Authors: Stephanie Fournet
HE PULLED OFF
Johnston Street into the parking lot of the studio, and his heart broke into a gallop in his chest. If there had been a time in his past when he was this wired to talk to a girl, he couldn’t remember it. Wren was like a foreign language, one that was musical and enchanting. One he ached to learn.
She had shown him — more than once — that she could be sharp. Her words and the look in her eyes could carry barbs, but he knew, too, that there was a side to her that was soft, sweet. A sweetness that ran so deep, even the thought of it settled his spooked heart. Only someone thoughtful and tender would have made him those pies, and he longed to sit in a room, alone, with that part of Wren as much as he hungered to spar with the side that now pushed him away.
As he left his Jeep, he spotted her Mustang under the shade of two pecan trees at the edge of the lot, but a couple other cars were parked in front of the entrance. Lee braced himself as he approached the entrance. Inside the small studio, he was about to have an audience.
He pushed open the door and felt his eyes go wide. With her back to him, Wren knelt on a table behind a mammoth, shirtless man in motorcycle leathers. The heels of her ankle boots pointed up at him, and above those, the outline of her bottom under the gray skirt made the perfect shape of an inverted heart. At the sight, his own heart inverted.
Wren didn’t look up, even when the bell on the door jangled as he entered.
“Just take a seat. Be with you in a minute.” This came from the man at the opposite table. The exposed skin below his chin — neck, shoulders, arms — was a riot of color, a dizzying spread of tattoos. He looked to be in his early forties. Fit. Head shaved clean. Salt and pepper goatee. Lee guessed he was Wren’s boss, Rocky. With his ink gun in hand, Rocky bent over the midriff of a blonde woman who was dressed much like the shirtless man on Wren’s table. This woman’s top, a tattered, sleeveless tee, was hiked up just under her ample bosom.
Lee sat on the bench by the door and let his eyes drift back to Wren. From this spot, he could see past her to the biker’s skin. A lion — life-like and highly defined — spanned the flesh of his right shoulder all the way to his spine and down the middle of his back. The lion’s mane fanned out past its ears as though the savannah breeze lifted it. The beast’s eyes honed in on unfortunate quarry in the middle distance. Lee would not have been surprised to hear the rumble of a growl come from his invisible throat. The tattoo was that good.
Wren looked to be almost finished, darkening the surface of the lion’s black nose. Lee watched her and smiled in awe. She worked with uncanny focus, never taking her eyes from her creation. He couldn’t see much of her face, but when she angled her head to the left to peer closer at some detail, twice Lee saw the tip of her tongue dart out over her bottom lip in concentration.
He’d seen pictures of her work in her living room, but watching her art come to life had him spellbound. He didn’t want to stop.
“Okay, Big Cat, you’re done." She pulled her ink gun away and sat back to survey her work. “I’ll get you a mirror.”
In one fluid motion, she untucked her legs from beneath her and hopped off the table. She passed a hand mirror to her customer before turning away. And that’s when she saw him.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She stood, frozen, staring at him, and then Lee felt three more sets of eyes join hers. But he could only peer into her green irises because, despite her tone, he thought he saw a spark of welcome in them.
“Wren?” her boss questioned, his confused frown turning away from Lee and toward her. Their two customers just watched in silence.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked Lee before holding up her gloved hand and shaking her head. “Wait. Scratch that. I don’t even want to know.”
Lee got to his feet. The glint in her eyes let him know she might be pissed, but she wasn’t repulsed. Or worse, indifferent. Pissed he could work with.
“Give me your number, and I’ll leave now and call you later.”
Wren’s brows shot up, but Rocky grinned.
“Hell, no,” she said, pulling off her latex gloves with something close to violence. Lee wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d flung them in his face. “Go away.”
The prettiest blush now crept up her cheeks. Lee shrugged, and a smile he couldn’t control made his face ache.
“I can’t.” It was the truth. The last thing he wanted to do now was walk away from her, not when he was so close to getting closer. He knew he had a long way to go, but a challenge didn’t scare him.
“What do you mean you can’t? The door is right there." She pointed behind him, her face now scarlet. “You can’t harass me at work.”
Lee instantly took a step back. He didn’t want her to feel harassed. Pursued, yes. Desired, yes. Harassed, no.
“Wren, is this the guy?” Rocky asked, looking first at Lee and then back at her.
The guy?
Wren whirled on her boss, the bottom of her gray skirt twirling behind her. “Rocky,” she hissed. “This is none of your business.”
Rocky’s smile only grew, and he nodded at Lee. “Rocky Perrodin. You are?”
“Lee Hawthorne.” He nodded back, relaxing a little. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same to you, Lee,” Rocky said, looking highly amused.
Wren leveled her boss with a glare. “You’re not helping.”
He turned back to the woman on his table, muttering, “I think I am.”
At this, the big guy with the lion tattoo stood up, grinning proudly. “Wren, it kills, but I gotta get to work. Can I put my shirt on?”
Wren turned her back on Lee and her boss. “Wait. Let me dress it for you." Automatically, she pulled on another pair of latex gloves and grabbed a large gauze pad. She had to climb onto a stepladder to reach his shoulder, and while she worked, Lee took his seat again. If he was known here as
the guy
, he was in no hurry to leave. “You know the drill, right, Big Cat? Keep the dressing on today. Neosporin twice a day. Keep it clean.”
“Yeah, got it. Thanks, Wren.” Big Cat shrugged on his shirt and circled to the woman on the table, grinning. “That seahorse is looking good, hon.”
The blonde on the table smiled up at him. “See you at home, babe.”
Big Cat leaned over and kissed her right in front of all of them, and Lee couldn’t help but smile.
“Wren, Dallas here has the debit card. Can you ring me up with her? Gotta run.”
“Sure thing, B.C.” Wren pulled off her gloves a second time. She kept her back to Lee, grabbed a spray bottle, and started cleaning up her station. Silently, Big Cat gave him a look that said
“Good luck”
before he hit the door, the bells jangling again as it closed behind him.
Lee watched as Wren wiped down her station and then moved to her equipment, disposing of the needle set in the orange bin labeled
Biohazard: Medical Waste.
“How’s the puppy?” Rocky asked over his shoulder, reminding Lee that his dog Millie was Victor’s mother.
“Don’t encourage him, Rocky,” Wren grumbled.
“He’s great. Smart little guy. Getting bigger every day.” Lee looked back at Wren. “You should come over to see him, Wren. He’d love it.”
“Yeah. Right.
He’d
just love that,” she muttered. “Because that dog only wants what he can’t have.”
Rocky chuckled under his breath at the jab.
Lee leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Nah.
He
just knows what he wants, and
he
doesn’t give up easily.”
On her back, the blonde giggled, clearly amused.
Rocky pulled back his gun. “Careful, Dallas.”
“Sorry, Rock,” she said, recovering. “This is better than
The Bold and the Beautiful.”
The bell on the door clanged, and a kid in a tight T-shirt, low-hung jeans, and backward baseball cap stepped in.
“What can I do for you?” Wren asked in a rush, startling the kid.
But Lee got to his feet before the guy could answer. “Wait, now, I was here first.”
“Oh, sorry, du—“
“You want a tattoo?” Wren scowled at Lee in disbelief.
Lee had never wanted one before. And, if pressed, he hadn’t even considered getting one when he stepped into the studio, but watching Wren work certainly piqued his interest. But most of all, he needed to grab some time with her.
“Yes,” he said firmly.
Wren crossed her arms over her chest. “You.
You
, Dr. Leland Hawthorne. You want a tattoo.” Her adorned left brow arched high above its twin, and if Lee had harbored any doubts before, they vanished in the challenge of that look.
“That’s what I said.”
She cocked her jaw and rolled her eyes. “Well, Rock’s almost finished. He can help you.”
Lee shook his head. “I want you.”
The statement, heavy with meaning, silenced the room. Lee watched Wren swallow, but she recovered quickly enough.
“Too bad. I’m not tatting you.”
Rocky cleared his throat. “Since when do we refuse service to someone sober and of age?” Rocky’s eyes cut to Lee’s. “You can pay, right?”
“Of course.”
Rocky angled his eyes toward Wren, still looking amused. “You’re not turning down a paying customer.”
Her jaw fell open. “Rock.
Seriously?”
He paused, frowned, and looked between them again. “Am I missing something? Did he hit you or some shit like that?”
“No,” she said.
“Hell, no,” Lee spoke at the same time.
Their paired protests only made Rocky happier, but an uncomfortable heat cinched around Lee’s neck at the thought of someone hitting Wren.
“Then get to work.”
She narrowed her eyes at her boss. “It’s good to know where your loyalties lie.”
“Hush, girl.” But then Rocky turned and pointed his gloved finger at Lee. “You ever hurt her, the last thing you’ll hear will be the rumble of Hogs.”
Lee met Rocky’s even look with his own. “Understood.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Wren muttered.
Dallas giggled again.
“I think I’ll come back later.” This was from the kid in the baseball cap as he walked backward towards the door.
“I’m almost done,” Rocky called as the door opened, and the kid disappeared. He cocked his head back to Wren. “Well, now you have to tat him. He just cost me a costumer.”
WREN SEETHED.
A part of her had been secretly elated to see him again after their morning encounter. This wasn’t an accident. He’d come to her.
But the other part told her she’d be a fool to trust him. He might, indeed, have ended things with Marcelle, but once a cheater, always a cheater. And even if it had just been one kiss, Lee Hawthorne was bad for her. It had been so hard to walk away from him just a few hours ago. And she barely knew him. What would happen if she let him in?
“Well? What do you want?” she snapped, glad that her resentment sounded convincing.
Lee blinked, and Wren held her breath, hoping that the question would be enough to call his bluff. Nobody as buttoned-up as Lee came in and got tattooed on a whim. She crossed her arms and waited, giving him a look of supreme impatience. He’d call it off. She knew he’d call it off.
If he goes through with it, I’ll give him my number.
The moment she placed this bet with herself, Lee reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet.
“I know what I want.” He opened the brown leather wallet and pulled out an antique brass skeleton key.
“What’s that for?” Wren asked, completely surprised.
One side of Lee’s mouth turned up, but the corners of his eyes angled down just a little. “It was my mother’s.”
She stopped her line of questions right there. The look in his eyes had the power to melt her defenses. It was so far from the cocksure grin he’d worn when he’d declared she’d kissed him back or the amused smile that sat on his lips whenever he was laughing at her. This look was innocent. This was the look of a boy.
Without a word, she held out her hand for the key, and Lee placed it on her palm. It was short, perhaps three inches long with a decorative head and a bit that was notched in the shape of a cross. The head bore three perfect circles just above the shaft with kidney-shaped loops on either side. She could only guess at its age, but it was beautiful, and she knew inherently that the piece it opened had to be beautiful, too.
Wren steeled herself. She could do this. She could let him make his play and be the professional she always was. The key was cool, and it would make a kickass tattoo. And that would give her confidence.
“You want it life-sized?” She glanced back up at him, all business.
He considered the key a moment. “Yes. Just like that.”
“Color or true black?”
Lee’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you think?”
Wren turned the key over in her hand. It was tarnished in places and buffed into a high shine in others.
“If you want it to look just like this, I could do mustard for the brass and platinum for the shadows. And a thin outline in black, of course.”
The left side of Lee’s mouth curled in a grin again, and his eyes danced. “Yeah, that’ll work.”
Wren pulled her eyes away. “Lemme make a copy of this to use as a stencil.” She turned and ducked into Rocky’s office without another word and took her time centering the key on the thermal copier’s glass and loading the feed tray with a sheet of transfer paper. Wren wasn’t about to take any chances with the perfect lines of the key’s shaft and bit. The overhead light in the office was off, and the space was a little cooler, so she drew in a slow breath to calm herself.
When she returned with key and stencil in hand, Lee had sat himself on the end of her table, and Rocky was finishing up with Dallas.
“Okay, doc, where do you want it?” she asked, sounding as detached as she could.
Lee’s eyes narrowed slightly on hers, and he drew a finger up to his chest. “Right here.” His fingertip brushed across his left pec, and Wren had to shift the weight on her feet and concentrate on keeping her expression even. She moved past him and raised the head of her table just a little.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Shirt and tie off. Lie back on the table.”