by Stacy Gail
“You didn’t offend me, and that wasn’t why I did it.” There was a surprising note in his tone, a kind of indulgent tenderness that made her feel warm all over. “You worried about me, tiger?”
She rolled her eyes at the name. Though in all honesty, her behavior had more than earned it. “I’m just worried that revealing yourself is somehow going to impact your sales all the more. I’ve done enough damage to you already. I don’t need the added guilt.”
“If the only appeal my art had was my anonymity, then my career should go belly up.”
“Trust me, your art is amazing.” But that did bring up something that had been bugging her for a while now. “Why did you remain anonymous? I mean, putting your name on your creations is the one thing no one can take away from as artist, so why hide who you were?”
“You’ve obviously never tagged anything for the sheer thrill of putting up graffiti where you shouldn’t.”
He had her there. “Yeah, I didn’t choose the gangster life, and it definitely didn’t choose me.”
“Good,” came the remarkably fervent reply. “You saw my first graffiti in Paradise, but it wasn’t my only graffiti. I tagged a shitload of properties back in the day before I got so good at it someone finally noticed.”
“Your agent, Maude.”
“My professor back then, and yeah. She probably saved my life, turning my penchant for vandalism into high-end art. Before she starting marketing it, most of my creations weren’t exactly loved by the people whose property I used as a canvas. That’s how the anonymity began, and I didn’t see any reason why it should change.”
That made sense. “But now people know about you because of me.”
“So what? Since we told the world what actually happened with your tag getting used in my art, my online sales are currently breaking sales records, and Payne’s reporting pretty much the same thing. Apparently the world’s already forgotten about you trying to tear us down, mainly because the focus is now on the tattoo challenge House Of Payne’s set up between us.”
“Yeah, about that.” She smiled wryly and pressed the phone closer to her ear. “You do know that I’m aware you tricked me into this stupid tattoo challenge, right? You tossed that pissy nail comment out there like bait for me to snap up.”
“And you didn’t disappoint—you snapped it up like you were starving for it. Now the media’s focused on the challenge instead of tearing me and the House down, and you and I get to enjoy flexing our artistic muscle in the process. Which reminds me—if you haven’t signed your contract yet, you need to do it.”
“Signed, sealed and delivered, especially since I saw how much we’re getting paid for each design. My year is made.”
“You’re more than worth it. As an artist himself, Payne values the talent of an artist above all else.”
She’d already figured out that much about the man behind House Of Payne. “The hardest part now is settling on one single nautical idea instead of the hundreds buzzing through my head. Once I do, I’ll be all set.”
“It’s no mystery why Payne chose it. Sailors basically brought tats to Western civilization, and all that nautical shit’s still popular worldwide. He wants the biggest bang for his buck, so he picked something that would appeal to the biggest audience.”
“Smart for business, but not great for me.” She sighed and set her empty iced coffee cup aside. “I’m not exactly the sailor type, you know? The only time I’ve ever been on the water was when I did one of those pedal boat things off of Navy Pier when I was about eleven and Teo was eight. The only thing I can remember is thinking that all his stupid horsing around was going to tip us over.”
“I could be wrong, but I don’t think a little kiddie pedal boat is what Payne had in mind.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Just thinking about her deal with House Of Payne was enough to make her shake her head. “Life is so weird. A month ago I never gave House Of Payne a thought. Now here I am, bought and paid for by Payne for the next four weeks of my life.”
“Poor you.” A mocking sound came to her ear. “What’s the matter, tiger? Is the cage you made for yourself starting to feel a little snug?”
In a heartbeat, her humor vanished. “Do me a favor. Quit calling me tiger, and I’ll stop calling you asshole.”
“You haven’t called me that. Not yet, anyway.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s like a mantra in my head.”
“You’ve got a mouth on you, tiger,” he purred in her ear. For no discernible reason she shivered all over even as a slow, delightful tingle began between her legs. “I can’t believe no one’s gotten around to taking you up on all those challenges you keep throwing out.”
“What challenges are you talking about?”
“Every time you mouth off, you challenge me to do something about it, because deep down you want me to do something about it. So fine. Challenge accepted. Tiger.”
Before she could figure out what to say, the line went dead and she was left grinding her teeth in a frustration she refused to label.
“I’ll give credit where it’s due. Ivy Gemelli’s a fucking genius.” Payne stepped back to view the two art pieces set up on twin black easels. “Too bad she’s also a first-rate pain in the ass. Otherwise I’d sign her in a heartbeat.”
“So you’ve never had any of your original artwork stolen by other artists, then.” Arms crossed and leaning a hip against the table where they’d all be sitting later for the reveal of their nautical tattoo designs, Tag nailed the other man with a hard look. “Or if you did, it didn’t bother you at all. You were happy to just quietly bend over and take it with your pants on.”
“Fuck you,” Payne said pleasantly while Scout—busily arranging folders to place them on each chair in the room—laughed out loud. “Yeah, okay, I get it, all right? She fought for her art, just like I would have. It sucks how she did it, but I can see how I’d do the same damn thing if our roles had been reversed. I mean, she definitely made the biggest splash in how she revealed the issue, and in this world splash is what matters.”
Tag tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know that making a splash for herself was a motive. Ivy’s no glory hound. If she were, coupled with her ability to churn out proportionally perfect art no matter the size, she’d be bigger than both of us combined. She just has a short fuse that no one’s bothered to trim.”
“If you’re thinking you’re man enough to trim it, I’d get some bomb gear ready, just in case.” Flipping through a file’s contents, Scout nodded in satisfaction and placed it on a chair. “Ivy and I almost came to blows at one point, and there was no back-down in her. Like, none. I respect the fuck out of that woman, so you’d be wise to not make the mistake of underestimating her, Tag.”
“It’s not about underestimating her. It’s about properly channeling all that inner fire.” And he had so many ideas on how to do it.
Scout snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Whether it was luck on our side or not, a little nudge in the right direction got all our problems solved,” Payne pointed out, studying the two new designs. “In one single press conference, we put an end to all the bad press, created a new publicity stunt for the House, and garnered a couple top-notch nautical tat designs. I mean seriously, look at what we’ve got. These designs are fucking lit.”
Tag ignored his own black and gray ink project—a bird’s eye view of a captain’s table complete with Old World maps, a quill, a compass and a brass sextant—and focused instead on Ivy’s design. A lighthouse on a rocky shore was backlit by a lightning-filled black sky, and white waves buffeted the lighthouse’s rocky base with obvious violence. But what made the scene so stark—and starkly beautiful—was the outstretched hand and forearm reaching up toward the light. It was one of the first-person perspective tattoos he’d ever seen, and just looking at it gave him chills, to the point where he almost overlooked one of the rocks cleverly disguised as her gem tag. Even if no one had an ounce of appreciati
on of proportion, perspective or shading, they would feel the desperate hope encapsulated in that one incredibly human moment.
Payne was right.
That design was fucking lit.
“Speaking of the devil from Back of the Yards,” Scout said, bringing him back to the present, “here she comes.”
Tag turned in time to see Ivy push through the revolving front door on the other side of the building, and the only good thing about her being so far away was how it gave him ample opportunity to watch her walk. She clearly had no fear of color; the brilliant poppy shade of her halter-style blouse gave her skin tone a goddess-like bronze tint, and the high waist cream-colored pleated skirt made her look like she was ready to step out onto a tennis court or maybe do a high school cheer. She wore absurdly tall, strappy sandals with chunky heels, showing off legs that were better than any art ever created by mankind, and just the sight of all that smooth, glowing skin raised his temperature.
Among other things.
Then she pulled off a pair of huge, circle-lens sunglasses, dropped them into her purse and locked her whiskey eyes on him like he was the only one in the room.
That was all he needed to make up his mind.
He’d given her enough time to get used to him.
“Hiya,” Ivy greeted everyone with a nod and a cautious smile, but her eyes kept returning to him. “Thanks for setting up this announcement after my work hours. My boss would do just about anything for me, including giving me time off, but then she’d make me pay for it via a massive guilt trip. Can’t tell you how glad I am to give that a skip.”
“Not a problem.” For the first time Payne seemed almost friendly as he gave her a nod. “We’ll do whatever we can to make sure this is a success, so we’re happy to work with your schedule.”
“We’re also happy to help boost the signal when it comes to getting buzz worked up around your name.” Scout waved the files at her before placing one on yet another seat. “We’ve made up quite the press kit. I’ve got your entire known history here, as well as Tag’s, so be prepared to see yourself on Wikipedia in the very near future.”
Ivy looked queasy. “Oh. Yippee.”
Scout gave her an understanding smile. “It’ll be fine, Ivy. Listen, we’re not expecting anyone from the media to show up for another half hour or so, so if you want to relax up in my office, go ahead and make yourself—”
“Great, thanks.” Without another word, Tag grabbed Ivy’s hand and dragged her toward the stairs.
Chapter Eight
“Listen up, daddy long legs, I’m not a frickin’ pull toy.” Ivy barely managed to keep up with Tag as he practically ran her up the stairs and into Scout’s office. “And I’m not exactly wearing track shoes, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed.” He closed the door behind them, and it was like turning the world’s sound off. In the silence of Scout’s office, she was suddenly, blazingly aware of every last thing about him, from how he leaned casually against the door, to how his eyes watched her like seeing her was his only mission in life. “I notice everything about you. Especially those shoes.”
She blinked before she looked down at her sandals. They gave her an added four inches, something she needed in the face of the masculine tower that was Tag, but even more than that she’d thought they made her legs look dead sexy. But considering his tone, maybe not. “I love these shoes. What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing. I love them too. That’s why I want you to wear them when I fuck you.”
Her gaze jerked up from her feet to crash into his. Holy cow, he was serious. “Uh…”
“Yeah? You wanna say something?”
Valiantly she tried to laugh it off, even as a lick of desire began to raise her temperature. “You don’t mean now, do you? You couldn’t possibly mean now.”
Slowly he started toward her. “We’ve got privacy and a sofa. Or, barring that, we’ve got a nice, big desk right behind you. Then again, a wall or even that rug you’re standing on would work. Come to think of it, we could have a damn orgy in here with all these possibilities.”
Stalking her. Heaven above, the man was stalking her like she was his prey. There had to be something wrong with her to find that exhilarating. “Am I the only one left in this whole wide world who thinks sex should happen in the bedroom?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to that. Eventually.”
“We’re not going to have sex here,” she enunciated with more determination than she felt. When he was looking at her with those killer hungry eyes guaranteed to make her clothes disintegrate right off her body, she was proud to still be moderately coherent. “I mean, we can’t. We barely know each other, this is someone’s office, and we’re going to be in front of a bunch of cameras in less than half an hour.”
“Not in any of that did I hear a plausible reason why I can’t at least get you worked up into a screaming hot mess in the next five minutes.”
The statement stopped her heart in its tracks. “You… do you really think you could?”
“Like I said, challenge accepted.” To her surprise, he changed his stalking course to pull a sleek, armless chair from the wall. Eyes on her, he lowered himself onto it and made himself comfortable. “I can tell you one thing, though—nothing good’s going to happen with you standing all the way over there and I’m all the way over here. You want to become a screaming hot mess—and I guarantee I can make you the definition of a screaming hot mess—you’re going to have to come over here.” For emphasis he patted his hand on his thigh. “Your choice, tiger.”
“Wow.” A giddy laugh rocked out of her even as a flush made her neck burn and her nipples tingle so distractingly she didn’t even notice taking a step toward him until it was a done deal. “Are you even listening to yourself? You sound like you belong in a third-rate porno.”
“I’m cool with my dialogue being made for a porno. Truth be told, it matches the rest of me.”
“Oh.” Nothing in the world could have stopped her eyes from dropping to his lap. Or more specifically, his crotch. “I’m guessing you’re not a snug.”
“There’s a reason why I mentioned I’m glad those condoms don’t reflect your personal preferences.” He reached for his wallet in his back pocket. Eyes on her, he flipped it open, fished out a square packet, then put his wallet back. “See?”
With a mind of their own, her feet took another step. Then another. “Just what exactly is your…um…size?”
“I’m showing you.”
“You can tell me from here.”
“Aw, is my tiger actually nothing more than a scaredy cat?”
That brought her another step closer. “Sometimes you’re a real dick.”
“Some might say I’m all dick, though personally I believe I’m way more than just that particular part of my anatomy.” He waved the condom packet. “What’s your opinion on the subject?”
“Um.” She was losing the thread of the conversation, because damn the man, all she could focus on now was that condom he waved around. “My opinion is that I might be in a lot of trouble with you.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because I can’t seem to stop myself from doing what you say.” That thought dawned on her about the same time she realized she was standing right in front of him. On its heels came the realization that this was exactly where she wanted to be. “Okay, you. Show me.”
Without a word he put the edge of the packet in his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.
Daring her.
Daring her to do exactly what he wanted.
Daring her to accept that it was what she wanted, too.
Damn him.
The thought of snatching the condom out of his mouth appeared and vanished in a blink. What she really wanted to do was something so much more, a crazy desire that had been slowly taking over every part of her body for the past several minutes. She still wasn’t sure what to make of him, and he sure as hell was more of a stranger than a friend.
But…
She wanted him.
As in, seriously wanted him, until her skin was feverish and that place between her legs ached with an emptiness she needed him to fill.
That wanting was what had moved her to him.
That wanting was what brought her hands up to brace against the solid warmth of his broad shoulders.
And that wanting was what drew her down to the packet he held in his mouth, where she plucked it from him with her teeth, all the while looking into his eyes.
“Be careful with those teeth, tiger.” As he spoke, his beautiful artist’s hands reached out to slide up her outer thighs to a point just under the hem of her skirt, pulling her closer as he did so. Her skin felt pleasantly scorched wherever he touched, and she didn’t even think about resisting his pull. “No man in his right mind likes the teeth. Spread your legs and have a seat. I’m ready for you.”
Oh, lordy.
Sinking onto his lap, she took the packet from her mouth and locked her hands behind his neck. “Orders don’t count if I’m already doing what you’re telling me to do.”
“I say what counts and what doesn’t.” His hands were still on her thighs, and she was so focused on them it was difficult to be aware of anything else. “Kiss me, Ivy.”
Her gaze flew to his. “What?”
“Kiss me.”
Everything in her stilled. Her breath, her heart, even the chaotic rush of her thoughts. And in that sudden stillness, all she could hear were those two words.
Kiss me.
Yes.
Oh, yes.
With nothing but those words guiding her, Ivy leaned forward and brought her mouth to his.
He didn’t help her. This surprised her at first, before it filled her with the fire of challenge. As her lips melded to him, his remained closed and unresponsive. She leaned into him, reveling in how her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest as she nuzzled her lips over his.
