“Asshole,” he laughed and shook his head. “Got time for a quick tat?”
“For you? Always.”
Chapter 4
Teddy
“You didn’t say anything about the flowers.” Kip Riley stood in front of me with a dimpled smile and his Justin Bieber hair, his hands shoved in his pocket in an effort to appear nonthreatening. His light blue eyes did their best to have that ‘aw shucks’ look that had made him so popular.
“What...you?” I shook my head and let out several deep breaths, curling my hands into fists until deep crescents dug into my palm. “That really was unnecessary and I don’t appreciate it. At all.”
One flinger slid up my arm and I smacked it away. “It’s just a little gift to show you my appreciation.”
And this guy was the reason I didn’t dedicate more than a few hours in bed to any man. “You’re paying me, and giving your bride the wedding of her dreams is enough for me. Don’t ever fucking do it again.” I pointed a French manicured nail between his eyes. “If you do, I’ll back out at the absolute last minute. Got it?” He nodded and I turned to the producer behind the camera. “You better get it too, because I’m not fucking around with you people.”
“Yeah, we all got it,” the woman said and rolled her eyes. Bitch.
“Good. We’re done here, so please get the fuck out and have a nice day.” I flashed the smile I used at the end of every runway, which usually made people forget their good sense.
Once I was free of the camera crew, I locked up the office and jumped in my Mercedes, cranking up the air conditioning and Jay-Z, because sometimes that was what a girl needed to calm down after the slimy Kip Riley and to steel myself for my consultation with Tate. Big, blond and too charming, Tate. I wouldn’t think about those searing gray blue eyes that seemed so much more intense than his brother’s, and the fact that he was so big he took up all the space in every room. He was just too much damn man and I wasn’t in the market for one of those, at least not for longer than a night or two.
There was a parking spot open right in front of GET INK’D, behind a red, black and chrome bike and I pulled in and took a few breaths before stepping out of the car. The window had big black gothic letters bearing the name of the shop, giving it that badass tattoo parlor feel. “Just a minute,” Tate’s familiar voice called out when the bell sounded over the door.
“Sure thing, I’ll just look around while you finish...your afternoon self-love session, I assume.” He chuckled as I looked around at the framed oversized drawings. They looked like pencil and charcoal, and they were done with a very skilled hand. “Did you do these drawings, because they are fantastic?”
He grunted, clearly in disbelief. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass, darlin’. I was just starting to like you.”
I jumped at his proximity, turning to him with a laugh. “I don’t blow smoke except with my brides, and believe me I don’t want anything from you to make the effort to blow smoke. You’re a talented artist. That’s a fact, not a compliment.” I poked my finger in his chest to punctuate my point, ignoring how hard his muscles were. Or at least trying to.
He laughed. “Glad we cleared that up. Now should we get down to business?”
“Might as well.” I took a step away. “Damn, do you have a furnace under your skin?”
His deep chuckle echoed in the empty shop. “What can I say, I’m just hot as hell.”
Damn straight. “Yeah, yeah. You’re totally irresistible. The cat’s pajamas and all that.”
He frowned and motioned me toward the long red seat. “So, what you’re saying is that I’m a catch in the 1940’s?”
>
“Totally.” My gaze focused on the golden, corded muscles of his forearm and I licked my lips unconsciously, totally oblivious to the pages he’d spread out before us.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think they’re damn good, Tate.”
“But?”
I blinked. “But, nothing. They’re really great.”
Tate grunted and shook his head. “This is a tattoo, Teddy. That means its permanent so you should make damn sure you like it. Where is this art going on your body?”
My frown deepened and I wondered if he was trying to be funny. “Are you for real?”
He froze, gray eyes darkening like thunderclouds. “Yeah. Is this one of those crazy girl things where I’m just supposed to know? Because if so, I vote tramp stamp.”
Damn Tate and that handsome face. “No,” I sighed. “It’s not that, but...shit, now I’ll sound like a dick. But remember, you asked Golden Boy.” He nodded and I took a deep breath. “I used to be a model, a pretty famous one actually which is why I thought you knew, not because I’m an egomaniac. Anyway, I did it all, runways in Paris and Milan, covers on every fashion magazine from Toledo to Tokyo. From the age of sixteen until about three years ago.” I looked at Tate just to see his reaction. There was usually pity or disgust, both fucking pissed me off.