“Look, Corey.” Bekka rubbed his back. Damn, she didn’t want to hurt him, and she didn’t want to ruin their chances of re-kindling something, but she also didn’t want to rush into anything with both feet first. “I hated like hell leaving you that day, and if you ever really knew me you know that is true. But a person has their limits, hon, and I had reached mine.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand, looked up, and managed a weak smile. “Juanita still blames herself for our breakup. But I blame myself, always have.” His gaze trailed away from her, and Corey’s eyes glazed over with inner consideration. “I could see you were hurting, could see the situation was suffocating you, and you just kept putting on a brave, strong face for me. I should’ve sat you down and made you talk, babe. I should’ve found a way to make things better for us until we were on our feet.”
Bekka ran her hand up his arm and smiled at Corey. “No one is to blame. I should’ve opened my mouth more when you and I were together. I should’ve told you what I was feeling, rather than keeping you in the dark all the time. I’m sorry.”
Corey covered her hand with his big, warm palm. He scratched absently at his trimmed beard and gave a sheepish look. “Can I let you in on a little secret, darling?”
Bekka leaned her hand in her chin and grinned curiously. “What’s that?”
Slowly, Corey wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her closer. “Has Juanita been coming to visit you, popping in to the shop every now and again, say—oh I don’t know—off and on for about six months now?”
Bekka raised an eyebrow as he gave her a sideways, dimpled smirk. “Yes, she has. In fact, the first time she walked in I nearly choked on the cola I was drinking. It was great to see her, but I was surprised. We got to chatting. She stayed about a half an hour that first time. Business was slow that day. She’s been in a couple times since.” Bekka tapped her trimmed fingers nails against her chin and gave Corey a scrutinizing, mock glare.
He batted his eyelashes at her and bit his lip. Bekka could see the bastard was on the verge of laughing. She was between wanting to slap him and wanting to smirk along with him.
“I kind of asked her to do that,” he confessed, mimicking the sheepish voice of an embarrassed child, trying to be cute. “She’s been keeping tabs on you for me. Juanita was the one that hunted the address and phone number of your shop down for me. I was too afraid to do it. I asked her to go see you first. To ask you some questions.” Corey stood and paced in front of the coffee table.
Bekka shook her head, smiling from a mixture of annoyance and secret joy. He’d asked his step-mom to spy on her. She looked up at him. “Why were you too afraid?”
He stopped and looked at her as he jammed his hands far in the pockets of his snug, worn jeans. “Afraid you might be with someone else by now. Afraid you wouldn’t be interested in seeing me. But when Juanita told me how nice you were to her, and that you had asked about me, and found out that you were still single—”
“Whoa. Whoa.” Bekka stood, poking a finger in Corey’s face as she grinned then scowled at him. “You asked me if I was still single earlier tonight, but you already knew.”
His face broke into a huge grin and his eyes glinted like a little boy’s. “I know.” He shrugged. “I was just double-checking.”
***
Bekka stood in front of him, chuckling while she still held the blanket in place around her. “You sonofabitch.” She shook her head. “And how dumb am I? I did wonder when Juanita showed up this summer, but she only lives forty-five minutes from me. I just figured she’d stumbled on the shop on one of her trips to Moncton.”
Corey let out a big sigh and looked away from her. He was chewing on his lip, and she could tell, he was trying not to grin at his little ruse just revealed.
“Well.” She sat on the couch, tired of holding the blanket in place and tired of standing. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve used your mother to get to me.”
He came around the side of the couch quickly and stood over her. In the dim light filtering through the open curtains, from the glaring streetlight outside, his profile caught in an inky silhouette. Corey looked unsure, on the verge of anger again, and the right side of his mouth twitched slightly. “What do you mean?”
Fed up with this rollercoaster of emotions, and crammed in to one night to boot, Bekka dropped her fleece throw and then stood with her arms over her chest, glancing toward the clock.
“Look, Corey.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “I’ve been up since before seven and it’s already three-thirty now. I’ve got to get some sleep. Can we put the fighting on pause for tonight?”
“Whatever.” Corey grabbed his leather coat off the back of the couch, jerked his arms into it, and made his way to the door without looking back or saying goodbye to her. The wooden frame echoed from the force of him slamming the battered wood.
“Damn man.” Bekka rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was aching with the subtle threat of a headache. “And they say us women are bad for pulling fits and playing mind games.” She shook her head and shuffled to the kitchen in search of aspirin.
***
Chapter 4
She hadn’t seen him in three days. As Bekka stared out at the grey, drizzling early spring weather, part of her was glad of Corey’s absence, and part of her wanted desperately to see him again. He’d always had this damn effect on her. Pulling her emotions back and forth, making her feel like a little girl inside—frustrated often, but aroused at the same time. Bastard.
What’s stopping you from taking a walk over to his tattoo shop? A impulsive, impish voice in her head spoke up.
I don’t want to go over there, she convinced herself, or tried to. Bekka rang up a large tome of Edgar Allan Poe: Collected Tales for a customer, bid them goodbye, and glanced at the big cuckoo clock above the entrance.
Four o’ clock. Time to close up for her dinner break. She went into the small, back cloak room to retrieve her wallet and a light jacket. Bekka strode out the glass front door, locking then checking it as she tucked her key chain in the pocket of her coat.
She glanced over at Corey’s shop. Low music drifted from the tattoo parlor and lights glowed warmly within. Should I? She shook her head and made for the back of her store, to the stairs that led to her apartment.
Just then, two young, giggling women stepped out of the shop. One stopped, and the other tugged at the back of her jeans, tittering “Let me see again,” as she moved a bandage placed just above the other girl’s waistline. “That is so cool,” the ginger-haired friend exclaimed. “I am definitely getting one next payday. Hey, and it’s worth it to come back for that tattoo artist, huh?”
The smaller blonde smiled at her and raised her eyebrows. “Definitely. Damn, was he hot or what?”
The redhead nodded in emphatic agreement and the two walked off down the sidewalk, then trotted across the street to a nearby gas-station.
Bekka looked at the shop and narrowed her eyes. She felt a pang of something she didn’t like hit her straight in the chest. A dull ache that made her angry at herself. Jealousy.
There was no mistaking Corey was a handsome man, in that wild, bad-boy rugged sense that made many women swoon. He had a quiet charm that was also mischievous, and Bekka had seen him use it in the past. She’d been on the receiving end of that melting charisma as well, many times.
“I’m going in,” she muttered, keeping a hand on her wallet as she tucked it into the pocket of her coat. Head down, long, black curls catching in the March breeze, she walked the dozen or so steps to Corey’s parlor.
***
The distinct sound of Motorhead made her grin as Bekka opened the shop door. Jamie, a young guy from Rexton who idolized Corey, rose from the couch in the waiting area of the tattoo parlor.
“Bekka?” He came forward, big blue eyes sparkling as he smiled. “Hey, girl! How the hell are you doing these days?”
Bekka grinned at Jamie and shook his outstretched hand. “Pretty good, swee
tie.” She smacked him on the shoulder. “What are you doing all the way out here? Are you working for Corey now?”
Growing up in Alberta, she had spent her summers surrounded by tough, farmboy cousins when her and her father went to visit family. Bekka spent most of her life proving she could stand up to just about any man. That had toughened her, and she didn’t feel too comfortable in frilly outfits or at fancy dinner parties. Not that she knocked those ladies who did—to each their own—but Bekka felt more at home throwing wood than she did cooking a four course dinner. It was just the way life had taught her to be, and she was comfortable with it. Being raised without a mother, all she’d ever really known was male companionship growing up—her father, her uncles, her cousins—only her aunts and some female cousins had provided her with any female camaraderie.
“Yup.” Jamie’s voice broke through her reverie into the past. “He brought me with him. I’m gonna do my apprenticeship here.”
“No way.” Her jaw dropped. “You left the farm back home? Good for you, kiddo. You’ve got a natural knack with your art. Don’t see why you won’t make a great tattoo artist.” Bekka congratulated her friend with a hug just as Corey walked into the main area. His massive, muscled bulk seemed to shrink the waiting area.
He looked at Bekka with eyes of cold, blue steel. His jaw set, and his chin held high. He smiled a stiff smile. “Hey, Bekka. Did you just come over?”
Her heart thudded in her ears and she crossed her arms over her chest. Right away, Corey’s gaze wandered to her breasts. Bekka took a quick look down and saw why. Her v-neck blouse had pulled down with her motion, exposing a generous peek of cleavage.
Nodding, she admonished herself for letting him catch her off guard like this, with no excuse for being in the shop. Her quick mind raced through possible excuses. “I came to make an appointment.”
Jamie, obviously sensing the tension between them—so thick in the room it could practically choke its occupants—excused himself. With a “Great to see you again, Bekka,” thrown over his shoulder, he wandered into the back room.
Corey moved from behind the front counter, coming closer. He squinted and cocked his head as he repeated, “An appointment?”
She laughed, trying to wear a façade of pure calm. “Yeah, I…want to get that tattoo you started on me finished finally. I figured since you’re the one who did the outline, you should be the one to color it too.”
The bluff worked. He grinned. The tension eased with the renewed lightness of Corey’s mood. “You never had that thing finished. Well, that’s good news. It’ll give me a chance to touch up the outline too before I color it in.”
She thought about the now empty space on her left thigh where a black outline of a sun and moon intertwined with tribal ivy once resided. It had been Corey’s first attempt at a tattoo on human skin (he’d been using practice skins before that), and he’d been as nervous as hell to work on her. Bekka had encouraged him all the way and, being her first tattoo, she’d bit back every ounce of the pain, never letting him see her flinch. Despite a few shaky lines, the design had come out near perfect. While Corey hadn’t been terribly impressed, always being hyper-critical of his work, Bekka had been blown away by his natural ability already showing in such an early attempt.
Now, what would he say when he found out that she’d had the outline removed about six months back? Thankfully he hadn’t noticed when they’d slept together recently, but he’d had his attention on other things.
She’d been in a particularly low period after one of her friends, who ran an Adult Boutique three doors down from her bookstore, had set her up on a blind date. The guy had turned out to be a real bore and not at all Bekka’s type either. To top it off, when her companion for the evening excused himself to go to the Men’s room, he stiffed her with the check and never returned to the table.
When she’d returned home that night, Bekka had found herself reminiscing about Corey, and that only served to depress her more. In the morning light, that sadness, hollowness, had turned to anger, and she’d made an appointment with a cosmetic surgeon in Moncton to have the tattoo outline removed. It was the only thing she couldn’t stick in a drawer, or hide from her sight, to keep Corey’s memory from invading her mind. Sure, clothes covered the outline up, but she could still feel his mark, his warm touch brushing against her skin, every time the cloth dragged over the ink. It was like he had branded her for life and, at that time, all she’d wanted was his markings gone from her body.
“Well.” He ran a hand up the arm of her coat and squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s see it, and then we’ll go over to the counter and I’ll book you an appointment.”
Bekka froze. Great, Sherlock, she chided herself. What now? Nice bluff.
Corey was already peeling her jacket back from her shoulders. Damn, he was in a hurry to take a peek. Bekka backed up, pulling away from his touch, and Corey gave her a confused frown.
“One problem.” She bit her lip, and Corey continued to look bewildered. Bekka sighed, took off her coat, and draped it over the arm of one of the couches. She peeled her black jeans away from her hip. “I kind of had the outline removed. Ummm…looks like we’re starting from scratch.”
***
Bekka obviously expected him to blow up when she told him, but Corey remained calm. He stared into her soft grey eyes and saw fear of his anger. The look cut him like a knife. Not this time, Corey. He took a deep breath and smiled at her. Don’t let that damn temper of yours ruin this second chance. Prove to her you’ve changed in every way.
“No problem,” he said, as he lowered to his haunches to inspect her smooth, ivory hip. He looked for any traces of the original outline on her skin and chided himself for the deep ache he felt in his gut at the unmarked flesh. It made him feel lonely, hollow, somehow. As if his love had meant nothing to her, and she’d erased him completely from her life.
You’re being an ass. He stood, and she pulled up the waistband of her tight jeans. Speaking of asses… He shook his head. “How about Sunday?”
“Sunday?” Bekka looked confused, and those big grey eyes widened as she cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you closed on Sunday and Monday?”
He nodded then flashed a lecherous smile. Corey wouldn’t hide the fact that he was trying to get her alone. Hell, no. Why? This time around, he wanted her to feel wanted by him in every way. He wanted to show her that she meant everything to him, and he’d do whatever it took to get her back in his arms.
Bekka lowered her head and laughed. Her pale skin flushed beyond the brushstrokes of blusher she wore. “I should’ve smelled ulterior motive written all over that one.”
He tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest then feigned hurt. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”
“No, no.” She held up a hand in defense. Her eyes glinted with a mischief Corey remembered, and he felt something stirring below at the memory of what that smile could mean. “I didn’t mean it that way…”
“Sure, sure.” He tossed his head, knowing it sent his long, dark curls spilling down his back. Corey remembered her weakness for long hair well, and damned if he wouldn’t use Bekka’s every weakness to his best advantage. “I know. You don’t have to explain.” He turned quickly on his heel, striding to the front counter in a mock gesture of anger. Corey also remembered her weakness for laughter, and he’d always been able to make her chuckle with his antics.
Bekka laughed softly behind him, and he heard her boots ticking on the linoleum as she followed him to the counter. Corey turned back to her once he was behind its glass front.
Bekka rolled her eyes at him and flashed a big smile. “I’m not sure what I want just yet. Maybe I’ll just get you to tattoo the same design I originally had there.” She pointed to her hip.
Corey popped a pencil between his lips and scratched his trimmed beard as he bent to retrieve an appointment book from underneath the cash register. “I’m going to jot myself a note about Sunday, just in case.” He
scrawled a few words in the ledger and then looked up at her, grinning. “You know my memory.”
Nodding, Bekka gave him a shaky grin back and then heaved a deep sigh. Corey watched her tap the countertop with her fingers in a erratic rhythm. Was she nervous about having him tattoo her? Why?
“What time?” she asked, snapping him out of his ponderings.
“How about two o’ clock? I have some things to do before lunch on Sunday, so would that be okay with you?”
“Sounds good.”
***
Corey thought about it all evening after he closed up the parlor and declined Jamie’s invite to check out one of the local pubs with a few buddies.
What? A cynical little voice inside his head scoffed at him. Did you expect her to keep it forever as a reminder of you? Think you’re that unforgettable, Corey? Nice ego.
“Fuck off,” Corey muttered, and poured himself another shot of Jack as he surfed through the channels for a third time. Maybe he’d just go to bed with a book. That always calmed him. But he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Why, and when, had Bekka had that outline removed? She’d never been the vindictive type, and they had parted on amicable, if not heartbreaking, terms. So why the need to remove the outline? Was he really that bad of a memory to her?
“Sonofabitch. Why am I doing this to myself?” He slammed the bottle of liquor down on the oak coffee table and ran a large hand through his hair. Corey was halfway past tipsy and sticking both feet into the waters of drunk. With alcohol came the courage and the questions, and the need to know why.
Getting to his feet, he looked at the clock hanging over the entertainment unit. Ten minutes past midnight. No way Bekka would be in bed yet. Despite rising early to open her bookstore / gift shop, Corey knew, from watching her apartment through his bedroom window these past couple days, that Bekka was still a night owl, just like him. Her lights never went out until well past two in the morning.
Bad Boys of BDSM Omnibus No. 1 Page 13
