Thorn (Thorn Tattoo Studio Book 2)

by Leslie North

  With a groan, he captured her lips as she gasped in surprise. Luciano hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until she tentatively kissed him back. In that moment, he knew that he would happily drown in her kisses. She tasted of mint and berries and uniquely Melanie.

  He slid his hands back under her shirt to reach for her bra, his fingers fumbling in his haste. Now was not the time to think. Now was the time to feel. Her skin. Her body. He wanted to drink her up.

  Melanie’s hands slid up his chest, pushing gently.

  “Stop.”

  Luciano stopped. Resting his forehead against hers, he took jagged breaths. He was drunk, but he was respectful. Every woman deserved to be heard. “Why?”

  “You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re doing,” Melanie said softly. There was hesitation in her voice, and Luciano was sure she wanted him to continue. He didn’t understand why she was telling him to back off. “I already prepared the master bedroom for you. You should go get some sleep. I’ll need you up early to drive me back to my car before we open tomorrow.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Luciano protested, his hands cupped her waist. She felt too good to let go. “You’re Melanie Noel, my assistant of two years, and one of the best women I’ve ever met. I want to make you mine tonight. I’m sick of not touching you.”

  She shivered in his arms, and he could have sworn he felt her rock her body toward him. He imagined her splayed on the bed beneath him, her hair fanned out like a halo.

  “We can’t,” she told him. “Luc, I need you to stop touching me. If you need to, go take a cold shower to get your head back on straight, but after that, go to bed. We’re not going any further than this tonight.”

  There was so much more he wanted to do. He imagined her face as he unlatched her bra and cupped the small mounds of her breasts with his hands, then toyed with her nipples. How her lips would set in a tight ‘o’ as he laved his tongue across one of those hardened nubs, then sucked it between his lips. They’d gone swimming together before, so he already knew she had slender, gorgeous thighs… but what about what lay between them?

  Luciano wanted to taste her. To see her squirm with delight. He wanted to plunge inside her, fill her, work her to the brink of orgasm, and then tease her with release.

  “I need you and wanna make you feel good,” he whispered against her neck. “You don’t wanna mess around?”

  “No.” Her voice was firm. She guided Luciano’s hands from her waist, and he took a step back. The rejection stung, but he knew that she wasn’t a lost cause. She’d kissed him back. The way her body responded to his and the desire in her voice…

  If not now, then later.

  “Please go to bed, Luc. Get some sleep. Get sober. When you wake up it’ll be a new day, and you’ll be glad I turned you down.”

  There was nothing more he could do to argue. She’d made her point clear. He bowed his head and went for the door. “Goodnight, Mel.”

  “Night,” she replied.

  Luciano left the room and headed to the master bedroom. As soon as he stripped off his clothes and curled up beneath the covers, he was asleep.

  It had been a long day, he’d come a long way, and morning came much quicker than he would have liked.

  There was nothing to eat for breakfast, but Luciano wasn’t sure he could eat, anyway. His stomach lurched with every step he took, like it was full of sloshing liquids. Bile rose in his throat that he routinely swallowed down. His head throbbed with pain.

  Hangovers were the worst. He didn’t drink often enough anymore to remember how terrible they were, but that morning was a staunch reminder of why he stayed away from excess.

  A beer or two was nice. Hammering back shots like he’d done the night before? It was fun at first, but the aftermath was terrible.

  Luciano pulled a glass out of the cupboard in the kitchen and filled it with water, downing as much as he could. He had no idea what time it was. The clock on the stove was usually wrong, and he had no idea if Melanie had changed the clocks in the house to reflect the actual time. Some of them had stopped working, their batteries drained. Luciano’s cellphone was similarly dead. He’d charge it at the shop.

  What a morning.

  What an evening.

  He remembered coming on to Melanie, pushing against her, touching her, kissing her….

  She’d told him that it was a mistake. Reflecting on it this morning, Luciano didn’t think that was true. If he’d brought her to bed last night, he wouldn’t have regretted it. Melanie was different from other women. It wasn’t like he was going after someone he’d met at the bar—he’d liked Melanie since they met.

  He just hadn’t wanted to do anything about it.

  There was noise from the living room, and Luciano lifted his head and frowned. His thoughts were still hazy, but he recognized the sounds of something moving around. The strange shuffling noise made it sound like paper was being disturbed.

  Bringing his water glass with him, he went to investigate. He found Melanie sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table, working with a stack of printed pages. Was there a computer with a printer in this house? Luciano wracked his brain, trying to remember.

  If not, Melanie was all the more resourceful. He wouldn’t put it past her to venture out to the shop, do her printing, and come back.

  How long had she been awake? She looked chipper, and although her eye makeup was a little smudged, her red lips were as perfect as ever.

  He wished he’d remembered if her lipstick had smeared last night. He didn’t have any on him this morning, had she wiped it off before he found her in the guest room?

  “Good morning,” Melanie said. She rose slowly, lean and limber. Luciano appreciated her body from where he stood. Her lipstick wasn’t in disarray, but her hair was. It was exactly how he liked it. She was stunning. “I woke up early. New bed syndrome, I guess.”

  “That’s a thing?” Luciano asked.

  “Yeah. When you go to a new place? I used to struggle with it when we were on the road.” Melanie brushed her hands on her thighs. “But I guess that’s not so important. I got some sleep, and I got up early enough to start putting together some suggestions for redecoration.”

  Luciano paused. He looked her over, unsure of what to say. Redecorations? They hadn’t talked anything about that. “For the shop?” he asked. “It’s kind of tight as it is. You want to change the wall art or something? I guess it’d be good to get some updated pieces put up….”

  “No.” Melanie smiled. “For the house. You’re trying to sell, right? I’ve been talking with the real estate agent who’s going to help us move it, and she brought up a very valid point. If the house isn’t decorated right, it sets buyers off. It’s crazy, but it’s true. It’s the same kind of thing that makes people more inclined to like a house if you brew fresh coffee in it right before you vacate the lot for the viewing.”

  “No.” Luciano shook his head. The furniture and decorations weren’t exactly mainstream, but he liked them that way. The house had been Cassandra’s, and her spirit lived on in her stylistic choices. “Absolutely not.”

  “Well, I’ve put together this list of potential pieces of furniture I think would do this place good. We need to get rid of the color and go modern chic. The more minimalistic and ‘clean’ looking a space is, the better received it is. I’d appreciate it if you could take a look.” She hefted the pile of papers she’d been sorting. Luciano was certain he saw floor plans attached with them.

  “I’ll look,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to change my mind. You’re wasting your time.”

  “And you’re wasting yours if you’re serious about selling the place.” Melanie crossed her arms over her chest, but her expression was at ease. “This is the last thing tying you to Vegas, isn’t it? Apart from your brothers, I mean. If you want to get rid of it, you’re going to need to get rid of this furniture, too. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Luciano smiled. Reverse ps
ychology wasn’t going to work on him. Luciano had no idea what her point was, or how he should respond to it. It was true that he wanted to sell the place so he’d be free of Vegas at last, but in the same breath, he didn’t want to think that Cassandra’s last mark on the world would disappear. He figured a new family would move into the furnished house and live in it, honoring her memory.

  He didn’t want to gut it. If the new owners did, that was their choice.

  “It’s too early and I’m too hung over to talk about this right now,” Luciano grumbled. He rubbed his temple. “We still need to go get your car, and we should probably grab breakfast on the way. How long until we have to be at the shop?”

  “Three hours,” Melanie said. “We should probably get going sooner rather than later, especially if you want to eat.”

  Luciano wished she would have gone to bed with him last night, if only because then she wouldn’t have taken it upon herself to remodel the house in her spare time. He didn’t want to confront that reality. Not yet. He’d made big steps, but there were still little things that tripped him up.

  Getting rid of Cassandra’s furniture was one of them.

  “C’mon,” Melanie said brightly. She walked over to him and took his hand, and some of the dread he felt slipped away. Melanie’s touch was his new addiction. He remembered her soft skin and the way her breath had hitched in her throat, and he wanted to experience them all over again. “Let’s get going. Standing around looking sad isn’t going to help anything. Life is about living, so we should get to it.”

  Life is about living. He snorted, and Melanie shot him a look of contempt over her shoulder. “What?”

  “Isn’t that a little redundant, ‘life is about living?’” he asked. “That’s like saying ‘death is about dying.’”

  “No.” Melanie opened the front door and waited for him to exit before she locked it behind them. His bike was in the garage. “Dying is a very straightforward thing, living takes effort. I’d bet money that all you’ve been doing for the last several years is surviving.”

  Luciano’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you mean?”

  “Living means experience, growth, and laughter,” Melanie pressed the garage door button, and the door slowly lifted. “You’ve been existing all this time, hiding away, refusing to come out of your shell… and it’s about time you changed that, don’t you think?”

  “That sounds like a challenge,” Luciano said. “You don’t think I’m capable of letting things go?”

  “Nope.” Melanie shrugged. “The last two years haven’t worked in your favor. I mean, how many times have you talked about getting those knuckle tattoos? How long have you been talking about selling your house? It’s a lot of stagnation. A lot of survival.”

  Luciano didn’t know what to say. Melanie winked at him and headed for the garage. “Now let’s go. If you want, I’ll drive. I’m not as fast as you, but I’m probably ten times a better driver. It’ll help us avoid that whole dying thing.”

  One thing was for sure—Luciano needed to prove her wrong. If it was a challenge, she was on.

  He was living. He was growing. He was experiencing.

  Last night was proof of it.

  13

  Melanie

  Thorn Tattoo was always busy, but some days were definitely worse than others. Thankfully, today was an easy day. After driving back to the bar to get her car and following Luciano to work, they’d opened together and set up Luciano’s station in the way he preferred. The other artists trickled in slowly through the rest of the morning with no one arriving late. Beyond that, there weren’t any sudden cancellations, irritable customers, or even any supply shortages.

  For the first time since Giovanni and Riley’s departure, it felt like the shop was running smoothly.

  Melanie didn’t discount the fact that it might have been because she was still wrapped up in her memories of the night before.

  Luciano had touched her. And that kiss. She felt her face flush remembering it. It had been everything she’d imagined it would be and more. Firm, commanding, intoxicating. What would have happened if she hadn’t stopped him and they’d gone to bed together. Melanie wasn’t about to pretend she didn’t want him. Every fiber of her being begged her to give in to him and let him continue, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Not when he was drunk. Not when he was still clearly in mourning. Something had happened the day before that had turned his world upside down, but Melanie knew him well enough to see the hurt was still there. It was lessened, and perhaps a little better masked, but it was there.

  She had no right to take advantage of him. Consent was important to her, and so was keeping a clear, level head. She loved Luciano’s sense of humor, which fit well with hers, and who he was when he wasn’t mourning Cassandra, but he was still her boss.

  It was near the end of the day. The last appointments had arrived long ago, and they were closing their doors to general purchases and piercings. Some of the artists had finished, cleaned up, and gone home. Luciano had just finished up with his last appointment of the day, and she assumed he was in his tattoo bay, cleaning up.

  But when Melanie walked by on her way to the office, she heard the buzz of his tattoo machine.

  Curious, she stopped and peeked in through the door. Luciano was seated at his desk, pedal moved beneath it, wires clearly leading up to a tattoo machine in his hand. His body was angled in such a way that she couldn’t make him out. They had a few synthetic skins in the shop used for the tattoo workshops Giovanni and Riley hosted when they were in town, but Melanie had no idea why Luciano would be using one of them. He was already a talented tattoo artist—he didn’t need to practice any of his techniques.

  “Luc?” she asked uneasily. The buzzing stopped. He looked up from where he sat and flashed her a victorious grin. Melanie’s heart raced, and she stepped through the doors and pressed her back against the concrete partition separating his work area from the rest of the shop. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, just proving you wrong,” he said, cocky. The playfulness was back in his voice, and she was glad to see it.

  “How so?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Give me about thirty seconds. You stopped me right at the end.”

  If Melanie wanted to, she could have craned her neck or stepped over to see what Luciano was doing. Instead, she decided to prolong the surprise by staying put. He was in a good mood, and she didn’t want to spoil it.

  He put his foot back on the pedal, the machine buzzed again, and he went back to work. Less than a minute later, he stopped and set the gun down. He stripped off the black glove he wore.

  It was only then that Melanie realized what was so bizarre about what she was seeing—Luciano was left handed, but he was tattooing with his right hand. Soon enough, she understood why.

  The knuckles on his right hand were taped with plastic wrap—the same they used to temporarily bandage their clients’ tattoos before they left the shop. Luciano stripped it away and held up his fists, the backs of his hands towards her. Across his knuckles was a word: OVERCOME.

  Melanie stared at it for a second. The letters were expertly designed and even the letters on his left hand were executed flawlessly. She didn’t see any inconsistencies in his line work or wobbling letters.

  “A knuckle tattoo,” she said, stunned. “I thought you weren’t ever going to get one because Cassandra hated them.”

  “That was then, but I’m busy living now, aren’t I?” Luciano lowered his fists and picked up a bottle of green soap sitting in front of him. He carefully cleaned his new tattoos, then wrapped them again as Melanie gawked at him. “So? Are you still so sure I’m as set in my ways as you think I am?”

  “I don’t know.” Melanie let her gaze travel across the profile of his face. His beard needed to be trimmed, but after their adventures last night, she knew that she didn’t look exactly composed, either. It was a small blessing she kept an emergency change o
f clothes in her car, or she would have come back to work wearing the same thing she had on the day before.

  For Luciano it was no big deal, but for her? She didn’t want anyone in the shop to suspect anything.

  “You don’t know?” Luciano finished wrapping his new ink. “What else do I have to do to prove it to you? I just tattooed myself. I would have thought that meant something.”

  “If you’re serious about it, you’ll let me redecorate your house,” Melanie said with some finality. It was a long shot, but if it worked, it’d pay off. Luciano didn’t understand how important furniture was to selling a place. Even if he didn’t want to keep it furnished, he’d have much more generous offers if he redid the interior design. The real estate agent had said as much, and Melanie believed her.

  “Really?” Luciano scowled. “You’re really going to be so adamant about it?”

  “I don’t think you’re seeing the bigger picture,” Melanie replied.

  “And I don’t think you’re seeing the details.”

  “I thought I was the best with details.” Melanie winked at him. “It was how you convinced me to take the position as manager, wasn’t it?”

  Luciano shook his head and pushed back from his desk. He stood. “And as manager don’t you have closing to get to?”

  “Nope. Not all the clients have left yet. I’m running down my list of closing chores, but I’m almost finished. All I have left to do, really, is close the cash.” She wanted to keep challenging him. If he was receptive to change now, she thought she might be able to break him out of his funk at long last. If she could do that, maybe Luciano would see the importance in setting down roots. He had a family who shared all of his interests and wanted to be there for him—she wished he’d see that.

  “Well, fuck.” Luciano crossed his arms. “Are you really going to rope me into letting you redecorate the house? I swore I’d never do it.”