by Meghan March
Elle stood and pulled up a section of the wide skirt of her cream-colored dress. With so much material, I really wasn’t worried about anyone seeing anything. If it had been a super tight mini-skirt or something she would’ve had to peel it up and show her ass to everyone, then I would’ve gone caveman and tossed her over my shoulder and carried her out. But she didn’t need to know that.
A curious customer came up to the booth, and Con stood to chat. Vanessa planted herself on the chair to watch as Delilah prepped Elle’s skin and laid the transfer on the side of her hip.
When it was done, Elle checked it out in the mirror and showed it to me.
“It’s gonna look awesome. Good choice.” Her beaming smile made me doubly glad I’d brought her here tonight.
Elle had explained that the quote dripping like sand through the hourglass was from Macbeth: “Come what come may; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.”
Elle lay sideways on the flattened tattoo chair and sucked in a deep breath and released it. Then she asked the question I’d been waiting for.
“So … how much is this going to hurt?”
I pulled a folding chair up next to her, lowered myself into it, and grabbed her hand. She squeezed—hard.
“You’ll be fine. You can crush my hand if you need to.”
Delilah prepared her station and the tattoo machine, and I studied the design closer. It would be all black and gray and was going to look sweet as fuck, really. And the sentiment behind it made it that much better.
It didn’t take a genius to see that Elle’s grief over losing her father still hovered close to the surface even after all these years. Her desperation to find the watch was just the first piece of it, and I was determined to help. Unfortunately, my contacts hadn’t turned up anything promising yet.
But still, what would she do once the watch was found? Would she quit and go find another job doing something equally as random as working at Chains? It bothered the fuck out of me that I wouldn’t be able to keep her close if she did—not just because I loved having her within reach, but because I still wasn’t convinced that Rix was going to lose his interest in her, and I had no idea who had killed Bree and Jiminy. Elle was probably right about Rix—he wasn’t a threat to her physical safety, but he was a threat to my mental health. But what did I expect? A woman as gorgeous as Elle was always going to attract attention. Until Hennessy closed the case on Bree and Jiminy, though, I wasn’t going to sleep easy.
“Okay,” Delilah said, tattoo machine in hand. “You ready?”
I squeezed Elle’s fingers, and she squeezed back, meeting my eyes with a smile.
“I’m ready,” she said.
She handled it like a champ. My fingers might never function normally again, but Elle made it through like a champ.
My chest tightened at the tears swimming in her eyes when she looked at the tat in the mirror. Then she gutted me when she trailed a finger around the edges of the newly inked lines and said, “I miss you, Daddy.”
I pulled her closer and caught the tears on my thumbs.
I was gone for this woman.
Abso-fucking-lutely gone.
Done.
She was mine.
I’d find that goddamned watch if it was the last thing I did. It was my promise to her and to myself. And then I’d find a way to keep her.
I was a little worried about how comfortable I was getting staying at Lord’s every night. After the tattoo expo, we’d gone to my place in the Quarter, and I’d grabbed some more clothes before we’d ventured back to his side of town. My closet was getting empty, and Lord and I needed to talk about how long I’d really be staying. My concerns about Rix had abated, although there’d been no update from Hennessy on the murder investigation. I knew I needed to reclaim my independence and set some boundaries though. Lord and I were moving so fast toward … I wasn’t even sure what we were heading toward. Something big and scary … but kind of awesome at the same time.
And today, we were back to our normal routine. Because strangely, we had developed a normal routine.
I was once again cleaning the glass cases—I wanted to de-finger every person who came in the shop and touched them. It was a vicious cycle. I wanted people to look at all the gorgeous and sparkly things in the cases and buy them all, but, seriously? Did they have to touch every inch of the glass in order to do that?
I laughed to myself that smudges were one of the biggest issues overtaking my life. I put some more elbow grease into the circles with my coffee filter as Lord and Mathieu sorted through a stack of albums that someone had brought in. Listening to their debate about which to make offers on and which to pass up kept me smiling. The collection was enormous, and they’d been at it for hours.
After they’d finished sorting, making selections, and cutting a deal, Lord’s phone buzzed.
“Who is it?”
“Hennessy,” he replied before answering.
Thoughts of the unsolved murders battered me. A call from the detective couldn’t be good.
I only heard Lord’s side of the conversation: “Another?”
A sigh. “Good.”
A pause. “You need me right now? This can’t wait? Fine. Okay. Do I need my lawyer?”
My stomach sank and twisted with that question.
Lord ended the call with an abrupt, “Be there in fifteen.”
After he pocketed his phone, he turned to me. “Want me to take you back to your place? You can have the rest of the day off.”
“What? Why? What did he say? Was there another…?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s got questions for me that can’t wait. Something else came up about Bree, and he’s too tied up to bring his ass down here to talk. But I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“I’m fine. I’m not even alone. Mathieu and I can hold down the fort. If Rix or anyone else comes in and gives me shit, I’ll pull out the shotgun under the counter. It’s not a big deal.”
Lord’s growl was … downright adorable. “Not a big deal … right.”
“We’ve gone round and round on this, and there’s no point in doing it again. It’s okay. Nothing is going to happen to me here.” Lord’s warring indecision was written all over his face. “Just go,” I told him.
“Fine. But—”
“If anything happens, I’ll call you immediately. I swear.”
He came around the counter and yanked me against him. “You damn well better, or I’ll be hearing why and dealing with you.”
“Next you’re going to threaten to spank me, aren’t you? I’ve heard through the grapevine that your brother isn’t shy on that.”
“However Con keeps Vanessa in line is his business, but you better believe I’ll come up with something a hell of a lot more creative than that.”
My lower half tingled at his words. Which reminded me, we needed to break in the desk in the office. I was penciling that in for later today. Maybe if Lord came back in a funk, an afternoon quickie would snap him out of it. Good plan, Elle.
“I invite you to be as creative as you want.” I leaned up on my toes to kiss him. The man was a giant, and even in heels, it took some serious stretching to reach him if he wasn’t leaning down. Pulling away, the taste of Lord on my lips, I lowered my heels to the floor. “As long as it ends with me coming, I think we’ll be fine.”
This time his growl was sexy instead of adorable. “Sending me to the cop shop with a hard-on. That’s what you’re doing, you know.”
My eyes dropped to his crotch, and sure enough, the telltale bulge was bigger than normal.
I shrugged. “I’m not really sure how that’s my fault.”
“All you have to do is breathe, and you get me hard, woman. That’s how it’s your fault.”
A grin stretched my lips. “Then hurry back, and I’ll take care of what I started.”
Lord groaned. “That’s not helping.”
I pressed my palm against his solid chest and pushed. “Go. Hurry.
Come back soon.”
He leaned down, tilted my jaw up, and planted a hell of a kiss on me. I’m talking a full-tongue, make out-worthy kiss. When he pulled back I dropped my eyes to the bulge again.
“Don’t think that helped your cause, pawn star.”
“It’s worth it.” Lord turned and headed for the back door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if anything happens.”
After the door shut behind him, I settled in for what I was sure would be an uneventful day.
It only stayed uneventful for an hour.
Not Rix this time, and not my mother.
Nope.
It was Denton who crossed the threshold of Chains—his face lined with rage.
“Who’s that joker?” Mathieu asked under his breath.
Denton’s three-piece suit was certainly not the normal attire of our customers.
“My stepfather,” I whispered, girding myself for whatever battle was about to take place.
“Looks like a real prick.”
Denton was scanning the shop, lip curled in obvious disgust.
“He totally is.”
Denton didn’t bother with a greeting. “This is where you’ve decided it’s appropriate for you to work? Disgraceful.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” I replied.
“No, you never do, Eleanor.”
I swung back around to look at Mathieu. “Could you give us some privacy?”
The kid shook his head. “No way.”
“Please,” I begged. I didn’t want him to hear whatever other asshole comments Denton was sure to unload.
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. But I’m calling Lord.”
Relief swept through me, and I nodded before turning back to Denton.
Lord would come back, and I would put whatever unpleasantness my stepfather was about to unleash behind me.
I waited until I heard Mathieu’s footsteps receding before I asked, “What do you want, Denton?”
He slapped a newspaper down on the counter. “For you to stop publicly embarrassing me and your mother.”
My eyes dropped to the paper. The first page of the society section was covered in full-color photos … of the tattoo expo. Just below the fold was a clear picture of Delilah and me as she tattooed my hip. There was definite side cheek showing. The picture above the fold was one of Con, Vanessa, Lord, and me. Someone must have snapped it just before we’d left.
The headline read: Society Princesses Find Tattooed Princes: Bad Boys Get The Girls.
I scanned the article. It was mostly about Vanessa and Con and the Bennett Foundation, but there was plenty of speculation about Lord and me. And of course, because this is NOLA, my lineage was mentioned, including my father, my mother—and Denton and his law firm.
I glanced back up at him. The red tinge to his cheeks suddenly made a lot more sense.
“It’s not like I have any control over what they print in the papers,” I started.
“You have control over the company you keep and your behavior. Neither of which has ever impressed me, but this is a new low.”
“Again, I didn’t ask for your opinion. Thanks for dropping off the paper. I’ll be sure to save the pictures for my scrapbook.”
Denton’s face twisted into an ugly mask. “You have a week to rectify this mess you call a life, Eleanor, or you’ll find yourself with more problems than you’re equipped to handle.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He’d thrown plenty of verbal abuse my way over the years, and this wasn’t the first ultimatum. But something in his tone had me tensing.
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m sick and fucking tired of being embarrassed by you—and your mother. I can’t let her around company without everyone gossiping about what a lush she is. And you—you at least kept your little rebellion to the sidelines where it didn’t interfere with my professional life, but now you’ve brought it front and center. My firm in the paper with this garbage? I’m done. Out of patience. You cut this string of dead end jobs, drop the lowlife, and fall in line, or I’m done with you both. She’ll be on the street, and we’ll see how you like keeping her in gin.”
His words hit me like drive-by bullets—coming out of nowhere and striking unexpectedly.
“What are you talking about?”
His voice rose and filled the shop. He slammed a fist down on the glass case, and for a moment I thought he’d cracked it. “I’ve had enough.”
I didn’t follow his logic … but when had Denton ever needed logic to make a threat? “You’re going to leave my mother if I don’t straighten up? What kind of threat is that?” The man had officially lost it.
His eyes turned hard. “Did you know she signed a prenup? If I divorce her, she’ll have nothing. Which means you’ll be using that fancy trust fund you’ve always thrown in my face to take care of her. She sure as hell can’t take care of herself.”
“Why did you even marry her to begin with if you hate her so much?” I couldn’t hold the question in; his disgust threw me. I’d never thought he’d treated her well, but this was something totally different.
“None of your goddamn business. But I know you don’t want to deal with her. So if you want her to stay my problem, you’re going to fall into line. You’ve got a week, Eleanor. Don’t make me come back here again.”
He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. The chimes clanged, and I wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened.
“He’s a dick,” Mathieu said, coming up behind me.
“Yeah. He’s a piece of work.”
“He treat your ma like that the whole time they’ve been married?”
I thought of the disgust, the disdain, and the absolute iron fist with which he laid out his orders.
“Pretty much.”
“Total dick.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say. He was a dick. He’d just threatened to divorce my mother if I didn’t fall in line. Who did that? Someone who didn’t plan to stay married to her for much longer, regardless.
“Did you call Lord?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s on his way.”
It seemed that all the bad shit happened when Lord left the shop. He was right; I wasn’t staying here without him again. Who knew what would happen next. Would the Devil himself walk right through that door and steal my soul?
My mind went back to Denton. Such a prick. And I was a horrible daughter, because for a split second, I actually considered what it would take for my mother to continue being Denton’s problem. But no way in hell. I’d wanted her to be free of him since the day I’d found out they were getting married. So fuck him. I’d never bend to his wishes—which meant I’d be responsible for my mother losing the life to which she’d become accustomed. Her safety and stability. Her marriage.
Shit.
The back door opened, and I’d never heard a sound quite so comforting as the thud of Lord’s boots on the floor.
“He’s gone?”
“He’s gone,” Mathieu answered. I was still spacing over Denton’s threat.
“You okay?”
I looked up and met Lord’s concerned blue eyes, and everything surged inside me and the walls broke.
I came around the counter and barreled into him. Lord caught me and wrapped me in his strong arms.
Strong. Solid. Steady.
He was all of those things.
And I was none of them.
I burst into tears.
He didn’t try to quiet me. Didn’t ask why I was crying. He just held me and stroked my hair while my sobs soaked the front of his T-shirt.
I had no idea how much time passed before I lifted my head and snuffled.
“Everything’s such a mess.”
“You tell me what’s a mess, and we’ll fix it. Don’t doubt it.” He tucked a section of my hair behind my ear. “You know I hate seeing you cry.”
I snuffled again and lifted a hand to swipe at my tears, but Lord beat me t
o it. His thumb gently brushed below each of my eyes, and I blinked back the remainder poised to fall.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.
“First thing, we get rid of these tears. Everything else can wait. Including tarring and feathering your stepdad for making you cry.”
My snort laugh wasn’t sexy, but the visual of Denton running around looking like a chicken was a helpful one.
And then I remembered the paper. I bit my lip. How would Lord feel about that? Right this second it was easier to worry about the side of my ass being printed in full color for the citizens of New Orleans to see than the havoc I was about to wreak on my mother’s life.
“My ass is sort of on the front page of the society section. Well, side cheek—if that’s a thing. Like side boob? I don’t know. But it’s there.” I blurted the words out in a disjointed tumble.
Lord’s brow furrowed. “Side boob? What the hell?”
I started to pull away, but Lord didn’t let me go. “Nope, you’re stuck staying close to me until we sort out whatever got you charging into my arms.”
“Then do we walk together like we’re in a three-legged race? Because the picture is on the counter.”
I heard movement, and then Lord unwrapped one arm from around my back and grabbed the paper from Mathieu’s outstretched hand. He held it out so we could both see the picture.
It wasn’t a bad one. It wasn’t even that revealing.
“If that’s side cheek, I like it,” he said.
“You’re not pissed my ass is in the paper?”
His lips quirked as he read the headline aloud. Society Princesses Find Tattooed Princes: Bad Boys Get The Girls.
“Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you. Besides, I like the top picture. No disputing your gorgeous ass belongs to me.”
The old Elle would’ve bristled at his outright statement of ownership. The new Elle … she was surprisingly okay with it.
“You did get the girl. They weren’t lying about that.”
The sound of shuffling behind us signaled that Mathieu was moving away and giving us some privacy.
I swallowed, realizing what I’d just said. It was probably the most honest I’d ever been with Lord about my feelings.
