by Shandi Boyes
Setting the key for the piece of shit car the crew of Inked chipped in for into the palm of her hand, I nudge my head to the door. "Your new ride is in the lot. Take the rest of the day off and go spend your birthday with your friends. It will be a hard feat, but I will hold down the fort tonight."
Clara’s teeth graze over her bottom lip. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Sure you do.” My eyes dart between hers. “There are at least a dozen restaurants in Ravenshoe that will happily serve vegetable scraps as if they're a main course.”
A rare and genuine smile etches onto Clara’s plump lips. If that isn’t rewarding enough, the little giggle that spills with her smile is worth spending my days off scouring the used car lots searching for the perfect car for her. This is the first time I’ve heard Clara’s real laugh. I hope it isn’t the last.
When her laughter dies down, she locks her eyes with mine. “It isn’t that I don’t have a place to dine. I just don’t have anyone to go with me.” The last half of her sentence comes out in a faint whisper as her eyes stray to the floor.
My brows furrow. “What about your drunk chook-cackling friends? Surely they would have a spare hour to help celebrate your birthday?”
Since I know Clara’s momma has dementia, I forgo mentioning her family, not wanting to upset her on her birthday any more than I already have.
Clara’s eyes lift from the ground and connect with mine. Confusion and another expression I can’t read mars her face.
“The friends you showed up with the night you got your tattoo,” I explain to her puzzled expression.
I swallow the brick in my throat when her eyes narrow into thin slits at the mention of her tattoo. Apparently, she hasn't gotten over our first tussle in the ring yet.
“I know who you are referring to,” she replies, her tone bitter. “Unfortunately, they're too. . . busy to socialize with me today.”
I scoff. “It’s your birthday. Tell them to get un-busy.”
She rolls her eyes before rising from the couch. "It's fine, Brax, honestly. I'd prefer to stay here anyway. Wasn't it you who said Inked is my family now? Shouldn't I spend my birthday with my family?"
Even though she's asking a question, she doesn’t wait for me to reply. She just moves to my desk to gather a pile of unpaid invoices from the top.
I glare at her in a shocked, disbelieving type of way. "You'd rather stay here than hang out with your friends?"
When she nods, I say, “I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m calling bullshit.”
She cranks her neck to the side. “Lucky for me, your opinion doesn’t bother me the slightest.”
I push off the couch and pace closer to her. “What’s really going on, Clara? The princess who walked in here demanding a job three months ago would never turn down the opportunity to live it up on the good side of the tracks.”
Her shoulders square as she murmurs something under her breath. She's so quiet, I miss every word she speaks.
“You need to speak up. I’ve been told on a few occasions I have a problem with my hearing.” Even though I was aiming for witty, my comment comes out a little snarky.
When Clara ignores me, I grasp the top of her arms and force her to face me. I’m taken aback when her eyes lift to mine. Gone is the vibrant spark that typically alights her fiery gaze, replaced with a pair of eyes that look lost. I’d even go as far as saying haunted. Fear grips my heart when she snaps her eyes shut, battling to hold in her tears. Fuck, I hope she doesn’t cry. The tears she shed weeks ago in my grandmother’s room still haunt me.
“Clara—”
My words stop when the plumpest set of lips brush against mine. I freeze, not to give myself time to assess the situation, but to investigate the unique taste of her mouth. Minty-cool freshness with a hint of sweetness and warmth.
Only a woman as complicated as Clara could have her lips described as warm and cold at the same time.
Forgetting the seriousness of our conversation, I run my tongue along the seam of her lips, daring her to open her mouth for me. My hang-ups about not messing with a member of my crew are left in the dust when her lips part, giving me full access to her mouth. My cock pulses against the zipper of my jeans as one of my hands move to the nape of her neck, securing her mouth to mine, while the other drops to the curve of her back to pull her closer.
Although I keep my lips sealed over hers, I don't take the kiss any further than an innocent game of tonsil hockey in the janitor's closet at my local high school. If she wants this kiss to go further, she’ll need to make all the moves. This way, I won't fall into the trap of sexually harassing my staff. If anything, she’s assaulting me, and I’m loving every goddamn motherfucking minute of it.
A rough groan tears from my throat when Clara delves her tongue inside my mouth in a long, tantalizing stroke. Her kiss is robust and determined—just like her personality—but warm and enticing. For a woman whose heart appears to be carved from ice, her kiss causes a roasting fervor of excitement to scorch my veins. I shouldn't be surprised she knows how to kiss. She's no ordinary woman. Her kisses are no different.
The skin on my torso prickles with bumps when she slips her hands under my shirt to rake her nails against the skin of my lower back. I'm certain she can feel the effect her touch has on my body, but I don't fucking care. If she wants to touch me, I sure as hell ain't going to stop her. The only thing I'm stopping is my desire to ravish her on my desk. Why? Because Clara isn't a bunny, so I won’t treat her as if she is one.
When I pull my lips away from hers, and she whimpers, my strength is pushed to its absolute limit. I skim my lips along the edge of her jaw, down her delicate neck before stopping at the collar of her shirt. Just knowing my lips are near an area of her skin I've never seen has my cock throbbing furiously and my restraint faltering. It's a thrilling and torturous experience at the same time.
The throaty moans toppling from Clara’s throat while I nibble on her neck have an edge of danger to them – a clear warning I'm stepping over the line of what is acceptable for an employer and his staff. But, in all honesty, I don't give a flying fuck. My cock. . . No. Correct that. I’ve wanted this for months.
From the very moment I laid my eyes on her going toe-to-toe with Johnny in the foyer of Inked, I’ve been dying to find out if her feisty personality holds the same level of intensity in the bedroom. From the way her nails are raking my back, and the warmth between her legs two layers of jeans can’t conceal, I’ll say my answer is an unequivocal and resounding yes.
My poorly wavering constraint gets harnessed when the creak of my office door sounds through my ears, closely followed by a deep voice. "Your 3 PM is getting snarky."
My eyes shift to Diesel at the exact moment Clara pulls away from me so abruptly, a blast of warm air smacks me in the face. Pretending there isn’t a massive elephant of awkwardness sitting in the room, Clara peruses the invoices on my desk while muttering, “I’ll be sure to get these paid right away.” She lifts her lust-filled eyes to me. “Was there anything else you needed me to do?”
She puts on a good act of being unaffected, but her blemished cheeks and wide eyes are giving away her true composure. She looks exactly how I want her to look – like a woman who was in the process of being claimed.
Clara’s head rockets to the side when I instruct Diesel to tell my client I’ll be there when I’m good and ready. His engrossing eyes bounce between Clara and me for numerous seconds, his face expressing the words his mouth fails to produce. I knew you’d be the first to break Inked’s no fraternization policy, Brax. I glare at him, silently warning that the rules won’t be the only thing I’ll be breaking if he doesn’t leave. With a shit-eating grin, he cockily winks and exits my office, closing the door behind him.
I wait until I hear the stomping of his feet on the tiled floor before I turn my eyes to Clara. She continues ruffling through the invoices on my desk, seemingly unmoved from our heart-stopping kiss. I stand mot
ionless in my office, unsure whether I should take the slap to my ego like a man, or kiss the living hell out of her again just to ensure she's aware a kiss like the one we just shared could never be forgotten.
But even if she wants to pretend her flushed expression is from the warmth of a late May afternoon, she sure as hell can’t come up with a reasoning for the marks on her neck the stubble on my chin created, let alone her kiss-swollen lips. Although I have no rights to admit this, I fucking love seeing her body marked because of me. If I weren’t concerned about my business and my crew, I’d strip her naked and mark every inch of her, from the top of her disheveled locks, to the tips of her expensive designer shoes, stopping only to pay careful attention to the needier regions of her body.
Shaking my head to remove the thoughts that could have me breaking another rule I swore I’d never break—fucking Clara on my desk like a bunny—I lock my eyes with her and ask, “We good?”
Clara licks her kiss-swollen lips before nodding.
“Alright. I’ll be finished up here by ten. We’ll discuss this more then.”
I canceled my last two appointments three days ago when I discovered today was Clara's birthday. Clara was so quiet about her upcoming birthday, if I weren't in the process of working out how to have her signed at Inked as a full-time employee, I would have never discovered today is her twenty-sixth birthday. I have an inkling she was hoping the day would pass without any celebration. Although I'm not a fan of getting older, I'm all for celebrating life milestones, birthdays included.
Clara’s brows stitch as she stares at me in shock. “This?”
“Yeah, this.” I gesture my hand between us.
Her brows become lost in her blonde hair. “There's no this, Brax.” Her face looks stern, but her words are unsteady.
When she veers her confused gaze back to the documents in her hand, I curl my hand around her elbow. Unlike thirty seconds ago, she repels from my grasp instead of melting into it. Here comes the pounding headache that’s been plaguing me the past four months.
“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you, Brax. This,” she gestures her hand between us, “is never going to happen.” For the first time since I’ve known her, she keeps her voice sincere. Almost regretful.
I connect my eyes with her. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Princess. This is fucking happening.”
Her eyes narrow and glare into mine. I swear I can hear her teeth grinding together. “Why? Because beasts just take what they want?” Her tone has reverted back to the bitchy smear she hasn’t used in weeks.
I smirk while shaking my head. “No. It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what is it?” She places her hand on her cocked hip.
“Because you're loving this game of chase just as fucking much as I am.”
Clara’s pupils widen to the size of dinner plates as her cheeks go even pinker, but she remains as quiet as a graveyard at midnight, abundantly proving what I said is true. I fucking knew it.
“So as I said earlier, we'll continue our discussion at 10.”
I stride towards my office door, needing to exit before I kiss the shocked look right off her face.
Chapter Twelve
I wasn’t at all surprised to discover Clara had left Inked at precisely 9:55 PM the night of her birthday. You can’t be chased if you aren’t running. What I said to her that night wasn't just to soften the blow my ego took from her blunt dismissal of me; it was to prove a point. I'd like to say my point was proven beyond reasonable doubt when she failed to deny my accusation that she's loving this game of chase we've been playing the last few months. Unfortunately, her denials came in hard and fast the following day. Anyone would swear from her reaction it was me who made the moves on her in my office that day.
I'm not going to lie, even playing in a game I swore I'd never field, my ego still got a little bitch-slapped. Not because I believed a single lie spilling from her lips, but because I’ve never had a woman blow me off the way Clara has. Call me conceited, but usually, I'd just flash a quick smirk to the woman I was interested in, and she'd be purring at my feet moments later.
I know half of my interest in Clara is because she will never be the type of lady to kneel before me, so she's a challenge any guy would love to conquer. But the other half. . . I'm at a complete fucking loss. I seriously don't know what is happening to me. Now don't get me wrong, Clara is no doubt beautiful. She's one of the most ravishing women I've ever laid my eyes on, and the feisty girls have always been a lot of fun between the sheets. But this little game I'm playing with Clara feels different. It isn't your standard game of cat and mouse. It's. . .it's. . . I don't know what the fuck it is.
It's a fucking minefield I should be retreating from, not encroaching. But no matter how much I try to pull the pin, I can't. Even though Clara denied having any interest in me, she still treats me in the same manner she did the weeks leading to our kiss. She gives me lip, has no trouble putting me in my place, and if my whole flirting radar hasn't completely blown off kelter, she's been laying down some solid ground work on a bit of sexual flirting.
Every time she has entered my cubicle the last two weeks, I’ve had to fight the urge to pull her into my lap and resample her lips. Why? Because without fail, every time she's in my eyesight, she has something in her mouth. Just watching her slowly chew on one of the chocolates the crew gave her for her birthday had my tongue dying to discover if her mouth took on the raspberry flavor. If that wasn’t bad enough, more times than I can count, when she advised me of my next appointment, she nibbled on the end of the pencil. I swear to god, I’ve jabbed my tattoo gun into my thigh at least a dozen times this week alone just to keep myself seated in the swivel chair. If I didn’t, her little teases would have forced her lips to become acquainted with the one part of my body she’s kept firm a minimum ten hours a day for the past two weeks. Considering I’m endeavoring not to treat her as a bunny, I refuse to have her kneel in front of me. No matter how badly my cock wants to be surrounded by her lips.
I have no doubt Clara knows the effect she has on me. If the smug grin etched on her face isn’t enough proof, the glimmer of lust sparking in her eyes is a surefire indication. Thankfully, even with all the blood in my body rushing to the lower half, I can still tattoo. Don’t get me wrong, it is no easy feat, but the fact all my clients the past two weeks have been male has been a lifesaver.
I adjust the crotch of my jeans as a faint cough sounds at the door. Glancing up from the sketch in front of me, I run my eyes over the enticing physique of Clara standing in my office doorframe. Because she’s driven herself to work the past two weeks, she’s reverted to wearing the body-hugging dresses she used to wear. Today's dress is a fitted-to-every-single-mouthwatering-curve-of-her-body ensemble. I struggle to ignore my cock's response to her most days, but today is by far the hardest day I've had. She doesn't just look downright gorgeous; she looks positively edible. And since I've tasted her lips, I know without a doubt her lips taste even better than the sexiness of her dress. 100%.
I drag my eyes away from her cock-twitching body when she questions, "Hey, Brax, can I ask a favor?"
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Is it alright if I head home a few hours early today?” she asks, her voice hesitant. “I know it is Saturday night, but we are not as busy as—”
“It’s fine, Princess,” I interrupt, not requiring further explanation. “I have no problem with you leaving a few hours early.”
I won’t lie, even saying I have no concerns, a stabbing pain is hitting me right in the chest. Even though it should have never been turned on, I can't flick off the possessive switch Diesel's interest in Clara instigated. Believe me; I've tried. Nothing works. I just really fucking hope her reasoning for leaving early has nothing to with a member of her opposite sex.
“Is everything alright?” I strive to keep my tone neutral. My attempts are borderline.
Clara grins a soft smile while nodding. “Yeah, I�
�m just moving into a new apartment tomorrow. That’s the reason I need to leave early. I have some loose ends to tie up at my penthouse.”
My brows hit my hairline. The last I heard of Clara’s living situation was that she fought the eviction notice and was staying put in her luxury penthouse on Hyde. So to say I’m shocked by her revelation would be an understatement.
"My new apartment is close to work so it will save me the commute," she blabbers out, saying anything to ease the staggered expression on my face.
I slouch deeper into my chair, battling the urge to force her to open up to me. My fight doesn’t last long.
“Who’s helping you move into your new pad?” I ask, deciding to start my meddling with a less nosy question before I move onto the big hitters.
Clara’s throat works hard to swallow before she faintly murmurs. “Umm. . . me.”
I drop my pencil onto my sketching pad and arch my brow, silently demanding the attention of her fleeing eyes.
“Princess,” I grumble, my words as grating as my jaw is clenched.
With a huff, Clara turns her hard-set eyes to mine. “I don’t have much stuff to move. . . I’ll be fine,” she assures me.
Her strong stance weakens the more I glare at her, but she maintains her calm approach. Not willing to holster our conversation, I push away from my desk and stand from my chair. The throb of the pulse in her neck speeds up when I stride around my desk to stand in front of her.
“What time is your moving truck arriving tomorrow?” I narrow my eyes into thin slits when a cloud of deceit filters over her eyes.
“Only someone who is planning on lying takes time to contemplate a response,” I remark, quoting something she’s said to Johnny numerous times the past four months.
“Ten AM,” she whispers, finally grasping she's waging a battle she’ll never win.
“I’ll be at your penthouse at 8.”
