Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy #2)

by Carly Phillips

  With those thoughts tumbling through his mind, he stayed with her for another half hour, then decided he needed to leave before he fell asleep, too. As much as he wanted to wake up with her, there was no reason to put the two of them through an awkward morning after. They’d both agreed how tonight would end, and the last thing he wanted to do was get caught sneaking out of her room by Tara or one of his brothers.

  Chapter Eight

  Mason was pretty good at multitasking, but even he was having a hard time concentrating on the tattoo he was shading on a client’s piece while trying to hear what Katrina found so damn funny. She’d laughed more in the past five minutes than she had since they’d gotten back from Vegas a little over a week ago.

  It didn’t help his disposition that the person who was responsible for that light, bubbly laughter was a good-looking guy named Blake Cavanaugh, who was a regular client of Caleb’s, another one of the artists in the shop. Blake was a suit who co-owned one of the top ad agencies in Chicago—a clean-cut, polished executive by day, but beneath his designer suits, Blake’s arms, chest, and back were a canvas of inked art. What was even more irritating was that he was a really nice guy.

  And he had a thing for Katrina. Every time Blake came in to add to his collection of tattoos, he openly flirted with her and asked her out, even though she always gently turned him down. But that didn’t stop the guy from turning on the charm, or Katrina from enjoying it, every damn time.

  Fucking Romeo, Mason thought irritably.

  More amused laughter had Mason gritting his teeth as he applied pressure with the needle in his hand to blend in the slightly different tones of black ink along the raven’s wing he was applying on a woman’s upper back. He couldn’t remember the last time Katrina had been that carefree with him, though he knew for damn sure it had been well before their trip to Vegas for the wedding.

  They’d promised to leave their hookup in Vegas, and true to their word, neither one of them had so much as mentioned those two nights together—but Mason thought about them. Constantly. Especially about how Katrina had made him actually enjoy sex, as something unique between the two of them. As more than just chasing the physical release and high an orgasm gave him.

  Everything they’d done those nights, the playful sexual games, the lengthy foreplay, and making sure that Katrina’s pleasure was equal to his own, were all things he never indulged in with other women. Hell, the thought had never crossed his mind before. His own needs had been his sole focus. With Katrina, her feelings mattered, and now anything less seemed shallow and self-serving.

  God, he’d never thought it would be this difficult to return home, revert to best friends, and pretend Vegas had never happened. Forgetting was impossible, since he saw Katrina every day at work. Though she seemed to be dealing with the situation just fine, he knew better. To the outside world, she was the same Katrina she’d always been—always friendly and smiling, but Mason could feel that things were off and, at times, forced and not just with him. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it when all he wanted was for things to return to normal.

  And he wanted to stop thinking about getting in Katrina’s panties again. Yeah, especially that, he thought with a frustrated exhale. No matter how many times he told his dick there wouldn’t be a repeat performance, that didn’t stop him from wishing and fantasizing.

  Finished with the tattoo he’d been applying, he gave the young woman, Rachel, a mirror and let her check the design in her reflection.

  “I absolutely love it,” Rachel said enthusiastically. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

  “I always aim to please,” Mason drawled, and smiled at her. It was a line he used occasionally with new clients, and it had slipped out automatically. But when she glanced back at him with a seductive look and gave him a once-over, he belatedly realized his mistake.

  “Umm, I just bet you do,” she murmured flirtatiously, a clear invitation in her gaze.

  Before Vegas, this was where he’d work the situation to his advantage and ask her if she wanted to meet up later, but shockingly, the idea just didn’t appeal to him. And that said a lot for his state of mind, considering he hadn’t been with anyone since that last night with Katrina over a week ago. Normally, by now he would have already moved on to another casual hookup. The fact that he hadn’t returned to his regular routine, and even this woman in front of him—who was pretty and curvy and seemingly willing—wasn’t tempting him, was a clear indication that his dick wanted what it couldn’t have.

  Unfortunately, Katrina’s hot body was permanently off-limits, and he’d just have to ride out this self-imposed dry spell. At some point—probably when he stopped thinking and obsessing about Katrina and comparing every woman to her—his goddamn cock would get back into the game.

  So, for one of the very few times in his adult life, he didn’t pursue a woman’s blatant come-on. Instead, he went over care instructions with her while he applied a layer of antibacterial ointment over the fresh tattoo and covered it with a bandage. As she left his cubicle, Mason glanced over to the front counter, relieved to see that Blake had finally left, and Katrina was going over some paperwork with Jasmine, their full-time receptionist. A few moments later, Katrina walked over to the drafting table, where they all did their client drawings and designs, then sat down and started sketching.

  He cleaned up his station and decided that in order for him and Katrina to get past this weirdness and set things right between them, they needed to get back to doing some of those typical things they always used to do together as friends. Something light and fun, where they could relax around one another again. And the perfect idea popped into his mind.

  Feeling upbeat and hopeful, he checked to make sure his evening was clear of appointments, then strolled over to Katrina. Her head was down as she worked on her design, but she must have seen him in her peripheral vision, because her shoulders tensed. He wanted to reach out and run his hand down her spine until she softened beneath his touch. Hell, he just wanted to touch her, period.

  Instead, he leaned casually against the table beside her, watching as she drew a series of cherry blossom vines that entwined around a woman’s name. “Is that a commissioned piece?” he asked.

  She nodded, her wrist loose as she added a bit of shading to the flowers. “A woman came in earlier and liked one of the exclusive designs in my album and requested a custom piece. She wants cherry blossom vines along her rib cage, incorporating her sister’s name. She passed away a few years ago.”

  A lot of the tattoos they did commemorated a special occasion or were dedicated to a loved one. “Who’s doing the ink?”

  “Derek,” she said, naming the newest artist, who’d come to work at Inked almost six months ago. “He was the only one who had the day and time free that the client wanted.”

  Mason continued to quietly watch her draw. She was an incredible artist—always had been, and it was nice to be able to offer their customers a more feminine style of art. Katrina had never had an interest in learning the actual application of a tattoo, but she loved the outlet of creating designs, and he selfishly liked having her in his shop.

  She’d been with him since the first day he’d opened the doors to Inked, supporting him and making sure this place ran like a well-oiled machine. She took care of the front end of the shop and paid all the bills. She handled inventory, payroll, and accounting—all the crap that he had no time or interest in doing, not to mention, she kept his personal bills, and his life in general, in order. Just another way that she was so invaluable to him.

  After a few minutes of silence, she put down her pencil and glanced up at him, her gaze guarded. “Is there something you need from me, Mason?”

  Now there was a loaded question if he’d ever heard one. All sorts of innuendos passed through his mind, and he tried hard not to say something stupid and put a damper on what he planned to ask her. “Actually, I was just wondering if you’d like to hang out tonight?”

  A slight frown c
reased her brow. “Hang out?” Her tone was cautious.

  “Yeah. Hang out,” he said with an easygoing shrug. “It’s been a while and I thought it would be fun to go to Navy Pier. We can ride the Ferris wheel and play some miniature golf and have dinner at Bubba Gump.”

  The smile that appeared was nostalgic, and Mason knew that she was remembering when they were teenagers and how they’d sneak out on summer nights and spend hours at the pier, staying well after everything shut down. Back then, neither one of them had had any money for the food or attractions, but they’d always managed to have a good time. Being together had been all that mattered—and it had been a bonus that it’d also provided a much-needed escape from their crappy home lives for a few hours.

  “It has been a long time,” she said wistfully, and Mason thought for sure he’d managed to hook her until she followed that up with, “But I can’t tonight. I already have plans.”

  Her reply was frustratingly vague, when she never used to hesitate to share specific details with him. He waited a few seconds, and when she didn’t elaborate as he hoped, he pushed for an answer.

  “What kind of plans?” He wanted to know what was more important than spending time with him. Or maybe it was just an excuse not to be alone with him. Whatever the case, he wanted an answer. “What are you doing?”

  She hesitated, her teeth grazing her bottom lip in a nervous gesture before she replied. “Well . . . I’m going to dinner with Blake Cavanaugh.”

  Her unexpected answer felt like a sucker punch right to the stomach, and it took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to roar like a fucking caveman and drag Katrina off to his office by the hair like said Neanderthal and show her who she belonged to.

  Jesus Christ, possessive much? Apparently, when it came to Katrina, he was battling a strong urge to stake his claim, when he had no right to do so.

  More calmly than the emotions rioting inside him, he spoke again, “You’re going on a date with the guy?” The question scraped across his throat like a sharp knife.

  “It’s just dinner,” she said, as if it was no big deal.

  Dinner . . . and then what? Mason wondered. Back to Katrina’s place for a nightcap and . . . Fuck, fuck, fuck, he couldn’t even think of another man touching her without coming unhinged.

  “You’ve spent the past year turning him down,” he said, amazed that his voice actually sounded normal. “What changed?”

  She sighed softly and tucked the purple ends of her blonde hair behind an ear, which gave him a better view of her beautiful face and the discomfort he saw there. “He’s a really nice guy, so why not?”

  Mason could give her a dozen reasons why not, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate his answers: Because no one will fuck you as well as I do . . .because Cavanaugh has no clue how special you are . . . because you’re mine and I can’t bear to lose you to another man.

  Yeah, that last one made his goddamn heart hurt.

  He didn’t want any other man to have her, but Mason flat-out didn’t have what it took to be the kind of man Katrina needed and deserved. And his biggest fear was that someday she’d realize that, even as a friend, Mason wasn’t worth her while. That had been a familiar pattern in his youth—a mother who didn’t give a shit and chose drugs over her kids, a father who didn’t even know he existed, teachers who never tried to understand the source of his belligerent attitude and instead wrote him off as a loser. Which had only pushed him to be even more of a delinquent, because why the hell not? He’d had absolutely nothing to lose.

  A part of him even knew that those doubts about himself were the reason he didn’t let his relationships last longer than a one-night stand. If he didn’t let anyone close enough to affect his feelings—Katrina being the one exception—there was no risk of rejection. His detached attitude had always served him well and kept his emotions isolated. Other than his brothers, Katrina was the one person he’d allowed himself to care for, and if he couldn’t give her all of himself, did he really have the right to stand in her way of finding that with someone else?

  Jesus, his stomach churned and he seriously felt as though he was going to throw up. Because he knew the answer to that question, and he had to stop being a selfish asshole when it came to her. And that meant he needed to face the reality of Katrina moving on with another man who wasn’t as screwed up as he was, and who would love her wholeheartedly and without any fears or reservations.

  “You’re right,” he finally said, even as everything within him rebelled at his acceptance of the situation. “Blake is a nice guy. Have a good time on your date.”

  And then Mason walked away while trying to convince himself that he’d done the right thing for Katrina, even if it felt so damn wrong.

  * * *

  Katrina pulled her iridescent purple Volkswagen Beetle into a just-vacated parking spot on the street near Antico, a higher-end Italian restaurant in Bucktown, where she was meeting Blake Cavanaugh. Part of her stipulation for having dinner with him was that she drove her own car and met him at the restaurant so that they could leave separately, as well. Mason might be under the impression that she was out on a date tonight, but that wasn’t the case at all.

  She’d agreed to see Blake after hours for one reason only, and that’s because he’d said he had a business proposition to present to her, and she was curious enough to find out what that proposal entailed. She’d already made the difficult decision to find another job, and she was actively looking and keeping her prospects open while training Jasmine at Inked to take on more responsibilities so it would be a smoother transition when Katrina left.

  Enduring Mason’s presence every single day, for up to ten hours, was taking its toll. Emotionally, her heart ached in a way she’d never experienced before. She knew in order to save their friendship, she needed space because it was just too hard and painful to watch every move he made at the shop, along with watching him flirt with women on a regular basis. The jealousy would eventually eat her alive.

  Bottom line, she couldn’t move on with her life the way she needed to with the way things currently were. And especially after the weekend she’d spent with Mason in Vegas. Those two nights had changed everything for her, and nothing for him. Then again, he hadn’t made her any promises, and she’d known up front that’s how he operated when it came to women and sex. But that knowledge didn’t make what she felt for Mason any less painful.

  Pushing thoughts of Mason from her mind so she could focus on Blake’s proposition, whatever it might be, she got out of her car, engaged the alarm, and made her way across the street. She’d gone home after work and changed into a nice pair of black cigarette pants and a dark purple off-the-shoulder blouse that matched the highlights in her hair, and a funky pair of heeled pumps that looked as though someone had spattered them with purple paint. The outfit was nicer than the casual attire she wore at Inked, and more appropriate for what Katrina considered a business dinner—not a date.

  When she reached Antico, she found Blake waiting outside for her.

  His appreciative gaze took in her changed appearance, and he grinned. “Wow, I thought you looked great today, but tonight, you look stunning.”

  She smiled and accepted the compliment gracefully. “Thank you.”

  Despite her being all about business tonight, she knew Blake would try and mix in a bit of pleasure. He’d been very clear about his romantic interest in her, and the man was charming and persuasive, but Katrina was determined to keep things professional.

  As they walked into the restaurant, she noticed that he’d gone home and changed, too. He now wore a pair of black slacks and a dark gray long-sleeved dress shirt. He’d forgone a tie and suit jacket, and while he looked much more casual, there was no mistaking that this man still had the ability to command whatever room he walked into. He just had that kind of self-assured presence.

  On the outside, he was a clean-cut, good-looking man with chiseled features and dark brown eyes that shone with confidence and intell
igence. But she knew that beneath those layers of clothes, he was a tattooed bad boy. It was such a contradiction, and while Katrina couldn’t deny that those dual sides to Blake’s personality were sexy as hell, that’s as far as her fascination went. It really was too bad she couldn’t return his interest, not when her heart belonged to someone else. Even if that someone else didn’t have a damn clue.

  Which was why she needed to put distance between her and Mason, so she could learn to live without him in her life every single day. And then, maybe some guy would come along and fill that void in a more permanent way. After seeing the love and affection that Samantha and Clay shared, she wanted a man to cherish her. She wanted to get married and create a family of her own. She didn’t want to settle for less than the whole package.

  They stepped up to the podium to check in for their reservation, but as soon as the twenty-something girl saw Blake, her eyes lit up and she smiled brightly, clearly recognizing him as a regular.

  “Hi, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she greeted him, and didn’t bother to look at Katrina. “Your table is ready.”

  “Excellent.” The hostess walked into the restaurant, and Blake settled his big hand on Katrina’s lower back as they followed the girl.

  It was a gentlemanly gesture, and while Katrina thought she might feel some kind of spark of awareness or even a flutter or attraction, it just didn’t happen, and she knew it wouldn’t, with any man, until she was over Mason. God, she hoped that was even possible.

  They sat down at a table in a quiet, private corner, and as soon as the waiter arrived, Blake ordered a bottle of wine for the two of them. Katrina assumed it had to be expensive, because she’d never heard of it before, and Blake didn’t look like the kind of guy who drank cheap Chardonnay. She perused her menu of Italian fare and he did the same.

  After a few minutes, Blake gave her his suggestions. “The roasted duck is fabulous, and so is the smoked pork shoulder ragù.”