Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel #2) (18 page)

Left, right, left right …

“Yeah. I kinda figured that.”

God, her voice sounds the same as it used to; the tones curl around and make love to the words like a melody.

Focus!

“I can’t … um …” she starts, stumbling through her thoughts.

“I don’t have time for this, Quinn.” I’m so furious with myself!
Why didn’t I tell her?!

“Yeah, okay.” She goes quiet, and I think maybe she turned and took off.

My body panics at the thought, and without my conscious permission, my head wrenches around.

She’s still here.

FOCUS!

But I can’t, can I?

This is my life without you, Quinn! Take a good look at the broken, annihilated man you’ve created!

“It’s been a long time,” she says innocently.

But it pisses me off to the stratosphere. “A long time,” I echo vehemently. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“Debra let me borrow her car, and I saw yours parked out back.” She shrugs. “Cade gave me a key.”

Of course he did.

Quinn continues, “I … um … practiced this moment so many times in my head—what I’d do and say and now … well, now, it’s just not coming out,” she says, obviously fumbling.

I’ve practiced it too,
I think. And my imaginings had nothing to do with words or talking.

Her brow creases as she looks at my bloody fingers. “You’re bleeding.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Her eyes stay on my hands. “Of course you don’t.” Then, “I should’ve called you before I came to town—and warned you,” she tells me.

An angry, sarcastic laugh rips from my mouth as I reach for a towel and wipe my hands. “Yeah, Quinn, that would’ve been gracious, anyway. Instead you decide to surprise me and show up ten years later at my work!”

“Well,” she says, getting defensive, “I came here to see Cade!”

“Yeah? Then what the fuck are you doing
here
now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here now!” Her voice grows louder, until she’s shouting at me. “I guess with what happened at my mom’s … and I thought maybe we were friends once …”

“We were a hell of a lot more than friends, Quinn!”

She waves me off. “This wasn’t a good idea.”

“Really? What gave you the first hint?”

“You’re so … stubborn and headstrong! I just came to talk!” Her face becomes red with anger as she wheels around to leave.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and grab her by the arm.

“Spit it out, Quinn! You came all this way to say something, for Christ’s sake!”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you!” She’s lying. The color of her topaz blue eyes, her temper, her inability to ever back down … God help me.

I rush at her, until she’s backed up to the cabinets. Without a word, I lift her to sit on the counter, and her legs just fall open for me. I fit myself between them. Her eyes widen as her soft mouth opens in shock.

“Sometimes words aren’t fucking enough,” I say as I crush my body and mouth against hers.

I want my hands in her hair, but she’s got it twisted up and pinned with Oriental hair sticks. I pull them out and release her hair, which falls in golden waves around her shoulders.

It’s a rush—a rush of arms, as we throw them around each other; a rush of hands, lifting her skirt and pressing us closer because we can’t seem to get close enough; a rush of powerful, contradictory feelings; a rush of our tongues finally tasting each other after so long; and a rush of blood coursing into my dick as it pushes against the growing warmth between her legs.

I kiss her until we’re both breathless, then sink my hands into her thick mane and pull her head back, gaining access to her slender throat where I bite and suck, lick and kiss—I’m fucking starving to death—famished for her feel, for her taste.

She crushes her soft tits into my hard, bare chest, and the sensation is fucking delicious!

I keep one hand gripped in her hair and slide the other to the small of her back so I can keep her taut against me, both of us consumed with the friction.

That’s when the main lights switch on over our heads.

Startled, I automatically help her off the countertop and quickly move backwards. We hear somebody coming down the steps. She straightens her clothes and hair and turns away from me, as if nothing happened.

The door opens. It’s Rhonda, the woman in charge of The Core’s housekeeping department. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Knight,” she says, looking extremely embarrassed.

“It’s my fault. I came in off-schedule. I hope we didn’t startle you too much.”

She shakes her head and steps out of the room.

I look back at Quinn but can’t meet her eyes now. “I’m …”
I’m not sorry.
“I apologize for that … what just happened.”

Man, I am so fucked!

“Josh is going to try and take us out for lunch later today. I’ll understand if you don’t want to go. Excuse me, I have a client this morning and have to get some ice on these.” I indicate my fingers. What a fucking idiot I am.

I don’t even know what to say, so I just walk out, leaving her standing there, with her lipstick still smeared over my mouth and her taste on my tongue.

The purr of the needle is so soothing. And the guy I’m working on doesn’t talk much. Right now, I’m grateful for the quiet. I’ve been able to clear my mind and stop thinking. That’s one of the reasons I love tattooing—it’s an escape from my tumultuous thoughts. I’m always fully present. Most of the time, after I’ve finished with a client, I come away from the experience with new revelations; shit I’ve been stressing over falls into place, solutions to problems I’ve been mulling through come to me; it’s spiritual. Some people like yoga. Tattooing is my yoga.

He’s got good skin and the ink is blending beautifully. I layer each section as I get lost in the fine detail.

I pull back to wipe the excess ink and blood that’s beginning to pool in the area before I take a moment to sit back and view the tattoo as a whole. It’s a stunning, black and white tiger curling up and around his arm, starting at his wrist and culminating at his shoulder. The background consists of a full-color Samurai wielding his sword, along with koi fish and other symbols he wanted incorporated.

The piece is close to being finished. I can’t help but check the clock. The past four hours have been like a fucking vacation, but now time seems to be hurdling towards me.

Lunch with Josh and Quinn—if I could think of a way to back out, I would. I thought after what happening this morning, she’d cancel.

She didn’t.

One more hour before Josh shows up.

Maybe he’ll get distracted with Sophie and Charlie—his beautiful new family.
Then he can call and apologize for missing it, and I can say,
Better luck next time.

Damn, I hope that happens.

I shade with snow-white opaque, platinum and charcoal and finish off the edges.

I’m actually thankful to Quinn for walking in on me this morning—I could’ve fucked up my hands bad and would’ve had to cancel this session—and doing this is the best therapy I could give myself.

“I think you’re done, man. Why don’t you go take a look?” I tell him.

He slides off the chair and goes up close to the full mirrored wall. “Holy Fuck! It’s incredible!”

“Happy you like it.” I smile and begin cleaning my area.

“Man, it’s a fucking masterpiece.”

“Thanks.”

“Aren’t you afraid if you continue fighting in the MMA, you could hurt your hand so bad you wouldn’t be able to tat anymore?” he asks.

Wow!
That statement hits too close to home.

“I don’t mean nothing by it—you’re a hell of a fighter—could become a world titleholder,” he continues. “But you’ve got an amazing talent right here.”

“Thanks.” It’s just another subject and another question I don’t have an answer for.

After he leaves and my station is all cleaned up, I walk out into the waiting room.

“He was a happy customer,” Adrienne chirps.

Adrienne has been working for me since I opened the place. She and her longtime girlfriend live in the apartment above the shop. They’re great people.

“Josh just called. He’s on his way,” she says.

“Great,” I mutter and then look around at what I’ve built: black walls with red trim and black and red checkered flooring with a Persian area rug welcoming clients to sit on the black leather sofas. My artwork hangs on the walls … they’re good, but these pieces aren’t parts of my soul. Those are colors I’ve only ever let one person see. After her, I pulled the dark shades down over those windows.

“Want to talk about it?” Ade shakes me from my daze.

“No thanks. I definitely do
not
want to talk about it.”

“Are you going to talk to
her
about it?”

When I look over at her, she has her arms folded across her chest defiantly. Her spaghetti strapped dress shows off her colorful, flowered arm sleeves.

“You’re going to get on my case too?” I accuse.

“Well, you know there are no secrets here.” When she tilts her head to challenge me, the light reflects off her silver chin post. “I think fate is giving you a lucky draw from the deck, and you need to play your cards right. You’ve been pining after her for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Ade—” I begin.

“I’m not finished speaking. This is do or die, Jack—where you find out if she still has a thing for you or not. Maybe then you can get on or move on.”

“Jesus Christ, I hate all of this free advice!” I sweep my fingers through my hair.

“Free advice just means you have a family that cares about you,” she quips.

At that moment, the buzzer rings, announcing someone has opened the door behind me.

Shit.

“Welcome to The House of Ink and Steel,” Josh announces. 

“Hi there!” Adrienne coos with the biggest smile. “You must be Quinn. I’m so excited to meet you.”

“Thanks.” She sounds unsure and distrustful.

“This is Adrienne, she’s been working here for forever,” Josh says.

“Oh yeah! Since Liam opened the place.”

“It’s impressive, Liam.”

When Quinn says my name, I lose track of every other fucking thing in the world.

“Would you like the tour?” Josh asks her when I don’t answer fast enough.

“I’d love it,” Quinn says. “You know, I’ve watched you on
Ink Master
.”

She’s still talking to me.

“Really? You watch that show?” I finally turn to face her.

“Well, only when you’ve been a guest judge. Guess I’m partial to your work as an artist.” She bites her lip and her gaze drops to the floor.

It’s her shy look. Her I-want-to-hide look.

“Come on, I’ll show you the alcoves.” Josh takes her arm in his. “Talon and Ryder do quite a lot more work around here than he does.” 

As he leads her through the place Adrienne comes close and whispers in my ear, “It’s going to be alright, Liam. The universe has a way of working things through when it’s the right time.”

“At least one of us believes that.”

“Don’t be so cynical,” she scolds. “You just got handed a second chance.”

Before I can shoot her a dirty look, Josh and Quinn come back through the lobby. “Let’s get some lunch,” Josh says. “I’m famished.”

I give Adrienne a kiss on her cheek. Even though she’s just frustrated the living hell out of me, I know she cares.

We step out into the parking lot.

“I like the family SUV look you’ve got going on here,” I razz Josh, who used to drive a sleek Gillette Vertigo around. He still has it, but now he also owns a souped-up (with all the safety features) Chevy Tahoe. It has a pink flowered car seat in the back, which I’m sitting next to, along with the toys I had to push over to make room for my ass. A purple sippy cup sits in the drink holder next to Josh.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he admits with a shit-eating grin.

“I’d love to meet your family.” Quinn smiles over at him from the passenger seat.

“I can make that happen,” he tells her.

Soon, though, Josh drives the scenic route around Lake Calhoun.

“Look!” He indicates the colorful snow kites gliding over the frozen lake. Before anyone protests, he pulls into the recreation area’s parking lot.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen those,” Quinn says. “It looks like a kaleidoscope.”

“Good thing we’re all dressed warmly. Let’s get a closer look.” Josh turns off the engine. “I could use the fresh air too.”

This is turning into more than lunch.
Before I lose my cool, I try to get back into the state of mind I had when I was tatting the guy’s arm.