Muscling In

by Lily Harlem

“You military?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, quick and easy, and flicked his gaze at the picture. “That gonna be okay for you?”

  “No problem. Come this way?” I handed the picture to Drake for stenciling, turned, then led the way to my workstation. I was aware of Ed close behind me. He was tall, wide too. His shadow stretched out and engulfed mine.

  “We’re just here.” I indicated my leather couch, then moved to the sink to wash my hands. “Where’s this bird going to live?”

  “On my thigh.”

  Lucky bird.

  “Okay.” I glanced at his legs and smiled. “Better get your skin out, then.”

  He popped open the buttons on his denims and pushed them down his legs, toed off his deck shoes and stepped out of them completely. He wore tight black briefs that left nothing to the imagination and I couldn’t help but be impressed as he shook out his jeans and laid them on the end of the bench. Sure I was married, very happily, but a girl could admire a handsome man.

  I cleared my throat. “Quite an impressive…tattoo you’ve already got going on there.”

  “Thanks.” He rubbed his right thigh. It was full of black swirls, an intricate web of images with a few letters and words thrown in. “I’ve been cultivating it for a while.”

  “I can tell.” I pulled on black sterile gloves. “Hop up.”

  In one smooth movement he maneuvered onto the bench. He then clasped his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs. His t-shirt drifted upward, exposing a flat belly with a fan of dark hair disappearing into his briefs. He set his attention on me and swiped his tongue over his bottom lip.

  Fuck, the guy was so damn confident. He was gorgeous in a rough-and-ready, down-and-dirty kind of way, but seriously, he had coolness written all over him. I wasn’t complaining. Having a hot military bloke to ink for a few hours was much better than some whiny creep who’d saved up his benefit money for a coy carp on his ass.

  “You want the same colors as the picture?” I asked, taking a seat on my stool and scooting into position.

  Drake set the picture and the tracing down on my table.

  “Yep.”

  I studied the picture. “Same shading?”

  “Yep.”

  I looked up at him. His hair was black, so were his eyebrows and lashes, though his eyes were stunning blue. Very different to Coben’s softer more muted coloring. My husband had sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. He had plumper lips too, more mobile when he spoke.

  My belly tightened as I thought of Coben and the fun we’d had the night before. Damn he’d used his mouth well. Plus I’d loved talking dirty to him, creating a fantasy about another man joining us. Touching us. Fucking. This guy would definitely fit into the definition of hot, but the trouble was he oozed testosterone. I shouldn’t imagine he had a gay or even bi bone in his body.

  Ed bent his leg and I looked at the thick black hairs on his shin that lessened toward his knee. I took out a razor and carefully shaved over the patch of skin that was unmarked.

  Would Ed be the sort of guy Coben would go for in a threesome? Would a hot, muscled military man do it for him? Yank his chain, press his buttons?

  “What do you think?” Ed asked, indicating the blank space on the outer section of his thigh that I’d just made hair free. “Should fit okay, yeah?”

  I placed the tracing over it. “Perfect.” I set to work, creating an outline of the picture. “So what you in? Army?”

  “RAF.”

  “Enjoy it?” I noticed a sword with wings nestled within his existing tattoo. I should have guessed he was in the Air Force.

  “Pays the bills.” He huffed.

  I glanced up at him. “Easier ways to pay the bills.”

  “Yeah, not as much fun, though.” He moved his hands and rubbed the scar on his cheek. “You like your job?”

  “Yeah. Keeps me out of trouble.”

  He smirked. “I’m sure a good girl like you wouldn’t get into trouble.”

  “Well, at one time I was a magnet for it, but now…” I turned and reached for my gun, set the tip of the needle over the beak of the bird. “Now I’m a married woman I’m a good girl.”

  “Ah you’ve been captured by some lucky sod.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to say he thinks he’s lucky.”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “You ready?”

  “Yep.”

  I flicked a switch and the steady hum and familiar vibration of the gun started. I pressed it onto his flesh. Most people jumped or at least flinched but Ed didn’t, and I wasn’t surprised. Coben hadn’t flinched either, that first day I’d met him and tattooed his bird. But then that’s what these military guys were like. They weren’t fazed by a needle, not when they’d gotten used to facing Taliban snipers before breakfast.

  I wiped away the excess ink and, pleased with the first few lines, glanced over the rest of his tat. There was a crest, a crown, a few letters—M and D linked. Beneath a swirl, Maori-style, was the letter C and a cracked heart. The head and neck of a woman sat beneath a ribbon with Queen and Country written on it. The woman faded at a generous cleavage and melted into more swirls that led to a rose stem.

  “Going to be full soon, this thigh,” I said. “What’s it all about?”

  “Everything on there means something to me. Reminds me of a passion, a commitment, or an adventure I’ve had.”

  “And this bird? What does that mean?” I set the needle back on his skin.

  “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

  I glanced up at him. “Really?” He must be joking.

  He shrugged, though a grin played with his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go on, tell me.”

  “Nope, sorry.”

  “You in the Secret Service or FBI or something?”

  “If I was American I might be.” He chuckled.

  “I guess I watch too much TV.” I resumed inking his skin. “Get confused about what’s American and what’s British.”

  “I can see how that would happen.”

  Again I wiped at the bird that was now taking shape. “So what are you doing while you’re on leave? Other than getting tats, that is?”

  “Family duties. Got to be the good godson while I’m in town.”

  “Ah, I get you. Have you got long off?”

  “Long enough.”

  “You can’t tell me, right?” I shook my head and grinned.

  He shrugged and bit down on his bottom lip.

  My mobile phone rang and the vibration mode caused it to jiggle on the chrome tray. It flashed up with the word HUBBY—something Coben had added when we’d been on honeymoon and delighting that we would call each other husband and wife.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “I need to get that.”

  “Go ahead.”

  I peeled off my right glove and answered the phone. “Hey, you.”

  “What you up to? Busy?”

  “Yep, just in the middle of a design.” I cocked my head and studied the bird’s wings—they were coming on well, the feathers neat and lifelike.

  “I won’t keep you, then, babe, just want to make sure you’ll be in at a reasonable time.”

  “I expect so. Why?”

  “We’ve been invited out to dinner. Harold Stern just called.”

  “Really? That’s good news.”

  “It certainly bodes well for some pretty serious after-dinner conversations about what we can do for his business.”

  “Yes, I agree. Where are we going?”

  “It’s just at his home. He said he’s got a few friends and family coming and his wife mentioned how much she’d enjoyed your company the other night and did we want to go along.”

  “Wow, even better and she’s sweet, interesting too and well traveled.” I glanced up at my client. His keen eyes were studying me. “Listen, I really should go. I’ll be home by six thirty. Is that okay?”

  “Perfect. See you later, gorgeous.”

  I hun
g up and pulled on a fresh glove.

  “Sounds like you’ve got plans for tonight now,” Ed said, absently rubbing at his flat belly. A slight grin played with the corner of his mouth. “Something fun? Something to keep you out of trouble?”

  “Well…” I said, studying the claws on the picture. “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”

  He laughed—a deep rumble of a sound that echoed around the room and was full of humor. “It’d be fun to see you try.”

  ****

  After Ed’s tat I saw three more clients. All easy stuff, one a Disney character, another a heart with an arrow through the center and one of Japanese writing that took longer to ensure that it meant what the customer thought it did than to actually ink. I made it a rule to always check the meaning of any foreign word before I made it permanent on someone’s body.

  I wandered through the front door just after six thirty and, obviously keen, Coben was already showered and ready to go out. He wore black smart trousers and had teamed it with a pale gray shirt left undone on the top few buttons. He managed to look smart and casual and he smelled divine.

  “I won’t be long,” I said, dumping my bag on the side cabinet.

  He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got an hour till we need to be there and it’s only a fifteen-minute cab ride.”

  “Good, I’ll wash my hair.” I ran a hand through my curls. I’d feel much better, more like I’d dressed up, if I shampooed and blow dried.

  After dashing upstairs and stripping off I stepped into the shower. I used floral shampoo and conditioner and strawberry soap, enjoying the sweet scents swirling in the steam.

  Wrapped in a towel, I stared at the contents of my wardrobe. What to wear to a formal dinner in an elegant couple’s home? I pulled a red silk blouse and a black pencil skirt from their hangers and laid them on the bed. I’d team the outfit with killer heels and a long pearl necklace to add some glamour to the look.

  Quickly, I applied a slick of body moisturizer and pulled on black satin underwear. The thong wouldn’t give me a panty line and the bra would look sexy if it were just visible through the sheer blouse.

  “Phew, now I wish we had several hours until we were going out.” Coben stood in the doorway, his shoulder bunched on the frame and one leg crossed casually over the other, the toe of his polished shoe resting on the floor.

  “No time for any of that,” I said, smiling and tugging the towel that was wrapped around my hair. “Not even a quickie.”

  “But later there will be time for anything we fancy.” He licked his lips. “And until then I’m going to enjoy knowing what you’re wearing beneath your clothes.”

  I traced the strap of my bra, then brushed my hand over the smooth cup. “Good, that will make sure you hold that thought.”

  He grinned and looked at his watch. “I’ve just got to make a business phone call. See you downstairs in twenty?”

  “Yes, that should be fine.”

  He turned and stepped from the doorway. I stared at the space he’d occupied and my heart swelled with love. It hadn’t diminished. The intensity of my feelings for him, if anything, had grown. The more time we were together, the more I got to know him, understand him, the more I loved him, wanted him. He was the most amazing person I’d ever met.

  And luckily it seemed he felt the same way about me.

  After drying my hair I piled it up high, securing it with long pins. A few tendrils escaped and I twisted them with my fingers, then applied spray. I kept my makeup minimal but was generous with the mascara and added lipstick to match the red blouse.

  Once dressed, I headed down the stairs, my high heels clacking on the wooden boards.

  On hearing me, Coben appeared from the lounge. He gave me yet another appreciative gaze, then grabbed his keys and wallet from the side cabinet.

  “Let’s hope we can find a cab.” I pulled a black shawl around my shoulders.

  “I called one. It’s just pulled up.” He scooped up a bottle of wine wrapped in tissue paper from the side cabinet.

  “Oh, very efficient, wine and cab.”

  We went outside. It wasn’t dark yet but the sun had slipped behind the row of houses opposite and our street was bathed in shadows. The air temperature had dropped and I knew I’d be glad of my shawl later.

  Soon we were pulling up behind a sleek black motorbike parked outside a large townhouse in Kensington. The house was painted cream, had black wrought iron railings and a huge polished black door with a round brass knocker.

  “Wow, must be at least four floors.” I glanced upward as I alighted the cab.

  “And with a basement,” Coben said, cupping my elbow in his palm and nodding at the windows tucked below path level and protected by the railings.

  “I love these Georgian houses. Maybe one day we…”

  “Yes, one day I’ll buy you one.” He pressed a quick kiss to my temple as we went up the four steps to the front door. “When I’ve made my million.”

  “Millions more like.” I laughed. “That’s how much these places cost.”

  “Mmm.” Coben banged the knocker three times, then straightened his shirt.

  I shifted from one foot to the other and looked at our smudged reflections in the door.

  Suddenly it burst open.

  Harold Stern stood before us wearing a big smile and a blue shirt that was straining over his potbelly.

  “You found us. Jolly good,” he boomed, gesturing for us to enter.

  “Yes, no problem.” Coben stepped in and held out his hand.

  Harold shook it, still grinning. He shut the door. “I don’t believe we had the pleasure yesterday.” He looked at me.

  “This is my wife, Sian.” Coben smiled my way.

  “Of course, it’s an absolute delight to meet you.” Harold gently squeezed my hand in his. “Mable is really looking forward to your company, dear.”

  “And I hers. Thank you for inviting us.”

  “I’m only sorry it was such short notice. But I really do want to pick your husband’s brains about a few matters. As long as you ladies can cope with some work talk.”

  “Doesn’t bother me in the slightest.” I slid my shawl from my shoulders.

  “And we do have a few other guests,” Harold said. “Mable’s niece is here. She’s visiting from Australia. My godson is also joining us.”

  “Lovely.” I folded my shawl.

  “Here, let me take that.” Harold held out his hand. “I’ll pop it in my study.” He opened a door to his left and took the shawl from me. “In fact, before we start on the red, maybe I could just outline my plans with your husband.” He looked at Coben.

  “Good idea.” Coben nodded.

  I knew Coben would be pleased to get some of the groundwork of the business conversation over with so he could relax at dinner so I smiled my agreement.

  “Mable and Rachel are in the kitchen straight ahead.” Harold glanced at an open door at the end of the long hallway. Female voices were filtering from it as was the heavenly smell of roasting lamb. “And please, help yourself to a drink from the drawing room. There’s champagne on ice, wine, gin and tonic, pretty much whatever you fancy.” He hesitated. “No, hang on, how rude, please let me…”

  “I’ll be fine. You carry on.” I smiled and touched his arm. “I’ll grab a glass of wine and see if I can be of help in the kitchen.”

  “Are you sure?” Harold asked uncertainly.

  “Yes.”

  Coben gave me a look that let me know he was grateful for my words.

  “Yes, of course.” I took the bottle of wine from him and stepped away.

  For a moment the men were silent. Then I heard the study door shut. I wasn’t so precious that I needed a drink poured for me, and Mable was certainly easygoing and sweet. I was happy to find my way to her kitchen.

  The drawing room was a magnificent high-ceilinged room with a picture rail and several large still-life paintings on the walls. The marble fire surround was decadent and
the two oversized sofas were red with cream stripes. To the right was a full drinks cabinet with a silver trolley on wheels set next to it and holding a bucket containing a bottle of champagne. To the left a large bay window offered views down to the road and was dressed with heavy red curtains.

  Standing in the bay, with his back to me, was a man. He had broad shoulders, very short hair and wore dark denims and a black shirt. He appeared to be fiddling with his phone.

  I set the wine on the drinks cabinet. “Hello,” I said, wondering if this was Harold’s godson.

  He turned.

  “Ed.” I widened my eyes in surprise. I’d only bid goodbye to the man I’d drawn a bird on a few hours ago yet here he was. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.

  A flicker of recognition crossed his eyes and he slipped his iPhone away. “Hey.” His face softened. “Fancy seeing you here…Sian, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I felt a sizzle of heat travel over me. The appreciative glint in his eye couldn’t be missed. “How’s the new addition?”

  He rested his palm over his thigh, placing it where I knew there to be a small dressing. “Fine.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “One of many.” He stepped up to me. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “White wine would be great. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m sure you’re in demand at the parlor and I can see why. Your work is outstanding.”

  “Thank you.” I flushed a little at the compliment.

  He poured chilled sauvignon into a cut crystal glass and handed it to me.

  “So this is the godson duty you mentioned, is it?” I took a sip and watched as he poured himself two fingers of brandy.

  “Yeah. I make a point of catching up with Harold and Mable when I’m in town. They were my parents’ best friends for over forty years and never having had any children of their own they’ve always been very generous with time and support to me and my brother.”

  “They’re really nice people. You’re lucky to have them watching over you.”

  He sipped his drink, studying me.

  Now I felt stupid. He was a big, tough guy, military too. He didn’t exactly need an elderly couple looking over him. Not these days anyway.

  “It’s a beautiful street,” I said, gesturing to the window and stepping up to it. “Have they always lived here?”