“Do you have any idea what you’d like the cover-up to be?”
“I’m thinking maybe a bouquet, something delicate.”
Picturing her soft inner thigh turns me on more than it should. “Color or black and white?”
“Whatever you think will look best.”
I think anything would look good on this woman. Sweat beads across my brow, knowing I’m about to see her with her jeans off. If I were a smarter man, I’d tell her to come back and let my female artist, Mollie, take this one. But I’m not. In fact, I’m going to give her the best cover-up I’ve ever done in my entire career.
“Come on back.” I rise from the chair, and Sienna follows, her boots clicking against the tile as we make our way to my station.
ChapterTwo
Sienna
Maybe this was a mistake.Holt’s picture on the shop website boasted an unquestionably handsome man. Aside from his impressive portfolio, his square jaw and warm, brown eyes pulled me in immediately. I’m not shocked to find out that he’s even more gorgeous in person. Iamshocked to find out he’s bigger than any man I’ve ever seen.
On our way back to his station, he lumbers, leading the way. The moisture in my mouth evaporates, and I wonder if I’ll be able to sit through a tattoo with this muscular, bearded giant without soaking through my panties. The mere thought makes me want to curl up and die.
But something told me to see this through. I can’t have my ex-boyfriend’s name on my inner thigh forever. Especially after I found out I was one of three—three!—women he’d professed his undying love to. I was just the only one stupid enough to take the dare and get his name tattooed on my body. I’m a fucking fool.
“This is my station.” Holt’s baritone voice cuts right through me. “You can set your stuff down over there.” He gestures toward a set of hooks on the far wall. I do as told, hanging the jacket I’m holding as well as the tote before swinging back around toward him.
My heart beats double time just gazing at him. His chest muscles press against the tight black t-shirt. Ink coils down the lengths of his sinewy arms. His black jeans fit just right, not too skinny, not too loose.
“Did you perchance bring shorts or something to change into?”
“I did. I can go change now if you want.” The words spill from my lips in rapid succession.
“Yeah. I’d like to see what I’m working with. Bathroom’s down the hall on the right.” He points, showing off his bulging bicep.
“Of course.” I scramble for my sweat shorts—the ones too short to wear in public but perfect for an occasion like this—and keep my head down as I cross Holt’s path. His clean scent fills the air.
Thank Christ for that. I almost decided to throw all caution to the wind, living out the false persona of a rebellious type who didn’t give a damn if she sat splayed in a hot tattoo artist's chair clad only in her panties. But that’s not me. Not by a long shot. Sometimes I wish it were, but that’s what got me in trouble in the first place.
I flick on the bathroom light, lock the door behind me, and remove my jeans. I twist my knee outward and examine my greatest mistake, a tattoo from one drunken night against my better judgment. What kind of a name is BLAZE anyway?
I slide into my shorts and fold my jeans, tucking them under my arm. Unfortunately, it’s not just Blaze that’s been the cause of some seriously shitty decisions. My type is perpetually unavailable; I’m a magnet to them. What I need to do is find a good, wholesome mountain man and settle down.
But they’resoboring.
A chill whispers against my bare thighs and I rush out of the bathroom. I’m done with bad boys. I’m done with jerks. Hell, maybe it’s time to be alone for a while.
“Yeah,” I mutter to myself. “No more men for at least a full heartbeat.” The words die in my mouth as I round the corner. Huddled over his artist’s desk, lit from below, Holt looks like a tattooed God. I gulp, and remind myself that men like him usually lead to trouble.
But what’s the harm in flirting?
“All set.” I feign confidence, bounding over to his chair. His eyes land on my thighs. Blink and you’ll miss it, but I sure don’t. A warm, gooey feeling ignites in my stomach.
“I pulled up some flowers on the iPad.” He rolls his chair over and hands me the tablet, then licks his lips. “Let’s see the tattoo.”
My heart rate kicks into hyperdrive as I spread my thighs. The heat from his gaze causes my panties to drench instantly, making me grateful for the extra layer of absorbency from my cotton shorts. He leans in closer, and my brain goes berserk.
I imagine what his full lips would feel like pressed against the year-old ink. How close his mouth would be toward the inseam of my panties. Inches from dipping his tongue into the waistband and tasting me right here and now.
“It’s not so bad.” His voice crashes into my daydream.
“What?” I’m breathless.