Draw Me In (11 page)

When she gingerly sat in the space next to me, I wanted to crow with victory. I didn’t. I simply reached over, grabbed her hand, and held it tightly. She was rigid at first, stiff and wary. But as I drew lazy circles over her knuckles with my thumb, she relaxed by degrees, her body going softer until her leg was touching mine.

When her tears had slowed slightly, I spoke. “Listen. We didn’t talk about why you needed this job, but it’s pretty easy to tell that you’ve got some bad stuff going on. Is the job making it worse?”

She pulled away, and I didn’t stop her, but I did keep talking. “I know it’s been hard. But you’re doing great. I can’t imagine that I could have found anybody better at this than you. Hell, anyone else would have walked out yesterday. But not you. You came back, and I appreciate that. You’re a lot tougher than you think.”

“I’m not tough,” Hailey said through tears. She covered her eyes as her sobs came flowing out again. “I’m a complete wreck.” And then she fell apart, gulping, ugly cries that seemed to come all the way up from her soul.

I wanted to pull her into my arms, gather her pain into my chest and soothe her hurt. I’d known her only a few days, but dammit, I hated to see her so sad. My hands itched to pull her close. I ignored the urges, gripping my thighs until her cries became softer.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping her tears away. “I’m so sorry.”

Without a word, I crossed the room and grabbed a tissue. Handing it to her, I turned away as she mopped up her tears. Grabbing my sketchpad and a pen, I sank onto the rolling stool and moved it closer to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, already looking a bit less flattened. Good. The distraction was working.

“Whenever I’m upset about something, I draw.”

She smiled, and my chest lightened at the expression. “You, too?”

I nodded, focusing on the quick sketch lines that were forming under my pen. “It helps me get past the feelings and figure out what it is I really need to focus on. A look at the big picture, kind of.”

We were quiet for several minutes while I worked and Hailey watched me. I was intensely aware of her stare as the picture took shape, and I wondered if she liked what I was doing. It was important that she like it, but damn if I knew why.

When I was done, I stared at it. Sometimes art was like this for me; I didn’t really know what I was drawing until it was nearly finished. This picture for Hailey had been that way. So when I turned it toward her, I was as surprised as she was.

“Daffodils,” she said, smiling. “They’re beautiful.”

“I know this place isn’t perfect. And I know you’ve been thrown into the deep end much faster and harder than you expected. But don’t give up on it yet.” I didn’t want to beg, but I would if I had to. Anything to keep her from crying.

She reached for the sketchpad. “May I?”

I nodded, handing it over with the pen. On the opposite page of my drawing, she started one of her own.

Watching her work was beautiful. Her face lost all traces of the frustration, anger, and sadness she’d been dealing with only minutes before, and it gained an almost transcendent quality. She looked like I felt when I was lost in the muse, creating something that could be seen only in my mind’s eye.

I sat there, rapt, watching as she, cross-legged and bent at an angle that could only be considered awkward, made line after line, shaded, darkened, and accented her piece. Her eyes were bright as she worked. Her long delicate fingers gripped the pencil firmly, her other hand holding the sketchpad against the tattoo chair to keep it from moving. Her entire body was held in the prison of her creation just as firmly as I was. And it was a prison I had no desire to escape.

And then, minutes later, she turned the sketchpad so I could see her work.

“Holy shit,” I whispered as I traced a finger alongside the Asiatic lily. “That is incredible.”

She shook her head, a pleased blush staining her cheeks. “It’s not as good as your daffodils.”

“It’s wild, Hailey. It almost looks like I should be watering it right now, it’s that vivid. It might not be as polished as mine, but it’s passionate, and that’s what counts.” I looked into her eyes and lost myself there. She was beautiful, and her work was beyond beautiful.

The words that came out of my mouth next were completely unplanned, but at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to regret them.

“Would you like to be my apprentice?”

Chapter Nine

Hailey

Stunned, I stared at Neill, my cheeks stinging from the recent bout of tears. I blinked, but he was still there, leaning toward me, his eyes dark blue and earnest.

“Your apprentice?” I repeated, not quite sure I’d heard him correctly.

He nodded. “Yeah. We’d have to work around your front-desk job, but it’s doable. You’ve clearly got the talent, Hailey.” Tracing a finger over the lily’s pointed petal, he smiled. “It takes a while, but it’s just a matter of learning hygiene, technique, and transferring your artistic ability to a living canvas. I mean, you don’t have to love tattoos, but I think you do. It won’t be easy, but I think you’d be great at it. So, what do you think?”

I couldn’t, not at that moment. My brain had shorted out. I shook my head slightly, not in dissent but in confusion. A sudden burst of laughter from the lobby startled me into speaking.“It’s kind of sudden. I’d never thought of becoming a tattoo artist, well, not for more than two seconds, when I applied for this job.” I shifted slightly on the tattoo chair, the vinyl beneath me squeaking in protest. But the idea was starting to take root deep in my brain. I closed my eyes and thought—really thought—about it.

I pictured myself here at Sinful Skin, with a little studio room of my own. The walls would be covered with pieces of my art, canvases that showed my ability in more than one medium. I’d always loved getting assignments in art classes. The challenge of creating something on demand gave my muse a huge rush. In fact, I’d always assumed I’d never stop taking classes, because I loved meeting the challenges that my teachers set before me.

But what if those teachers were clients? What if those assignments were visions of what they wanted on their skin . . . permanently?

When I opened my eyes, Neill was sitting there, his gaze trained directly through to my soul. All my reasons for keeping him at arm’s length seemed far away right then. His face was earnest, full of life and promise. Magnetic—that was the word for him. And I was far from immune to his pull.

I smiled. “I think that’d be great.”

Neill returned the expression, grabbing my hand and squeezing it lightly. Such an innocent motion, but I felt it all the way through my body.

“Awesome. We’ll start tonight, when it gets slower.”

I glanced toward the counter. The memory of the way I’d melted down earlier intruded, but I hastily shoved it aside. I didn’t want to remember, not now. For the moment, I wanted to thank Neill, who had risen to his feet without letting go of my hand. Sliding off the tattoo chair, I looked up at him.

“Thank you,” I whispered. And then, with a bravery I hadn’t known I possessed until that second, I wound my free arm around his neck, tilted my chin skyward, and prayed.

He dipped his head slightly, as if in the thrall of our magnetism just as much as I was.

Raising on my tiptoes, I brushed his lips with my own.

They were smooth but firm under mine. I held on, tangling my fingers in the back of his hair, and parted my lips, begging him silently to deepen the kiss.

His fingers threaded through mine, and he brought my free hand up to join the other, wrapped high on his shoulders. He gripped my hips, drawing my body in close to his.

And when his tongue rested lightly against my lips before delving deep into my mouth, I moaned softly. Though his body was hard, lean, and long, he kept a definite space between us, not melting in to me as I wished he would. But I couldn’t complain, because my body and mind were on fire with what his mouth was doing.

It lasted a few seconds, but it seemed to last for days while passing way too quickly. He lifted his head, eyes glittering as he stared into my upturned face.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he whispered as he stepped away. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” I almost stumbled at the loss of his support. Quickly righting myself, I brought a shaking hand to my lips. “I thought—”

The phone buzzed just then. “Hey, Neill, I’ve got a customer. You free to watch the front?”

I looked at the phone, then back to Neill. Something had passed between us, but I wasn’t sure what.

“I’ll be right there. You go on ahead, Frankie.”

Neill left the studio without looking back at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d upset him somehow, but I knew he’d joined me in that kiss. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to sear the memory into my soul. I didn’t ever want to forget what it felt like to kiss Neill Vanderhaven, and I was afraid that I’d just experienced the last kiss we’d ever have.

A few minutes of deep breathing, I regained my composure and left Neill’s studio. The lobby was mostly empty, and both Frankie’s and Roger’s doors were shut. Neill stood by my desk chair, chatting with a man at the counter.

“Yeah, we can do it now. The problem was caused by the guy overworking the skin in that area. You go over it too many times, it’s going to scab, and the ink will lift right off.” Neill clapped the guy on the shoulder as they turned toward his studio. “I’ll patch it up for you. Least I can do for a guy in the service.” He tossed his next words over his shoulder at me. “I’ll be in the studio if you need me. In the meantime, work on your drawing.”

I cracked a small smile as I looked down at my bag. It seemed the kiss hadn’t made him regret asking me to be his apprentice. The sketchbook I never left home without was poking out the top of my messenger bag, its purple spiral binding bright against the black floor. With a quick glance to ensure that no customers were about, I pulled the sketchbook free and grabbed my pouch of pencils from the upper pocket.

I flipped past pictures of flowers, of faces, of abstract pieces and cartoon characters. When I landed on a blank page halfway through the book, I nibbled the end of my pencil.
What to draw?
I swiveled back and forth in my desk chair, the friendly squeak repeating with each motion. Closing my eyes, I thought about it.

Yesterday a woman had come in. She’d showed me a picture of her cat, a fluffy black thing with a white splotch on its face.

“This is Amigo. We found him at the shelter when he was just a kitten. He’s sixteen years old now, and I want to get a portrait of him.” The woman had smiled as tears gathered in her eyes. “He’s not healthy anymore. Lots of kidney problems. But I want to be able to do this now, while he’s with me.”

I had given her to Roger, sure the lighthearted and bubbly guy could help her through what was obviously an emotional tattoo. I hadn’t gotten to see the finished product, but I had seen some of Roger’s other work, so I was sure it had come out beautifully.

I gripped my pencil and leaned over the sketchbook, and Amigo began to take shape on the page. The lead scratched across the paper, and I prepared to pour every bit of the emotion I had seen on that woman’s face into this portrait.

I didn’t want to fuck this up. It was too important.

Neill

As I seated my customer on the freshly cleaned tattoo chair, I tried not to let my mind wander back to what had just happened with Hailey. It would be tough, though. My cock was still at half-mast, although the kiss had been pretty damn innocent.

Back to business. I cleared my throat. “What’s your name?”

“Drake.”

“Hang out there for a second, my man. I’ll get my inks together and we can touch this up.”

At Drake’s agreement, I turned and pulled on a pair of black nitrile gloves. I set out the tiny plastic cups, glancing back at the tattoo a couple of times to make sure I was getting the correct shades. Fortunately, it seemed to be working.
Methodical, precise. Do the job. Don’t think about her. Just do the job
.

With my machine set and ready and the arm cleansed and shaved, I sank onto the stool and rolled the tray close. “You ready?”

Drake nodded with a grin. “Go for it.”

With the steady hum of the machine vibrating in my hand, I turned my attention to the healed tattoo in front of me. It was a decent piece of ink, a tiger prowling toward the viewer, but the previous artist had overworked the skin in several places, which had caused scabbing and color loss. An easy fix, and I’d throw in some extra shading and highlight to really make the piece pop. It was the sort of thing Karl had taught me way back when I was an apprentice. I’d have to remember tips like that now, make sure I gave my own apprentice the same good advice.

I lifted my machine from the customer’s skin, wiping down the extra ink and small traces of blood. I took my time, breathing deep through my nose to regain focus.

It was more than stupid to let your mind wander while you held someone else’s skin in your hands. The perfect way to ruin your reputation as an artist, actually. I dipped the needles again, and before I resumed my work, I closed my eyes for a split second and concentrated.

Hailey, that beautiful drawing, the way she’d leaned in to me and kissed me, all of that went into a room way in the back of my brain, and I imagined myself shutting the door. With all that personal stuff hidden, I was free to continue the work with the attention it deserved.

“So where’d you get this done the first time?”

Drake rubbed his buzzed hair with his free hand. “On vacation. Me and my wife went down to Key West, and we saw this shop. Looked nice, was clean and everything. I’d always wanted one but thought she’d be pissed.” He laughed as I fixed the line of the tiger’s paw. “She proved me wrong. Said I deserved it for coming back from Afghanistan alive. Practically dragged me in there. I was worried when the color started swirling down my shower drain, though.”

I wiped the arm down again. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll have you fixed up in another ten minutes, tops.”

Drake glanced out the open studio door over my shoulder. “That your girlfriend?”