. All that aside, having her on his table was arousing beyond belief.
Usually Jameson was all business when working on a client—men, women, didn’t matter. But having his hands on Ava affected him like none ever had. Feeling her warm skin under his fingertips, even with the gloves on, he could feel it; the heat radiated off her. Her femininity couldn’t be missed. There was something so erotic about his hands marking her skin—marking her with his art. It felt primal, like he was marking her as his in some way. It was a feeling he’d never before had.
Knowing she watched his every move made it that much hotter. Knowing she was entrusting him with her body, especially after the animosity between them, spoke volumes, and he didn’t take that lightly.
Trying to keep his professionalism intact, he tried to drive the endless parade of dirty thoughts from his mind.
***
Another hour later, Jameson finally turned off his machine, set it aside, and wiped the design clean. He held a hand mirror out to Ava. “What do you think?”
She took it and looked. Although the design was only about eight inches in length, it was stunning. The vibrant colors climbed along the curve of her hip.
“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes were suddenly glassy with tears as she thought of her sister.
Jameson grabbed a box of tissues, offering them to her. “Here, babe.”
She snatched one out. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to react like this.”
He grinned. “I usually don’t get that kind of reaction from flowers.”
She dabbed at her eyes and tried to laugh. “I guess not. Thank you, Jameson. It’s perfect.”
He replied quietly, “You’re welcome.”
They stared at each other, both realizing the animosity was gone, and now that it was, they both also realized they kind of liked each other.
Chapter Nineteen
Ava walked up to her front door. It was late by the time she finally left the shop with her new tattoo. A bandage covered it, extending down along her hip. Digging into her purse for her keys, she didn’t notice the vandalism until she was on the porch and reached out to slip the key in the lock. She gasped as she took in her door.
Spray painted in bright red was the word SLUT.
Ava’s eyes immediately darted all around her, searching for someone watching. Who could have done this? Was it that crazy girl who was stalking Jameson, the one who threw the drink in her face? Ava could see this being her style. Or maybe that scary biker who she’d seen on the corner and had approached her car. But somehow, she just couldn’t picture him bothering with graffiti. He seemed more like the type who’d show up at her door when she was home, not scrawl a vulgar message on it.
What about Dr. Ashton? He’d seemed to go off the deep end when she had replaced him. He’d reacted so angrily. Was he capable of something like this? Her mind went in a thousand directions, trying to figure out who would have done this.
She glanced around again and then hurried inside.
Once in, she slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. Leaning back against the wood, she flipped the lights on and scanned the room. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and it was dead quiet. Pulling her cell from her bag, she dialed her sister.
“Hey, Ava. How was work tonight?” her sister’s bright cheery voice came through the earpiece.
“Steffy, someone vandalized my front door.”
“What? How?”
“They spray-painted the word slut in bright red.”
“Oh, my God. Did you call the police?”
“I just got home.”
“Come over here. I don’t want you there alone. I mean it, Ava.”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“I have a couple of ideas.”
“I’m coming over, and we’re talking about this. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Five minutes later, Ava opened the door when she heard her sister pull up and waited on the porch. Steffy walked up with a bag containing a gallon of ice cream. She was in sweat pants, flip-flops, and a baggy shirt, her hair up in a twist.
�
��Holy shit,” she commented, taking in the vandalism.
“I know. It’s bad. Come on, get inside.”
“We can paint it tomorrow,” Steffy offered as she followed Ava in, heading straight to the kitchen table to sit down.
Ava sat across from her with two spoons, tucking her foot under her butt. Passing one spoon to her sister, Ava scooped up a spoonful of ice cream direct from the carton.
“So spill. Who do you think did it?”
Ava told her about the three she’d come up with.
Steffy pulled her spoon from her mouth, frowning. “Wait a minute… back the train up. How come you didn’t tell me about this biker or this stalker chick?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.” Ava avoided her eyes, her spoon going back for more.
“Well, newsflash, now I’m worried,” Steffy bit out, her brows arched.
Ava stabbed her spoon in the gallon and left it there, gazing toward the window. “I hate not knowing who it is. Now I’m going to be suspicious of everyone who looks sideways at me.”
Steffy pointed her spoon at Ava. “It has to be someone you pissed off. I think you’re right; it’s one of those three. But do you really think Dr. Ashton would stoop to something like that? I mean, he’s never struck me as the vindictive type.”
Ava’s eyes moved to her. “You didn’t see how pissed he was the other night. It was like I had personally slighted him. He was acting like a scorned lover, which is ridiculous.”
“That is so weird.” Steffy made a face, taking another spoon of ice cream.
“I know, right?”
Steffy waved her spoon in the air, moving her head back and forth. “You just never know about people. The most mild-mannered can be the most screwed up in the head.”
Chapter Twenty
The next evening, Ava walked into the break room after the shop had closed. The brothers were sitting around drinking a beer. Max had one waiting for her on the table and held the ice-cold bottle out to her.
“Here you go, doll. Sit with us.” He pulled the chair out next to him.
Ava took the bottle and sat, dropping her purse to the floor. She’d brushed aside their offers to have a beer with them so many times that she felt she had to accept. They were a fun-loving group she was quickly becoming attached to—Max with his protectiveness, Liam with his carefree joking, and Rory with his love of music. And the thought of going home to paint her door wasn’t something she was looking forward to. Maybe she’d put it off until tomorrow morning.
“There’s gonna be a meteor shower tonight,” Liam informed the group as he sat straddled backward on his chair.
“Really, what time?” Max asked as he leaned back and draped his arm across Ava’s chair.
“Yeah, I’m not staying awake all night to see it,” Jameson added, tipping his bottle up for a drink.
“Supposed to start in about an hour and last until dawn,” Liam replied.
“It’s a clear night. Should be able to see some of it from the house,” Rory observed.
Max turned to Ava. “Have you ever seen one?”
“I haven’t.”
“Come on out with us. You might be able to see some before it gets too late.”
Her eyes immediately moved to Jameson, wondering if he would want her at his family home. His reception hadn’t been that welcoming the last time she’d visited. But that was before things had started to thaw between them.
“You should come,” he stated, washing away her trepidations.
“Yeah, we can get some more beer, build a bonfire… It’ll be a good time,” Max suggested, looking to her for a reply.
“All right. That sounds like fun.”
***
An hour later, they lay around a bonfire, staring at the sky.
“I can’t see shit this close to the fire,” Max announced.
“Me, either,” Ava agreed.
Jameson climbed to his feet and extended his hand to her. “Come on. You can see better from over on that slope.” He lifted his chin to an area toward the back of the property. She glanced over then slid her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet.
The two of them trudged to the top with Ava hanging onto Jameson’s hand for balance. They sat and lay back, staring at the sky.
Jameson rolled his head toward her. “You having a good time?”
She met his gaze. “Yes, I am. Your brothers are a hoot.”
He again studied the sky, and his mouth pulled up as he answered sarcastically, “Yeah, they’re a riot.”
She giggled, and the melodic sound had him turning to smile at her.
“You can pretend all you want that they get on your nerves, but I know you love them.”
“Do you?”
“Um hmm. You’re all so close,” she whispered.
He turned his attention back to the sky. “We’ve had to be.”
She nodded, studying his somber expression from the side. “It wasn’t easy for you, was it?”
He rolled his head toward her again. “What wasn’t easy?”
“Holding your family together.”
He studied her a long moment, and then turned back to the stars. “It’s all I’ve thought about for longer than I can remember.”
“Do you ever worry that things may change?”
“How so?”
“Well, they’re adults now with their own lives to lead, and one day that may take them in different directions.” When Jameson didn’t respond, she glanced over and asked, “Does that scare you?”
“It scares the crap out of me.”
She looked at the stars, and they both lay quietly for a few minutes.
“My sisters and I, we lost our parents, too.” Out of her peripheral vision she saw his head roll toward hers, but he remained silent. Finally, she turned to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he offered softly.
She nodded.
“How?”
“Mom died of an aneurism. A year later, Dad died of a heart attack.” She studied him. “Want to know a secret? I think he died of a broken heart. He was devastated when he lost her. I literally watched him deteriorate before my eyes.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Wait. You said sisters, plural. I didn’t realize there were more than just you and Steffy.”
She stayed quiet for a moment and felt her throat close up.
“Ava? You have more sisters?”
“Had.”
“Had?”
“My youngest sister got sick not long after Dad died. The name of the disease is so long I can barely pronounce it.” She knew her eyes were starting to glaze with tears, that he could see it happening. She tried to blink them away.
“She passed?”
Ava nodded. “I tried to save her. Did everything I could. And she fought so hard.” She paused blowing out a breath, then shrugged. “None of it mattered in the end. I couldn’t save her, and I carry that with me every day.”
“I’m so sorry, Ava.”
She nodded, wiping her tears on the sleeve of the sweat jacket that Max had given her against the chilly night air.
“What was her name?”
She tried to smile. “Lily.”
He rose up, resting his weight on his hand as he leaned over her. His eyes searched hers and then dropped to her hip. “Your tattoo?”
She nodded. “Yes. It was for her.”
“Babe, why didn’t you tell me?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t. I probably never would have said anything if you hadn’t just asked.”
He cocked his head to the side. “This Gala, the charity, is it for her?”
She wiped at her cheek again and huffed out a short, sniffled laugh. “Yes.”
He dropped his head, growling, “Shit, I feel like such a dick.”
“You didn’t know.”
He looked off toward the bonfire. “I didn’t make it easy for you to tell me, though, either.”
&nb
sp; “No, you didn’t.”
He heard the smile in her voice, found her grinning through her tears.
“I guess we have more in common than I thought,” he replied softly.
“I guess so.”
“Tell me about the charity.”
“I established it in my sister’s honor because I felt I had to do something. There was just so much guilt.”
“Guilt?” He frowned down at her.
She nodded. “Because I couldn’t help her, because I failed her. Which is why I’ll feel so guilty if the charity event is not successful. It’ll be like I’m failing her all over again.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked off toward the bonfire. “I know what that kind of guilt can feel like. Like somehow you’re to blame for all of it.”
She studied his face. He’d felt it too, when he’d been struggling to keep his family together. “Jameson, you won with your brothers. But I lost with my sister.”
His eyes returned to hers. “Babe, that’s not true. What happened with your sister… That’s not on you.”
She turned her head away. “Isn’t it?”
“Look at me.” He cupped her jaw. “It’s not your fault. You hear me?”
She studied his expression and the sincerity reflected there. Finally, she nodded.
After a long moment, he backed off, lied down beside her, and they both stared up at the stars. Two meteors in quick succession shot across the sky, their tails burning out almost immediately. They lay quietly, taking in the show the heavens put on for them. After a few moments, his hand slid over the few inches that separated them, and his fingers interlaced with hers.
“What a pair of broken toys we are,” she murmured.
