by Stacy Gail
“She’s not going into your booth while a client’s in there, Styx,” Payne said flatly. “You’ve got to know that shit’s never going to fly, now or ever.”
Styx slowly rose to his full height, his good humor fading. “Bend the rules, man. I got extenuating circumstances going on here.”
“I get that, but that’s one rule that can’t be bent. I can do a couple other things, though, so don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Payne went on when Styx’s face darkened ominously. “You see all that glass behind me? Bulletproof. See those double doors? Steel-reinforced. See me picking up the phone?” As he spoke, Payne reached for the receiver. “This is me, calling for another Howitzer from Private Security International to babysit Syd for the remainder of the day. I’m more than happy to pay for it, because it’s like I said—she’s made a good friend in me.” He glanced at Rudy. “Who’s the best personal bodyguard you’ve got on staff over at your place?”
“Besides me? Havlik or Luke. Nix, if those first two aren’t available.”
“Good grief, this is so not necessary.” Appalled—seriously, how much did a bodyguard even charge by the hour? —Sydney shook her head. “Nothing has happened. I’ve been perfectly safe all day.”
“Technically speaking, you haven’t been safe for days,” Rudy offered with a shrug while Payne ignored her and dialed the number. “I need you to try to stop thinking in terms of being safe, Sydney. It’s human nature to downplay dire circumstances, because no one wants to face harsh realities every minute of every day. But downplaying is a form of relaxing your guard, and for your own sake and those around you, you can’t allow yourself to do that.”
“But no one can be on guard twenty-four seven, which is why you’re getting another set of eyes on you while you’re here hanging out in my office for the rest of the day,” Payne put in, phone to his ear. “And before you freak out about that, you should know I’m not just doing it for you. I’m doing it for Styx. I need him to get his shit together so he can do his damn job. He can’t do it if he’s losing his mind over you.”
“She needs someone watching her tomorrow, too,” Styx put in. “Her weekend is Monday and Tuesday, so whether she likes it or not I’m bringing her to work with me tomorrow as well.”
“Oh hell, no,” Sydney blurted, hopping to her feet. “I can’t take this anymore. I’ll leave Chicago before I disrupt your life any further.”
“Take tomorrow off so you can be with her. I’ll let Scout and Sunny know,” Payne said before turning his attention to his phone call.
“Perfect.” While Sydney was still blinking at the speed with which her life was being handled, Styx snagged an arm around her waist and reeled her in for another kiss. “I know the exact place where we can get away from all the pressure. But first, we’ve got to get you through today in one piece.”
Why, Sydney wondered, did that sound so ominous?
Chapter Sixteen
“Did I hear Payne right earlier?” Styx wanted to know as he walked Sydney out of Payne’s office toward his booth. Now that it was midafternoon, most of the lights over the tattooing booths were on, so he kept his voice down. “Did he actually offer you a job here at the House?”
“Oh, that.” Sydney darted a discreet glance over her shoulder to a massive blond jarhead of a man built like a frickin’ Johnny Bravo cartoon. The man, Havlik, was an easy-going, smiley kind of guy who probably enjoyed serial killing as a hobby. “Yes, he did. Apparently they’ve got an ongoing shoplifting issue, and he thought I could be an answer to that problem.”
“Sounds great. When can you start?”
“I don’t want the job, Styx. In fact,” she added on a sigh as he opened his booth’s door, “I’m not sure I even want the job I have now. The only thing I like about it at this point is the money. Everything else about it can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I get that. No one could blame you for feeling burned out by all the shit you’ve been going through.” Gently he coaxed her into the booth before nodding at Havlik, who took up a position directly outside. “What would you do if you decided to leave Market Place?”
“I have a degree in Media Communication, so I could always find something along those lines. But what I’d really like is…well, it’s probably stupid at this point, but I was thinking about finding some kind of job that had to do with dance.”
“Don’t see why that’s stupid.” After closing the booth’s door, he made sure to turn on the “Occupied” light outside. “You trained your whole life for it. Why not go for something in dance?”
“Because I’m too old to try to get back into it now.”
“Geez, Syd, I didn’t know I was sexing it up with an old geezer. What are you, fifty? Sixty? Are you a card-carrying member of AARP? I’d seriously like to get in on all those discounts in restaurants for those sexy early-bird specials.”
“I’ll be twenty-four in November, you ass, and you’d already know that about me if you’d put together a questionnaire.”
“One of these days I’ll get around to making one. In the meantime,” he swept a hand to encompass his personal space, “welcome to my home away from home.”
“Oh.” She blinked and looked around. It wasn’t much, as far as he could see. It was just a frosted glass enclosed cubicle large enough to hold a padded tattooing table and a stainless-steel workbench that housed tattooing supplies. A stencil printer and laptop that held all his creations sat on top of the workbench. Beside the tattooing table was a magnifying light standing next to his custom-made rolling chair—an old captain’s chair salvaged from one of his uncle’s many projects. A string a nautical signal flags, also salvaged from his uncle’s place, rimmed the cubicle’s walls, and his brother had given him a hula girl lamp that sat on the workbench as well. “So this is where the magic happens.”
“You want magic? I’ll show you magic.” Once he had her settled on the table, he brought the laptop over, and with a couple keystrokes he opened what he’d been thinking of as Sydney’s design. “What do you think?”
“Oh…wow. That’s so beautiful.” Her awestruck gaze slid over the image on the screen, before her eyes narrowed. “Wait. That model’s bare back that you’ve put the image of a phoenix on… Styx, is that my back?”
“Yeah. I took some photos of you while you were sleeping. You don’t mind, right?”
She stared at him like he was nuts. “You took pictures of me while I was asleep, without telling me, and you wonder if I mind?”
“It’s how I usually do my cover-up work—take a pic of the client, then digitally superimpose my work over it. Of course, your case is a little different, since you don’t have any old ink you want covered up, but I had to make sure the image would look as good in real life as it did in my head. Personally, I think it looks even better. What do you think?”
“I think it’s impossible to kill you when you show me something this beautiful. Though if you ever take pictures of me while I’m sleeping again,” she added in a tone that would have made the Grim Reaper piss himself, “I’ll make sure I never sleep in the same building as you again. You get my meaning?”
“Loud and clear.” To make sure he stayed out of the doghouse—and welcome in her bedroom—he gave her a quick kiss before turning her attention back to his design. “I’m going to keep the black down to a bare minimum, just hair-thin lines outlining the wings in an upward, V-shaped sweep over the shoulder blades, with the tips of the fire feathers reaching to the tops of your shoulders. The swanlike neck goes up your spine, and the head becomes less distinct as it nears your hairline, because I want to give the impression that you are the latest fiery incarnation of the phoenix, and both you and your spirit animal share the same mind. What do you think?”
“I now understand why you said this tattoo had to be so big,” she said, still staring at it with adoration shimmering in her eyes. “This is so beautiful, Styx.”
“Beautiful enough to put on you?”
“I need
this tattoo.” With that, she reached for the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head. “How long is this going to take, do you think?”
“You’re going to need at least four sessions before it’s completed. Maybe more.” The answer came absently. He was much more interested in what she was doing. People stripping before they got their tattoos wasn’t a big deal, though usually they did it before he was in the booth with them. But this…
He could get used to this.
As long as it was Sydney.
“I know it’s going to hurt,” she went on while she folded her shirt and set it neatly aside. His balls tightened and his cock began to throb when she reached around to unfasten her bra. “That’s the reason why I wanted to keep the tattoo small. But I suspect most dancers—or high-level athletes in general—have a high threshold when it comes to pain. We’re weird that way.”
“I know you can take punishment. I’ve seen the state of your feet.”
“You should’ve seen them at the height of my dancing career. Raw meat is beautiful in comparison.”
“Every inch of you is beautiful.” The words came out without checking with him first, but he didn’t mind. The truth was the truth.
“Yeah?” The sweet delight in her smile fed his soul, just as his never-ending hunger for her was fed when her bra slid off to join her shirt. “Even my feet?”
“Even your feet. I love how unselfconscious you are,” he went on, marveling at the lithe grace in her every move. “You’re so comfortable with yourself, like you know you’re perfection and you don’t mind showing it.”
“I’m far from perfect.” Her face turned pink and her eyes softened in a way that made him want to shower her with all the compliments she deserved. “I think the luxury of modesty got drummed out of me throughout the years of recitals, competitions and productions. I can’t tell you how many quick changes I went through backstage, along with all the other dancers. Come to think of it, I don’t know any dancers who are modest. The human body is just a tool that’s honed to perform to the best of its abilities.”
“Not gonna lie, Fun-Size,” he murmured while desire made his dick heavy and his brain grind to a halt. “Your tool makes my tool hard as hell.”
Sultry awareness sparked to life in her eyes. “My stars, Mr. Hardwick. How very unprofessional of you. I thought I was here to get a tattoo.”
“You’re sitting there naked from the waist up and smiling at me like I’m the last donut in the box. Under those circumstances, I figure I can be as unprofessional if I damn well want.” And right now all he wanted to do was stand there and devour her with his eyes before he devoured her in other, far more satisfying ways. Her skin was a natural pale gold, and as flawlessly silky to look at as it was to the touch. Her breasts were small and perfect, just the right size to fill his palms, and their rose-petal peaks made his mouth water.
Just looking at her was enough to force every other thought out of his head, until Sydney was the only truth he knew.
“I don’t know how you became my axis, but you did. Everything I am revolves around you.” He stepped between her knees and kissed her, his hands sliding up the subtle ladder of her rib cage to take those fucking gorgeous tits in his hands. They were his now, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted with them. “If you don’t stop me now, we’re never going to get this tattoo started.”
“Would that be so bad?”
Jesus, from start to finish this woman was his personal wet dream. “That sounds like avoidance behavior to me.”
“Maybe. But I’m not the one feeling me up right now.”
“That mouth of yours.” Smiling, he rubbed his thumbs over those rosy peaks until they were pebble-hard, and her breathing was unsteady. “My only defense is that you’re irresistible, but I do want to get going on your art. I made it with you in mind, and it’s some of the best work I’ve ever done. It’s that good because I knew I was doing it for you. Thinking about you brought out the best in me.”
“Styx.” A touched smile lit her eyes before she reached up and brought his mouth to hers. “You say the sweetest things. I’m honored you did this artwork for me. I can’t wait to have it.”
“Then let’s get this rodeo going before my balls get any bluer.”
Within a few minutes, Sydney was lying on her stomach while he retrieved the inkpots and other paraphernalia needed for the session. By the time he sat down in his chair, he had purple Latex gloves on, antibacterial Green Soap and wet wipes in hand, and a disposable razor standing by.
“I’m going to clean the whole area and shave it before putting the stencil on, and then I’ll start from the lower back,” he said, not wanting her to be nervous…because he was. For the first time in memory, he was actually nervous about touching a needle—a needle that would bring her pain—to flesh. “Typically, getting a tattoo over skin that’s close to the bone hurts more, so I’m going to save the shoulder blade area for last. And if you need to take a break, let me know right away, okay? Don’t be a hero. I don’t want you fainting on me.”
“Do people faint from this?” she asked curiously, turning her head to look back at him while he took his time cleaning the graceful, delicate expanse of her back.
“It’s not uncommon. Payne keeps a ready supply of champagne in stock for those who might need it.” And he might need it himself, he thought wryly, dawdling over the task of shaving her already baby-smooth skin. Why the hell he was getting hung up on needles and pain now when he never had before was a total fucking mystery to him. What he needed to do was forget about the pain and focus on the work. This piece of art was literally created to fit the contours of her body. He couldn’t wait to see it on her.
But…
She was already gloriously perfect without it.
“Anything wrong?”
“Wrong? No.” He blinked and came back to what he had to do next—placing the stencil where he wanted. It took him longer than usual to line it up perfectly, just as it took him a while to pull the stencil paper off.
When he did, he had to admit he loved what he saw.
The familiar, graceful lines of the phoenix followed her tapered back that was subtly sculpted with muscles borne from years of relentless study, just like he’d created it to do. Now, all he had to do was put the tattoo gun to her flesh, and make his greatest creation a permanent part of her.
Easy.
The buzz of the tattoo machine seemed unnaturally loud as he put it to the first dark lines of the stencil at the small of her back. She flinched slightly, barely moving at all, but he immediately pulled away.
“Sorry.” She shot him a contrite look over her shoulder, her eyes huge. “I just got startled. I’ll do better, I swear.”
“Don’t apologize.” Taking a steadying breath, Styx bent over her…
And couldn’t bring the needle to her skin.
“Fuck.” he muttered, leaning back in his chair, heart pounding while his mind reeled. “Fucking ridiculous… shit.”
“What?” Clearly alarmed, she did a semi push-up and stared back at him. “What’s wrong? Did my jumping screw things up? Do I have a crazy squiggle on my back now, or—”
“No, it’s not you.” He shut the machine off and tossed it onto a rolling tray table, disgusted with himself. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to put the needle to you.”
He didn’t blame her for staring at him as if he were speaking in tongues. “Is there any particular reason why?”
“You’re perfect, so there’s that,” he said with an irritable shrug. “Putting ink on you is like gilding a lily, but that’s not my hang-up.”
She blushed at his words, but still looked concerned. “Then what is?”
“I’m not thrilled with the prospect of causing you pain.” He stared at her in flat-out disbelief, because what he was saying was pretty un-fucking-believable from his standpoint. “It’s the craziest goddamn thing. I mean, I know wha
t it feels like to get a tattoo. It’s not going to kill you. Hell, half the guys here have put their mark on their women—and in Rocket’s case, all her man’s ink has been done by her. Shouldn’t be a problem, but I’m fucking sweating here. Fuck.”
“Styx. Baby.” Looking like she didn’t know whether to laugh or worry, she slid off the table and went to her knees in front of him, her hands coming to rest on his thighs. “You could never hurt me. I know that.”
“The reason we met was because this fucked-up world’s allowing you to be hurt. There isn’t a better woman on this planet, but that’s not saving you from going through hell. It should, though. Everyone you meet becomes your instant best friend, and you radiate goodness everywhere you go. If life were fair you’d get that goodness back in spades, but life isn’t fucking fair, not even with me doing everything I can to shield you. And that’s why I can’t give you this part of me, my art, because doing it brings you pain. Fuck that, and fuck pain. I’m not adding to it.”
“Styx, you don’t seem to get that you are the one thing in my life that’s holding all the pain at bay.” Smiling that heaven-sweet smile of hers, she moved between his knees to press her hands against his chest. “I don’t know how I would have handled all this craziness without you being here to help me, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be as calm as I am now. Thanks to you, I’m still laughing and enjoying life, and thinking seriously sexy thoughts on how I can get you to de-stress. Then again, that might be because I’m kneeling in front of you half-naked, and your zipper is only a few inches away.”
The woman had to be made of magic. With a handful of words she made all the chaotic shit inside him disappear. All that was left was peace and acceptance.
And lust.
Definite fucking lust.
“If you're distracted, Syd, you should do something about that.” The tension drained out of him, only to be replaced by the maddening need to devour every part of her with every part of him. “Give me your hands.”
