by Ranae Rose
Irresistible Ink
Inked in the Steel City Book 6
Ranae Rose
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are products of the author’s imagination and are in no way real. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Irresistible Ink
Copyright © 2014 Ranae Rose
Cover photo by: Michael Stokes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Irresistible Ink
(Inked in the Steel City, #6)
Unbelievable… After months of admiring Arianna during their tattoo sessions, James is half in love and completely in lust. When he finally asks her out, things move at lightning speed, until he gets her home… Where someone has abandoned a baby on his doorstep. Arianna should be running in the opposite direction, so why is she the one who comes to his rescue when he has nowhere else to turn?
Unlovable… Arianna’s past holds a secret sure to crush James’ attraction to her, which is too bad because he’s exactly the kind of guy she’d choose for herself, if things had been different. She knows she should abandon their failed attempt at a fling, but she can’t turn her back on him and his newborn niece – they need all the help they can get. Being a part of his life while fighting her feelings for him is hard, and resisting his feelings for her is even harder.
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE SERIES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
James was already halfway in love with Arianna. How could he not be? She was like a goddess in his tattoo chair. The rest of the Hot Ink Tattoo Studio had faded into the background, a blur of light and noise and things he didn’t – couldn’t – give a damn about as long as she was there. He couldn’t have said what song was playing on the radio, or how many other clients were in the shop, if his life had depended on it. And he’d been going like this for hours.
For some clients, he would’ve suggested breaking a tattoo like Arianna’s latest down into more than one session. Not for his own sake, but to reduce the pain and keep the client from having to sit still and bear it for so long. Not Arianna Valencia.
This was the third tattoo he’d done for her, and he knew she’d sit still as a statue, a model client as he worked. She was as silent as a statue, too – maybe too quiet.
Pausing to lift excess ink from her skin with a clean cloth, he allowed himself to glance up at her face for a few glorious seconds while the blue cotton absorbed the mess.
Damn, she was beautiful. Every time he saw her, the first thing he noticed was her eyes – big and greenish-brown, with tiny golden flecks. They were set off by her warm olive skin and full lips, which she’d painted with a translucent gloss the color of ripe cherries. She’d pulled her dark brown waves back into a messy ponytail to make sure they stayed out of the way while he worked, tattooing her upper left arm, but he could recall exactly how they framed her face when they were free.
He was pretty sure she was Latina, mixed heritage probably, though he couldn’t be more specific than that. He couldn’t say where eyes like that had come from, because he’d never seen any quite like them. The same went for the rest of her features.
She shifted her gaze, and when her eyes locked with his, he felt like he’d been electrified somewhere in the very center of his chest, beneath his breastbone. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He tore his gaze away from her face, focusing again on the tattoo he’d poured hours into. “Almost done. How are you holding up?”
“Fine.”
She said the same thing every time he asked.
“Okay. Don’t be afraid to say so if you want to stop for a break.”
She nodded, and his heart deflated a little. Every time she came in, he made sure to leave time in his schedule for breaks, and he could never help fantasizing about how he might charm her during those times, if she ever decided to take one. They could get coffee across the street. Hell, anything. But she always sat resolutely through the session, glossy lips frozen in a natural pout that had nothing to do with emotion.
Some of his clients talked his ear off. She wasn’t one of them. In fact, she never really spoke unless spoken to – a fact that left him wishing he could come up with more interesting things to say. He didn’t exactly have the gift of gab either, and God knew there’d been times when he’d prayed silently for some clients to shut up – especially some women around Arianna’s age who blabbed on about their boyfriends or other overly-personal crap. He wasn’t a freaking hairdresser; he didn’t gossip, or offer his inexpert insight on relationship woes. And yet…
He would’ve given his left nut to hear Arianna confide in him. Her quiet demeanor combined with his lust made her appealingly mysterious, and he probably would’ve lapped up anything she would’ve told him about herself. And then he would’ve used it to try to establish some sort of connection between them – something more than ink and blood and the unique magic forged by the art she trusted him to apply to her body. That was special and all, but he was interested in a hell of a lot more than that.
As she remained silent, the buzz of his tattoo machine provided a steady hum, an undercurrent of noise to his equally persistent and focused thoughts. The tattoo captivated him simply because Arianna was the canvas, sure, but beyond that, it was on par with his best work. As he finished the colorful design with a few last touches of crimson, he was proud of what he’d done … proud to have added something so beautiful to such a perfect body.
A few minutes later, he gently blotted the last of the extra ink from her skin, using a cloth to absorb a drop of crimson that had welled up beneath one of the skull’s eye sockets, like a tear of blood. Maybe it was a morbid notion, but the tattoo was anything but. Outlined in heavy black, vibrantly colored and framed by two small marigold blossoms, the sugar skull design was both strong and beautiful, bold and delicate, just like Arianna.
There was no question – the design suited her.
“Well?” After cleaning the tattoo, he turned her chair so that she’d be able to see her new ink clearly in his booth’s mirror.
She studied her reflection silently, eyes shining in the clear lighting.
Standing behind her chair with his hands resting on the back of it, on either side of her shoulders, James was uncharacteristically nervous. He knew the tattoo was good, but he needed to hear her say it. She didn’t usually say much at all, but he wanted to know her thoughts – wanted to know she liked it as much as he did.
“It looks great,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Just like I imagined. Thank you.”
Standing there looming over her almost-bare shoulders – she wore a cami with thin straps – and resisting the urge to stare down at her cleavage, he was half-hard. His dick swelled a little larger against his jeans as her approval registered, and he knew he had it bad.
“Zoe will make sure you have a sheet printed with aftercare instructions when you leave. I’m sure you know the drill by now, but the basics are…” He went over them with her anyway, not ready to watch her walk away. The tattoo was done – who knew when, if ever, he’d see
her again?
He couldn’t just let her leave this time. The first couple times he’d tattooed her, he hadn’t had the balls to ask her out. She was hard to read, and he hadn’t wanted to offend a client – especially one he really wanted to see again. Now, though…
There was no way in hell he could just let her slip through his fingers. He had to at least give it a shot. Bandaging her tattoo, he focused on her arm, the vibrant ink disappearing beneath a layer of sterile gauze. “So, you headed home after this?”
“Yeah.”
Even her monosyllabic reply turned him on. Where did she call home – did she live alone? He would’ve liked to know. Plus, it was kind of hot to picture her skipping around an otherwise empty apartment in a lot less than the jeans and cami she wore now. Not that she seemed the skipping type, really, but hell…
His gaze was drawn irresistibly to the V of smooth cleavage displayed by her top. Her breasts weren’t huge, but they’d each be a perfect handful.
“Me too,” he said. “You’re my only appointment today, other than a piercing I did before you came in.” That hadn’t taken long. He purposely hadn’t scheduled any other tattoos for the day, wanting to devote all his time and energy to the lengthy session hers had needed.
“What kind of piercing was it?”
He snapped his gaze up to meet hers. A question, from Arianna? And she seemed genuinely interested. Why, God, did this have to be the one subject she wanted to talk about?
“Nipple,” he replied. “Two nipple piercings.”
Her expression didn’t betray much.
“My client was a guy,” he added. “Don’t see what he wanted the nipple rings for – he had so much hair on his chest that you could hardly see them. But whatever.”
Her cherry-red lips quirked in a silent smile, and that made the hairy nipple-piercing experience worth it.
“That sounds like it would hurt like hell,” she said.
James nodded, unable to resist letting his gaze sweep over the double-swells of her breasts. Just wondering what color her nipples were made his mouth water.
“It does.” Most of his clients reported that nipple piercings were definitely painful. Knowing Arianna, she probably wouldn’t make a sound if it were her. And what a thought that was…
His dick shifted painfully against the fly of his jeans as he imagined placing his hands on her breasts, driving hard metal through soft flesh. Normally, he viewed his piercing work with a clinical practicality – how else was a guy supposed to go about a job that involved handling strangers’ intimate body parts, including other guys’ hairy nipples, or even their dicks?
Just the thought of Arianna peeling down one of her cami straps and exposing a breast threatened to take his breath away, though. Good thing she’d never expressed any interest in body piercing.
“I’ve considered maybe getting a piercing,” she said.
James nearly choked, on absolutely nothing at all.
“My nose – a stud in one nostril.”
He drew a deep breath, gaze flickering up to her beautiful face as he envisioned a tiny jewel nestled in the little crease above the flare of one perfectly-shaped nostril. “It’d look good on you. If you ever decide you want to do it, just give me a call. We’ll set up an appointment.”
She nodded, slowly, looking like she actually might do just that.
Damn if that didn’t serve as a temptation to let her go now, to tell himself that she’d be back, and that he’d wait until then to make his move…
But no – he’d waited long enough. “About today. Can I take you out? For dinner, coffee or something.”
He bit his tongue, tasting a hint of blood as he realized he had a death grip on the tattoo chair Arianna still sat in. His heart beat hard, sending more blood surging below his belt as she met his eyes in the mirror. “You mean like a date?”
* * * * *
“Yeah, a date.” James Layton’s voice was a little deep, a little rough – the stuff of fantasies. His eyes – a murky grey-green Arianna had noticed a million times before – remained locked with hers as she returned his gaze in the mirror.
She sat frozen, gripping the arms of the tattoo chair so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if the tips of her nails had broken off. She took the time to swallow, doing her best to get rid of the feeling that her heart was in her throat. “Sure.”
Fireworks erupted in some dark corner of her consciousness, dazzling her with the possibilities that had just opened up. Accepting his invitation was a no-brainer, but saying yes still gave her a thrill and left her more than a little nervous.
James was hot. Way too hot to turn down, with his short blond hair, chiseled cheekbones and chiseled … everything. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, but the muscles in his arms were clearly defined beneath ink that looked natural on him, the various designs like a patina brought on by time and experience – a life lived fully, so far, she imagined.
That was what her own new tattoo was about: a celebration of life. A life she was determined to start living more fully, to be specific. She’d told herself she wanted to step out of her shell more, so why not start embracing life by embracing James? God knew she’d fantasized about him a million times since the first time he’d tattooed her.
“Great,” he said, still leaning over her chair, still holding her gaze. “Where do you want to go?”
“Dinner would be nice.” She was hungry. Up until he’d asked her out, her evening plans had included going home, rustling up some leftovers and fitting in a couple hours of work before zoning out in front of the TV, or maybe her e-reader.
This was going to be so much better than the lame, solitary hours she’d planned. As James finally straightened, removing his hands from the chair and breaking eye contact, a bolt of longing went right through the center of her being, perilously close to her heart.
As she stood too, shrugging into a light sweater and picking up her purse, she did her best to brush the feeling off. It wasn’t like she expected the world from James. She didn’t expect anything more than what he’d offered: a date, and if the look in his eyes was any indication, one that’d be just as hot as he was. It would be fun, and it’d been about a million years since she’d been foolish enough to expect anything more than that from anyone.
“There’s a place I’ve been waiting for an excuse to try out,” he said.
She lifted her gaze and was instantly locked in eye contact that made her heart speed. “Perfect.”
He was. And the evening would be too, as long as she remembered not to take it too seriously.
* * * * *
The restaurant offered a river view that was romantic as hell. The close quarters also meant that James and Arianna were both practically straddling each other’s thighs as they sat at a tiny two-person table.
Perfect. Now James knew why Tyler had told him he should try the place next time he had a date. He’d have to thank him later. For now, though, he focused on the firm, warm pressure of Arianna’s leg against his. The tablecloth hid an erection he didn’t bother trying to fight.
“So what’s good here?” Arianna asked, opening her menu. “Oh, that’s right – this is your first time too. Never mind.”
He struggled to give his menu more than a cursory glance – Arianna was so much more appealing to look at. When the server arrived to take their orders, he chose the first item that caught his eye.
“That sounds good,” Arianna said. “I’ll try it too.”
James glanced back down at his menu just as the waiter whisked it away. Hopefully the seared steak with caramelized onions and gorgonzola was good. And hopefully it wouldn’t make his breath reek. He hadn’t thought of that when he’d rattled off his choice, and now it was too late.
“So how long have you been tattooing at Hot Ink?” Arianna asked, breaking her characteristic silence.
James watched her lips move, imagining them crushed against his. Thank God her question was one that didn’t require much thought. “Sev
en years. Jed took me on as an apprentice when I was 21. Been there ever since.”
So much had changed since those early days that they seemed a million years ago. James’ life had been a black hole: empty and uncharted. Working at Hot Ink had given it shape and meaning. Jed had generously mentored him, keeping him on as an apprentice even after his wife and Hot Ink co-founder, Alice, died.
Even on the days Jed had been too crippled by grief to make an appearance, James had been glad to answer the phone and keep the shop clean. As someone who’d spent most of his life having nothing, Hot Ink had quickly become everything to him.
“We’re almost the same age,” Arianna said. “I’m 26.” She smiled briefly, looking almost shy, then clamed up.
Several silent seconds slipped by, and James sensed that she’d really put herself out on a limb by starting the small talk. “What about you?” he hurried to ask, eager to keep the conversation from drying up. “What do you do?”
He had no idea what she did for a living. With most repeat clients, he would’ve known already.
“I’m a graphic designer. Freelance.”
“So you design what – websites and stuff?”
“Not exactly. Advertisements. Logos. Web graphics. I’ve done a lot of different stuff. Even some book covers.”
James’ gaze was drawn to her arms. They were covered by a light button-up sweater she’d pulled on back at Hot Ink, but he could see every swirl of ink beneath with perfect clarity in his mind’s eye. “I’m not surprised. You have an eye for design.”
Her lips curled in a sudden smile that reached all the way to the corners of her eyes, creating tiny crinkles. Seeing her expression transform that way made him feel invincible. His confidence stoked, he forged ahead. “I bet your work kicks ass. Did you go to school or learn on your own?”
