Unwavering, she continued her silent appraisal.
Maybe he’d laid it on too thick? She was more astute than he’d given her credit for. Not a quality he appreciated in his midnight snacks.
After a beat, she appeared to have reached some conclusion. His breath caught when she tilted her head and gave him a small, wistful smile.
Before he could decipher what that smile meant, she walked back to the chair, stopping once to look over her shoulder.
“This one’s on you.” She grinned and sat down.
He went over to her, pulled on some gloves, put his mask in place, and set the needle gun humming. His hand paused over her shoulder. Even though she’d come for this, he cringed inwardly at the thought of hurting her. Frowning, he told himself to can the Sir Galahad routine and get to work.
“You’ll need to try to stay still because this will sting. Kind of like a cat scratching a sunburn,” he warned.
Her wistful expression turned mocking. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”
Wasn’t Miss Muffet full of surprises? She’d responded to the question like someone who was used to pain, he thought. But what would a princess like her know about pain unless ….
“You got any children?” he asked.
She frowned back at him. “No, and what’s that got to do with getting a tattoo?”
“Not a thing.”
No, not a damn thing. He shouldn’t be concerned about it. He motioned for her to lie forward again. He was there to do a job, not have a tea party with his customers. It didn’t matter what Carolyn Wheeler did in her spare time, or who she did it with.
But damn, she smelled delicious.
He had to steady his hand before using the needle to pierce that beautiful skin.
One touch. That’s all it took. Just one drop of blood.
His fangs punched down so hard his lower lip got two bloody new holes. Lust, stronger than he’d never experienced, grabbed hold of his gut and balls, shaking him to the core. He jerked upright, his vision overlaid in a haze of red, as an unfamiliar buzzing overwhelmed almost every other sound.
Sound.
There were sounds he hadn't heard since he’d been struck nearly deaf over fifty years ago. He threw down the tat gun, and Carolyn turned, her eyes widening in fear as he tore off his mask and loomed over her.
The door’s flashing strobe snagged his gaze again, and that moment of inattention was all it took to find himself pinned to the wall by his business partner and maker, Jean-Marc Laurent. Gabe fought against his hold, but Laurent was taller and stronger, and held him back easily.
“I’ll take care of this,” Laurent hissed, then moved to the woman's side in a streak of light.
Gabe launched forward, knocking him away. He moved in front of Carolyn and snarled at the other male.
“Mine.”
Nightingale Page 12
