“Don’t knock it. It can be an exhilarating experience. Some people say it’s even sexual!”
“I’ll bet.”
Then his voice softened. He knew he was treading into risky territory. “Feeling okay? No dizziness? No—”
“I’m great,” she said briskly. “Doing fine.”
“I’m glad,” he replied choosing not to press for details. Then, he dared to ask, “Do you want to come to the convention tomorrow?”
Her mouth fell open. “Me? At atattooconvention?”
“It’ll be fun. Think of it as a trip to an art museum. Only the canvases are bodies.”
“Okay….” She looked doubtful, but he chose not to press her, knowing how stubborn she could be. Better she make up her mind for herself.
She did. As Rosemarie appeared with the main course, Chantelle made her decision. “I’ll come with you.” Then added, “As long as I’m feeling okay.”
“Then, I hope you’ll be in tip top shape tomorrow,” he said sincerely, for more than one reason.
Chapter 13
Several times, Chantelle had to remind herself that she wasn’t excited about the fact that she was attending the convention with Dustin. No, not at all. She was excited about the fact that she was about to experience something new. She’d been to countless conventions, but certainly never one that thronged with so many eclectic and unusual characters.
The moment the driver let them out before the Centre des Congres, she could feel that palpable frisson of electricity that buzzed through the air. She’d half expected a crowd of unwashed hippies with more piercings than anyone could count, but instead, most of them looked like anyone you’d encounter strolling down the main street of any town. Except maybe with a few more tattoos than average.
“This way,” he said, after signing her up for a day pass. “There’s lots to see.”
“I’m sure,” she said mildly, trying to look only vaguely interested… trying not to gape at the sea of booths and the throngs of people. Everywhere she looked, there was color and noise—
“Spencer!”
They spun around in unison, and Chantelle watched as a fine-boned Asian woman in a pleated plaid miniskirt and a bustier came bounding excitedly up to them. Her shiny black hair was pulled into two careless ponytails, her eyes rimmed with thick kohl, and peacock feathers dangled from her ears.
Before Chantelle could process the uniqueness of this new arrival, the woman launched herself at Dustin, kissing him on each cheek with loud smacks.“Salut, mec!”she squealed.
Why is she still hugging him?Chantelle wondered.And is she planning on letting him go?
Eventually, when he was finally released from the woman’s eager grasp, Dustin turned to Chantelle and made the introductions, explaining that Onyx was an artist he was teaming up with for a tattoo competition.
The women exchanged cool handshakes, and then Onyx turned her shoulder to Chantelle, as if trying to shield Dustin from view.Possessive,Chantelle thought, which was amazing, considering they had only met yesterday.
She listened as the two had a quick conversation about their plans for the competition and agreed to meet up later, after the convention closed for the day to hash out the details. Throughout, the little dark-haired woman kept throwing Chantelle the side-eye. Her pretty little mouth curling whenever she did so.
Chantelle didn’t know whether to laugh or be irritated. Obviously, the girl was smitten, and had decided Chantelle was a threat. She wondered if he’d mentioned that they were married… probably not, because this little hussy seemed to think she had a chance.
Be my guest, honey,Chantelle telegraphed. And yet the idea still rankled.
The girl huffed away once Dustin explained that he was spending the day with Chantelle. He threw her an apologetic glance and began their tour, pointing out booths of interest and explaining different techniques and materials. She listened, impressed at the scope of his knowledge.
She surprised herself by buying a small, framed, hand-drawn abstract tattoo design, even though she had no idea where she would place it in the house. But she could feel herself being sucked into the crackling atmosphere, infected by its spirit.
“I was thinking of getting a tattoo to commemorate the baby,” she surprised herself by admitting.
He turned to her, lifting his brows. “Really? You were against the idea yesterday. Besides, I didn’t figure you for a tattoo type of girl.”
“There’s more to me than you can see,” she retorted.
His gaze was slow, taking in the fact that she was wearing jeans and a simple white cotton blouse, rather than her usual executive wear. “Evidently,” he said softly.