Inked by an Angel

by Allen, Shauna

  She shook her head, eager to be on her way. “That’s okay. Seen one gym, seen ‘em all, right?”

  “Sure.” He smiled that devastating full smile of his and her knees felt wobbly.

  “So, I guess I need to get going then. We got a good start today, and I think I can finish it from here and keep up just fine. I’ll see you at the studio?” She pressed her glasses up with a nervous finger and started to walk away.

  He didn’t move. “Muffet?”

  She stopped and turned around, her palms sweating. “Yeah?”

  “I have one more room to show you.”

  “Another room?”

  He inclined his head toward one last closed door.

  “Oh.”

  He held out his hand. “Come on. It’s not a torture chamber or anything. I promise.”

  Reluctantly, she turned and came back to him. He opened the door and they went inside. He turned on the light, but it wasn’t necessary because it was filled with natural light from two huge windows.

  “Welcome to my Heaven,” he said, his voice low.

  She took a breath as she looked around. The room was filled with his artwork. The walls were covered with drawings in all stages of completion, yet all beautiful and creative beyond her comprehension.

  She turned in a circle to try and take it all in. “Jed, oh my God.” She couldn’t say more. What was there to say?

  A large easel sat near one of the windows. She moved closer and bent to inspect the intricacies of the woman’s face he had drawn. She was crying.

  “So sad.” Kyle reached out to trace the woman’s tears on the paper. Something about the face seemed very familiar.

  “It’s my mother.” He spoke from directly behind her.

  She straightened. He’d come so close that when she turned, he was nearly pressed up against her. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his glorious blue eyes. “Why is she crying?”

  He glanced at her lips and she realized his hand was cupping her neck. She backed up one tiny step, but he seemed to only be that much closer, his eyes searing her.

  “Jed?” she whispered.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Why is your mother so sad?”

  He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment. “Because, Muffet.” He sighed. “Gentry men break women’s hearts.”

  Chapter 10

  Jed pulled away from her and realized, like a freakin’ idiot, he’d been a breath away from kissing Little Miss Muffet. Again. Shit.

  He paced to the door and shoved his hands in his front pockets. “So, you ready to go?”

  She studied him with a puzzled look on her face and he knew he’d hurt her feelings. But damn it, why of all the artwork in this room did she have to hone in on the picture of his mother? It probably shouldn’t even be in here. The rest of the stuff was tattoo art, or some rendition of it. But that one, that single piece of his heart, she’d found pulsing on the easel.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to pry.” She glanced again at the picture. “It’s really a beautiful drawing, Jed. You’re very talented.”

  “Thanks.”

  She turned to look back at him, but didn’t move. Why did she have to look so out of place and yet so damn perfect standing there?

  She waited a moment longer, then nodded once. “All right. I should get going.” She moved past him and out the door, leaving the scent of her perfume in her wake.

  He waited a beat to follow her, running a hand down his face in frustration. Maybe hiring her wasn’t such a great idea. When she got too close, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself for some bizarre reason. He would have to force himself to remember that she was an engaged woman. Yes, that was it. No matter how much his traitorous body desired her, she was off limits.

  He lived by a certain man-code. And man-code says: 1. You stay away from another man’s chick. (Even if he’s a douche.) 2. You never date your best friend’s ex. Ever. 3. You give a girl at least a week, preferably two, after a break-up before asking her out. (It shows sensitivity.)

  And these are just the dating rules of the man-code. There are many, many more that deal with public behavior, how to handle authority, the violation of the rules, and so forth. But, the bottom line was, he had to find a way to keep himself in check.

  He listened as she shuffled the papers around and packed up her laptop. He sighed and walked down the hallway.

  “Here, Muffet, I can get that for you.” He knew he sounded gruff, but the sight of her ass bent over in those jeans . . . really. What did she think wearing those over here? Where was that ugly gray pantsuit?

  She straightened with a smile and pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. “That’s okay. I’ve got it now.”

  “I’ll carry it out to your car.” He held out a hand, and when she tried to argue, he picked up her laptop case and papers himself. He headed for the door, leaving her to follow.

  She jumped ahead of him. “Hold on, I’ll get the door for you.” She opened it. “Can’t wait to get me out of your hair now?” She laughed at her own joke.

  He shot her a glare and walked outside.

  She clicked the remote to unlock her Prius. He tried not to sneer at the ugly thing as he opened the door and loaded her things.

  “So.” She leaned against the hood. “Why do you shave your head? Is it a fashion statement? Prematurely balding?”

  He shut the door with a slam and eyed her up and down. She was giving him a sly half-smile. She was actually attempting to have fun with him. Probably trying to get over the little emotional static she was still sensing in the air since they’d been in his art room. But, still, this was new for her. The fact that he liked it was sending all kinds of alarm bells off in his brain.

  He took two steps in her direction so she was forced to look up into his face. “What do you think, Muffet?”

  She studied his eyes with great seriousness. “I really don’t know what to think about you.”

  Ditto, baby.

  Jed walked into the studio the next night with a rejuvenated determination to be happy. All was well with the world. His books would soon be back in order. Business was good. Muffet was engaged to a perfectly stuffy guy and not available for his raging hormones. And, crème de la crème, Papa Turoni had met him at the front door with a pizza, on the house. He’d ignored the blatant attempt to finagle him into asking Gabby out this Saturday. Something about her “going through a phase.” Man. Denial was a bitch.

  “Hey, dude.” Noble met him at his office door.

  “What’s up?” Jed smiled and unlocked his door, glancing around, hoping Kierstan wasn’t there. She’d be the only one to throw a kink into his newfound good humor.

  “Nada. Just hopin’ to cut out early tonight if it’s cool with the boss?”

  Jed threw his keys in a drawer and turned to study at his friend. “You wanna leave early? On a busy night?” He watched Noble fidget and scratch his head. “You have a date or something?”

  Noble shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Jed sat with a cheesy slice and propped his feet up on his desk. “So, what is it, Tonto? Yeah, or maybe? You bailing on a busy night for a date or some other lame ass reason? ‘Cause the way I see it, if you ain’t makin’ me some money, you’d better be gettin’ your ass laid.”

  Noble dropped his head and glared at him from under hooded eyes.

  “All right, all right.” He raised his free hand in mock surrender. “Fine. Have a night off. Us working men can make do and pick up the slack without you.” He dropped his feet and stood with a smile to search out a drink. “So, is she hot?”

  “I don’t know. You think your mama’s hot?”

  “Son of a bi—”

  “Now, now, boys.” Kierstan sidled
up to the doorway and latched her feline eyes onto Jed. “Watch your mouths. Customers are coming in.” She glanced at Noble. “What’re you two fussing about in here?”

  “Nothing.” Noble smiled, obviously knowing he’d bested Jed. “I was just heading out for the night.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked. “But it’s a Friday night. We’ll be busy.”

  Noble shrugged, giving her only a cursory glance as he backed away. “Got plans. Y’all can make due without me for one night.”

  Kierstan turned back to Jed. “So, how was your day off?”

  The front door rang and then Michael’s voice boomed out over Kyle’s sweet laughter. Something inside of him twisted painfully.

  “Jed? Babe?” Kierstan’s heavily made-up eyes looked at him with genuine concern, but all he saw was the woman who wouldn’t pull the knife from his back.

  “Don’t call me babe.” He sat back at his desk and made a point of ignoring her as his appetite vanished. He tossed the half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box and slammed the lid down.

  After a full minute of staring at him with no response, she finally turned and walked away. Hopefully, to do some damn work and not spend all night flirting with his customers. But, Lord knows she’d spend the evening on her broomstick eagerly waiting for her chance to fuck with him again—as always.

  “Whatever,” he mumbled to himself as he ripped a sheet of sketch paper out of his pad and picked up a pencil. He’d ignore her and damn well find that good mood he’d brought in with him tonight.

  He began to sketch whatever came naturally. It didn’t take long for the blackness of his mood to slide off of him, like a film of dirt under a warm shower, as the pencil stroked across the page. Before he knew it, he’d drawn a meadow with a weeping cherry tree in the middle and a woman beneath it. He knew his own art, and the way he’d drawn this was nothing short of a sensual declaration.

  He studied the faceless woman he’d drawn. She was too far in the distance to see clearly; too hazy to be identified as the one. Because that was exactly what he’d sketched. His heart, too far away for him to reach.

  “Jed?”

  He glanced up, still a bit distracted by his drawing. “Yeah?”

  Muffet smiled, totally disarming him. “Hi.” She lifted a white bag. “I brought cookies. They’re from this amazing little bakery by my condo. Not a healthy option, I know, but I didn’t figure you guys would care too much about that and . . .” She dropped the bag to her side and tilted her head. “Are cookies lame?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “They are, aren’t they?” She rolled her eyes and blew her bangs from her face with a puff of air. “Next time I’ll do pizza.” She glanced at the Papa Turoni’s box. “Or burgers.”

  He stood, grateful that she was wearing her usual business attire. He didn’t think he could do another round in those cute ass-hugging jeans, man-code or no man-code. He snatched the bag from her and peeked inside. The scent that drifted out was heavenly. He pulled out a cookie and took a big bite. “No, really, cookies are great.” He chewed, swallowed. Smiled. “These are great.”

  He was rewarded with a dimpled grin. He looked away and took another bite to polish off the cookie in his hand.

  “I’m glad you like them. My friend Bethany works there part-time. She’s also a teacher, but she really wants to own a bakery.” She stopped and took a breath. He looked at her. “You don’t care about that, do you?”

  He shrugged and sat back down behind his desk. “Sure, why not? Your friend makes awesome cookies. Bring ‘em by anytime. Hell, bring her by anytime. Is she single?”

  “Oh, uh, well, I think so. I’ll ask her.” She flushed a little and began to fidget with the pearls lining her neck. “I think her neighbor keeps asking her out. But he’s deaf and she’s not sure how that will work out. She’s got a young son.” She took a step back. “I’m rambling now. I’ll just get to work. Enjoy the cookies.” She turned and fled to her little desk in the back of the studio.

  What the heck was up with her? Well, who knew when it came to Little Miss Muffet out there? But at least she came bearing gifts today. He pulled out another cookie and popped it in his mouth wondering if this Bethany could be the girl under the cherry tree.

  Four hours later, the studio was doing booming business and Jed was cursing Noble for leaving him high and dry. He was starving and about ready to trade his left nut for a fresh Papa Turoni’s by the time he’d slapped on two tramp stamps and an anklet, referred a couple portraits to Michael, and had spent two hours on a client’s sleeve. And he still had three people sitting in the waiting area. Even the girls were in on the action. Kierstan had plenty of people lined up for piercings tonight and she had recruited Kyle up to the front to answer the phones. Poor Muffet looked almost as lost as the first day she walked in the place as she sat up there studying all the people milling in the lobby. One of the men, a tall, reed-thin guy with quarter-sized gauges through his earlobes and gothic black hair, staggered up to her and said something. Jed watched the blood slowly drain from her face. A surge of protectiveness overwhelmed him and he was ready to pummel something. Or someone.

  He slowly put down the tattoo needle he’d just picked up and excused himself from his client. He ripped off his gloves and strode to the front.

  “Kyle?”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned her wide eyes up to his. “Jed.” She sounded relieved.

  The gothic punk stared at him through blood-shot eyes. He looked baked. Jed glanced back at Kyle. “Everything all right up here?”

  The front door opened, but Jed paid it no mind, his focus solely on Kyle and the guy obviously making her feel threatened. She stood next to him and he sensed her growing anxiety.

  “Listen, buddy, maybe you’d better go.”

  “Jed.” She placed a hand on his arm. “He’s a customer. It’s all right.”

  He shot her a look. “What did he say to you?”

  Someone cleared their throat behind him, but he ignored it. Kyle shot a glance over his shoulder, then to the punk, but he waited until she looked at him. “What did he say to you, Kyle?”

  She shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Um, well, he asked if I knew where he could get a slap?”

  He furrowed his brows. “A slap?”

  She nodded.

  He stared at her for a moment before it clicked.

  He turned to the punk, who had rejoined his friends. “Hey!”

  The greasy-haired goth turned, his eyes glassy. “Yeah?”

  “Just so we’re clear, you’re in here looking for smack?”

  “Oh, that’s it.” Kyle pointed her finger. “That’s what he said!” Her smile blossomed like she’d just remembered the winning lottery numbers.

  The guy left his friends and approached Jed. He lowered his voice. “Shit yeah, man. You got any? I’m fresh out.”

  Jed grabbed him by the arm.

  “Is this the kind of place you’re working in, Kyle?”

  Collectively, they all turned. Charles stood a few feet in the door, watching them all with disgust. He’d seen the whole thing. And things like this never happened in Jed’s studio. It was upscale with high-end clients. Not junkies looking to score drugs. This was a rarity. But, of course, loverboy had to walk in right now.

  “Charles.” Kyle sounded none-too-pleased to see him there and didn’t move from behind the desk and Jed’s protective stance. He knew he shouldn’t have been so happy about that. Especially when he had a smackhead to deal with.

  Michael miraculously appeared out of nowhere. “Hey, guys. I’m finished up with my . . . What’s going on here?” He looked around, his brows dipped quizzically.

  Goth Boy tried to shake Jed off. “Hey, man! You got the stuff or not?”

  Jed dragged him
to the door. “Get the hell out of here and don’t you let me catch you around here again.” He tilted his head to indicate the way out to the guy’s friends as well. “You, too.”

  He turned around as the group of losers filed out and watched Kyle and Charles eye each other with Michael standing in-between. Was something amiss in the land of milk and honey?

  Charles took a step in her direction. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  He nodded. “I see. Well, I drove all the way down here to see you.” He glanced around. “Can you give me a few minutes? I think we need to talk.”

  She cocked her head. “Have you been talking to my mother?”

  “What? No. Why would I?” He looked confused.

  Jed took a couple steps, trying to work his way back into the main work area and to his client. As much as he’d love to hear this, he knew he had to give them their privacy. But Michael didn’t seem to have any compunction about eavesdropping. He stayed rooted right where he was, his eyes pinging back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.

  “Listen,” Kyle implored. “I’m working. Can we talk later?”

  “Just tell me, are we still engaged?”

  Damn it. Now he had to listen. Jed slowed his steps, smiled to let his client know he hadn’t forgotten him, and made a show of gathering some supplies, while he waited for her response. He didn’t dare look, but he could imagine her sighing, pushing her glasses up the way she always did.

  Michael mumbled something.

  Charles gave a terse reply.

  The front doorbell sounded.

  Jed’s heart pounded. What was taking her so long? Why wasn’t she saying something? Were they kissing? Had she left with him for a night of hot, sweaty make-up sex?

  The suspense was killing him. He looked.