Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2) (20 page)

At first he reached to grab one, but he stopped, choosing to
put his hands on her exposed thighs where the apron gathered between her legs.
“Sounds good.”

She fed him one of his favorite vegetables with a savory
stuffing.

Without speaking she made her way around the plate—a shrimp,
a little toast with spicy spread, a skewer of grilled chicken. Aside from the
fact that nothing lay under her apron, her actions were not overtly sexual, but
extremely sensual. They stirred him, and he wanted to play too.

“How about I return the favor?” He took a bit of cheese and
a cracker then placed it in her mouth.

“Yum.” She leaned over and took the bite, finishing with a
kiss on his fingers.

His blood sped up. Her small action caused him to swell.
“More?”

“Always.” She inched up his lap and opened her mouth.

He dipped an egg roll into the sticky sauce they both loved,
and held it out to her. “This is your favorite.” He focused on her lips as she
devoured the treat.

“Hold on, I need to clean up after myself.” True her word
she licked the errant sauce off his fingers.

He arched his back. Staring into her eyes, he returned his
fingers to the sauce.

She took hold of his wrist and proceeded to suck the sauce
off his fingers, making sure to get every last drop as she reached behind her,
untied the apron and tossed it to one side, Emily was now completely nude. Her
body was truly a work of art, the kind every guy wanted tattooed on him with
her amazing breasts and bountiful curves. Her perfect skin was only marked with
the art he’d created.

Unable to hold back, he slid his fingers from her mouth and
tickled each one of her nipples. “How’s that?” She squirmed at his light touches.

With a slight smile, she put the dish aside and looked down,
running her finger along the length of his erection that sneaked out from the
folds in the robe. “I would say you’re enjoying it.” She took him into her
hands.

“You didn’t put any underwear out.” He pulled the robe open,
exhaling to keep himself in check. The woman knew exactly how to touch him, how
much pressure to use, how tight to hold on, everything. In turn he slid his
hands up her thighs.

“I didn’t want you to put any on.” She spread her legs a
little wider.

“Is there anything else you want?” he teased as one finger
traced her moist, intimate creases.

“Tonight is about you, and I think I know what you want.”
She licked her lips.

Though he loved everything they did together with their
hands and their mouths, the need to be inside her overwhelmed him. “I want
something else.” He grabbed her hips.

“I said, anything.” Still holding on to him, she rose on her
knees and guided him inside of her.

“Yeah, babe.” He dropped his head back as she lowered
herself down, engulfing him. Emily was tight and wet, like she was made to fit
him. While he couldn’t get enough of her before, since they got rid of the
condoms he was insatiable, and she kept up with him.

“Um.” She raised herself up. “Do you think about me when I’m
not with you during the day?”

He sucked in his breath. “Yeah.”

“Right answer.” With no urgency, she lowered her body again
and gave him a light kiss.

“Don’t stop.” He tightened his grip on her trying hips to
guide her.

Ignoring him, she repeated her action with achingly slow
movements, continuing with the torturous rhythm.

“Emily?” He writhed beneath her. “Baby?”

“Do you need more?” She lowered her face to his ear, and the
scent of her soap only riled him up more.

At her words his over sensitized body shuddered. “Yes.”

“Just tell me.” She braced against his shoulders and
gradually gave him what he craved.

Again and again she impaled herself on him, a bit faster,
with a bit more force, edging him toward his end.

Desire, need, and lust, blazed through him. Her breasts
bounced with every plunge, her body enveloped his, her hair came loose with her
movements.

“Faster, baby.” He struggled to catch his breath.

She let out a little noise, his clue that her climax was
near.

His demand built quickly, almost too fast, and he slipped
his hand between them, giving her a little bit more. Soon, he would have to
explode inside her.

“Ivan.” She ground into him as his fingers grazed exactly
the right spot.

“Do you need to come?” He raised his knees trying to stave
off the inevitable.

“Yes.” She trembled against him.

“Me too.” With her admission, he wrapped his arms around her
waist, held her still and took his turn, thrusting up into her. His control
gone, he drove into her intent on their mutual release.

“Oh, God!” Her body tightened around him, drawing him deeper
with her orgasm.

The rush of unbridled, fevered euphoria, hit him in a flash.
With no choice, he let loose, giving in to those glorious throbs.

For several moments they remained rigid, caught up in
gleaning the last few quivers of bliss, and then, almost in unison they relaxed
and melted into each other. He closed his eyes and played with her hair.

“Are you still hungry?” Her voice was now dreamlike and
faraway.

“I am completely satisfied.” He let out a chuckle. “I don’t
think I’ll ever be able to look at an egg roll again without wanting to make
love to you.”

Her laugh vibrated through him.

One night they could make love for hours, the next, a
quickie on a chair. Both rocked. He needed nothing else when he had her. “You
know, maybe after the baby is born we can get out of here for a few days, take
a ride to the desert or something.”

“We could go away?” She nuzzled his neck.

“Yeah.” He sighed and pictured them on his bike, riding down
the 10 freeway to Palm Springs. “We deserve it.” Actually, she deserved it.

“I would like that.”

For the man who less than an hour ago didn’t want a hamper,
he was suddenly planning trips and looking forward to it. “What brought this
little delight on tonight?”

She sat up. “I always want there to be excitement and
sexiness between us.” Her eyes sparkled.

Always. With her simple little confession, she planned for
always
.
Why shouldn’t she? They had a future, with trips and her personal items under
his sink in the bathroom. And he didn’t want to run away screaming, or take her
back to her place.

Finally he had his answer on what to do with the lawsuit.

He owed it to her to prepare for always as well.

Chapter
Eighteen

Fifteen years ago, best friends Ivan Harlow and Shane
Elliott rode their skateboards the six blocks to Reynolds Liquor Store and
swiped four packs of gum, two sodas, three mini bottles of coffee liqueur, and
a piece of beef jerky. As they left, Ivan snatched a few stickers for Shane’s
annoying little sister, Emily. Hey, he thought it was cool the way she always
stared at him like he was a rock star.

Invigorated at having pulled off the impossible in front of
old man Reynolds, they high fived and raced back at the Elliott abode. While
Emily kissed the stickers and hugged him, their coup was uprooted when not one,
but both their father’s entered just as they were ready to take a sip of their
cola coffee alcohol concoction.

Both boys were promptly rushed back to the store. They not
only had to pay for their loot and apologize, but Emily screamed and told him
never to do anything like that again, then she kicked him in the shin.

Old man Reynolds knew a good thing when he saw it, and hired
the two of them as guards for the after school hangout crowds.

No one ever took anything on Ivan and Shane’s watch.

The flashback flashed in Ivan’s mind as they parked down the
street from Gary Lipson’s Los Angeles apartment. This time, instead of his best
friend, he was flanked by Dillon the jerk and Billy the ass. He’d never felt
more like Ivan the terrible.

“I switched license plates on the car.” Billy rolled his
turtleneck up to his ears.

“Who did you switch them with?” Dillon adjusted his
sunglasses.

“The little old lady across the way from my place.” Billy
slid a knit cap over his head. “I help her with stuff, she won’t notice.”

Ivan rubbed his hand over his face. No point in mentioning
that tampering with license plates was against the law; Billy’s action only
added to the many offenses they would make in the next hour. “You help an old
lady?”

“Shut it.” Billy flipped him off. “She’s old and a lady.”

“Great, now whoever scans the plates will think a sweet old
lady did the deed. I’m sure she’ll do great in jail.” He pulled the cap off
Billy’s head. “Can we try not to look like thugs?” His chest ached at using
Emily’s word. Should he tell her about what they did or not? Damn, he had to
tell her.

“Let’s go over the game plan one more time.” Dillon held up
the box of latex gloves from the shop. “I confirmed with James that Mr. Lipson
is staying with family members until after the mediation. I’ll stay by the
front and keep a look out.”

“I will hit the computer. People save things in digital form
on their personal computers, what they’d never save anywhere else.” Billy
rubbed his hands together and held up what appeared a few flash drives. “I have
everything I need.”

“I am going to look for any other evidence.” Ivan repeated
what they already went over several hundred times. When he made love to Emily
before leaving, he almost screamed out the word evidence rather than her name.
“Let’s just do this already.” He decided to leave out the part where he wanted
to get home in time for his and Emily’s favorite television show.

“All for one.” Billy thrust his hand out between him and
Dillon.

Dillon put his hand over Billy’s and both men turned to him.

Their little scheme smacked of playing spy when he was a
kid. “Don’t make me shove a musketeer up your asses,” Ivan said with a smirk.
With one last check that his hair hidden and all his ink was undercover, he
took a set of gloves and climbed out of the car.

Every part of Los Angeles was a crapshoot. One block boasted
the finest stores, another covered the trendiest locales, and another, a place
he wouldn’t even want to walk around at night, like where they were that
moment. No one was in sight as they tiptoed around the dilapidated, cracked
peach-colored stucco building and found the right door.

A car drove down the street and they all froze until the
danger passed.

They looked at each other.

“It’s now or never.” Billy took a tool out of his pocket.

“Now.” Ivan decided to forego the questions about why or how
Billy knew how to pick a lock, and instead concentrated on inhaling and
exhaling and trying not to have his heart explode out of his chest. “What if
there’s an alarm?”

“Then we run like hell.” Billy laughed quietly.

“We’re breaking in to someone’s place.” What if they found
nothing?

Billy pursed his lips, bent down and lifted the doormat. “No
we’re not. We’ve been invited to pick something up for our sick friend.” He
held up a key.

“I’m going to go scope out the area. I’ll be back.” Dillon
gave them a salute and with his hands in his pockets sauntered away.

“Here we go.” Billy slid the key in the lock and opened the
door.

No alarm, no bells or whistles, only the stench of
cigarettes, old food, and enough dust to suffocate them.

As they stepped inside, Ivan glanced at the threshold,
noting the exact moment he broke the law and turned into the thug Emily begged
him not to be.

While he pulled on his gloves, Billy closed the door and
turned on the lights.

Part of him expected a slew of laser beams they’d have to
convolute themselves across to the treasure. Instead they found a perfect
representation of a guy’s first apartment. In fact, if they were in Hollywood a
decade ago, it could have been the one apartment he and Shane unsuccessfully
shared. Scant, mismatched worn furniture was arranged around a large, later
model television. On a tattered table with moisture rings sat an ashtray and
something familiar caught that his attention. He leaned over. “Look.”

“Tattoo magazines.” Billy elbowed him and lifted his chin.
“Look at that.”

Ivan turned to find a basic desk with a computer and he
swore Billy’s eyes shined with excitement. “Get to it and make it fast.”

“An old PC, no problem,” he said and crossed the room.

Ivan took another moment to study the apartment. Tattoo
magazines on the table, tattoo artwork on the walls. The man apparently loved
the art, or maybe something else was going on.

Billy let out a laugh. “His machine is password protected.”

“What, now you can’t get in?” Ivan stomped over to him. What
would they prove if they couldn’t find anything on the computer? Did anyone
even know what to look for?

“Most people use one of a few passwords.” He typed something
into the grey box. “Their name and birth date, they even use the word password
as their password.”

Fine, on top of everything, Ivan needed to change all his
passwords.

Billy hit enter.

Ivan gripped the back of the chair. “Now what?”

Nothing but a red X showed up.

“It may take me a second to get in.” Billy repeated his
action.

Ivan’s face burned hotter than the red X that popped up
once, twice, a third time.

The clicks on the keyboard pounded through his head, telling
him the whole thing was a joke.

“Can you get in or not?” He gripped Billy’s collar. “You
said you could do this!”

“Hold on,” Billy said then swiped his hand away. “Remember
the simplest answer is usually the right one.”

“Get in the computer or I’ll use your head as the password.”
He didn’t want to hear damn proverbs, he wanted to find what they could and get
out of there.

“Wait.” Billy pointed to an illustration above the desk of a
bulldog. “Every dog has its day.” Once more he typed into the keyboard.

The grinding hum of the computer seemed to amplify, and
rather than a red X, the computer flashed and a chime rang throughout the room.

His heart stopped and he grabbed at the first thing, Billy’s
arm. “What’s that? Did someone ring the doorbell?”

“Nah, we’re in.” Billy tilted his head toward him. “Stop
touching me or I’ll tell Tamsin that the big bad computer scared you.”

He narrowed his eyes and freed his nemesis.

“Give me a minute, go check out the rest of his place.”
Billy plugged a flash drive into the computer.

“Fine.” He stepped away and started his search in the
kitchen. Out of curiosity, he opened the refrigerator. A bachelor bottle of
ketchup and mustard along with a few bottles of beer greeted him. Until he
basically moved Emily in with him, his refrigerator looked the same. Now their
icebox was chocked full of all kinds of things. They were like grownups, like a
couple.

“Emily lives with me.” He stopped and braced himself against
the door, welcoming the cool air from the appliance. Yes, they lived together.
Every day he emptied a bit of her apartment, brought a few of her possessions
back to his place and fit everything together without a word, without a
question. His only commitment was the promise that he’d talk to her brother.
Did he think she wouldn’t notice when she walked into her empty apartment? Did
he think that not saying the words would make it less true? If he didn’t admit
it, did that mean he was safe if they split?

With no evidence in the refrigerator, he slammed the door
and went into the bathroom. Again, he found nothing extraordinary; an extra
roll of TP, the girlie magazines, and a toothbrush. In comparison, his bathroom
now boasted a plethora of girl items he really knew nothing about.

The most noticeable difference in his bathroom was the
medicine cabinet. Many things were revealed behind the little mirrored door. In
his case, with Emily’s birth control pills next to their aspirin and his razor,
it was confirmed that they lived together. “Let’s see what Mr. Lipson’s
medicine cabinet has to say.” He peeked inside.

“Whoa.” Everyone had their prescriptions, but not everyone
had such a quantity—unless they were very sick, or addicted. One by one he
turned the bottles toward him reading the labels, recognizing the names of the
various antibiotics. All were prescribed after the tattoo, and every bottle
appeared full, the antibiotics getting stronger as the days went by. The only
issue was that antibiotic don’t work in the bottle. Did the man want to be ill?

His heartbeat pounded through his ears like eerie background
music as he made his way into the bedroom. The wall behind the basic bed and
basic dark wood nightstand served as the backdrop to more tattoo artwork. More
tattoo magazines and some sketches were piled next to a lamp.

He picked up one of the drawings, typical flash fare of a
skeleton and a snake, not bad, but nothing special.

Taking a breath, he opened the nightstand drawer. “Holy
shit.” Right on top laid an issue of
Inked Skin
magazine, the one with
Shane on the cover. Maybe that wasn’t an unusual thing to find when a person
was into tattoos, but still Ivan broke out into a sweat. The appearance of the
issue focusing on Permanent seemed a bit too convenient.

He picked up the magazine, remembering the day of the shoot
and how Emily wanted him to be in the picture too, but he shied away. She
always believed in him.

“Guys, come here!”

Billy’s yell jarred him. Adrenaline coursed through him, he
dropped the magazine and rushed over as Dillon entered.

“Is everything okay?” Dillon glanced around.

“You tell me.” He scanned the area. Nothing seemed amiss.

“Look.” Billy pointed to the computer screen.

Ivan leaned in. “What is it?”

“His browsing history.”

Lists upon lists of searches about tattoos, tattoos gone
wrong, and infections filled the display, the dates starting well before Billy
ever touched the man with ink.

“He didn’t take any of his medicine,” Ivan said.

“What do you mean?” Dillon shook his head.

“I found a ton of prescriptions, all full, never even
opened. Like he wanted the infection to get worse.”

“Wait.” Billy clicked on another window.

The kick of adrenaline ground to a halt and Ivan’s knees
threatened to give out at what appeared in front of him. Searches on Permanent
Tattoo and Billy clouded his eyes.

“When I show you the next thing you have to promise me two
things,” Billy said as he moved the mouse arrow to the corner of the screen.

Every muscle in his body tightened and his stare intense
enough that when he blinked, he saw the illumined square, a shadow of the
screen, behind his eyelids. “What?”

“You will apologize to me and never doubt me again.” He gave
the mouse a click.

Billy arranged four emails in squares, a perverted
checkerboard of deceit, lies and an attempt to destroy a business.

His best friend’s business.

Ivan read the first email aloud. “‘Permanent gets all the
biz and the press, it’s about time Twisted Tattoo got its due, don’t worry I’m
thinking of something.’” He shook his head. “Twisted Tattoo?”

“Oh my God.” Dillon leaned on the desk.

“They’re cousins.” Billy motioned to the second email.

Cuz—that ass who claims to have fixed your work is at our
favorite shop. Everything’s perfect and it’s only a matter of time. Sooner then
later you’ll have an apprentice, I’ve been practicing.

At that moment, the humor of having Billy referred to as the
ass was lost. Instead, Ivan braced himself on Billy’s shoulder and continued
reading silently.

I got this, I’m going there tomorrow. Pretty soon you’ll
be the one doing the cover up work.

“Here’s the clincher.” Billy tapped the screen over the
fourth email.

Cuz—Don’t tell me I’m playing with fire. I know what I’m
doing. I’ll rub their name through the mud just like I did with my shoulder.
Get ready to alert the media.

The whole time, Ivan wanted to believe that Billy had
screwed up. Shane’s personal pick for a new artist couldn’t be all he claimed.
When presented with the lawsuit, he’d waited for the day he could tell his best
friend what happened. Maybe it was his way to prove to Shane what he was
capable of.

He got down on his knees. “He did this to himself.” What
sick person would infect himself? Gary Lipson was a desperate, jealous,
frustrated man with nothing but the dream of being something else. A man who
saw no other way. The man’s place told the entire story.