Under My Skin (2 page)

“Oh, yeah. You.”

“Oh, yeah. Me. Is he here?”

Ander rolled his heavily lined eyes beneath his dark, raggedly-cut hair. “He's busy. He's with a client.”

“You tell him to unbusy himself. I need to talk to him. And for God's sake, turn down the music! Everyone in St. Charles can hear it.”

“Cool, dude. That'd be awesome.”

“No, not cool,
dude.
Go get him. I want to talk to him.”

Another eye roll. But Ander shuffled toward the curtained alcove, his too-tight jeans hugging his thin legs and ass in a display no doubt meant to turn someone on. It did nothing for Sebastian. He preferred masculine men. Always had.

“Hey, Rad. Dude,” Ander shouted, as he peered around the curtain. “It's
him
again. Says he needs to see you. I told him you were busy.”

Sebastian heard a low response, but couldn't make out the words. However, Ander turned away from the curtain, gave Sebastian a petulant stare, flounced over to the stereo system built into one of the wall cabinets, and cranked down the music several notches.

Finally!
Sebastian's ears sighed in relief.

Then he heard laughter from behind the curtain— a woman's and the deep, gritty rumble of a man's that sent a surge of heat through his veins and managed to tick him off all at the same time.

He heard the squeak of a rolling stool, saw the wheels of it move toward the thin opening Ander had left between the curtains, and then a muscular, black-T-shirt-covered shoulder pushed through and widened the opening enough for Sebastian to make out a pair of tanned female legs clad in shorts perched in the reclining tattoo chair beyond the artist's shoulder.

He noticed them only momentarily, though, as the man on the stool turned and Sebastian's attention became riveted by the full-on view of defined pecs, deltoids, and biceps accentuated by the tight, dark T-shirt, and the faded denim blue jeans that clung all-too-lovingly to muscular thighs and a prominent package. He had to give himself a mental shake before he could tear his gaze away from all that... well, all
that
.

No more than a second or two at the most could have passed, but when he finally looked up into the ruggedly handsome face framed by short, spiked hair the color of rich brown mahogany, he found the artist's hazel eyes twinkling.

“Sebastian,” the man said, with a barely restrained grin teasing at his lips.

Pissed at himself for being caught ogling— no, not for being caught at it, for ogling at all, when the man made him so damned mad— it was all Sebastian could do to get out a grumpy, “Dylan.”

“Sorry about the music, man. I had Ander turn it down. Look, I can't really talk right now.” He gestured with his black-latex-gloved hand holding the tattoo machine toward the woman and the chair mostly hidden behind the curtain. “I've got to finish Babs here, then I have another appointment coming in at three.”

“Tell him to come on back here and talk to you now,” the woman said, her tone husky like someone who'd either smoked too many cigarettes or was a sultry phone-sex operator. “I don't care if he sees my tits. Especially if he's cute.”

A set of blood-red fingernails curled around the edge of the curtain and pulled it back just enough Sebastian could finally see the woman— bleach-blonde hair, tight red tank top with the word “Bi-atch” across it in sparkly writing, and one too-large-and-firm-to-be-real breast spilling out of it with a half-colored fairy on it. The woman was probably in her forties but had the weathered, ridden-hard look of someone much older.

“Oh, yeah,” she said as she eyed Sebastian up and down. “Honey, you're not just cute, you look good enough to lick up. I love a man who's all pressed and scholarly. Gives me all sorts of hot teacher fantasies. Hell, not only can you look at my tits, you can touch ‘em anytime you want.”

Heat crept up Sebastian's cheeks. When Dylan chuckled, it only made it worse.

“And here I thought I was the only man you let touch them,” Dylan said in a seductive, teasing voice that made Sebastian's cock twitch even though the words weren't directed at him.

Damn it.
He had to stop this right now. The man was a pain in his ass, part of a world Sebastian wasn't interested in having anything to do with, and probably straight anyway. Enough was enough.

“This obviously isn't a good time,” Sebastian murmured. “Just keep the music down. I do actually have customers, you know? Not everyone wants to hear the shrieking noise you guys play.”

“Oooh, and he's even hotter when he gets all bossy,” Babs purred. “I just bet there's a tiger lurking beneath that Mr. College Professor exterior. Has he let you put any of your art on him yet?” she asked Dylan.

Again Dylan's eyes sparkled when he looked at Sebastian, but for the first time Sebastian saw something else in his gaze that went above and beyond teasing. Something that made his stomach flip-flop and an ache of longing thrum in his balls.

“No, he hasn't let me touch him... yet. What do you say, Sebastian?” he asked in a husky voice as his gaze seared into Sebastian. “You going to let me tattoo you sometime?”

The words, so much more than a simple question, and the look in Dylan's eyes sent slow, seductive ripples of lust through Sebastian. He almost forgot to breath. Almost forgot a lot of things. Until the woman's laughter brought him back to reality.

Fighting to regain control of himself and the situation, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “In your dreams,” he muttered.

He'd come over here to have it out with Dylan about the parking situation, but it suddenly felt as it were a hundred degrees in the shop. With the woman eying him and licking her full, ruby lips like he was a double-chocolate dessert she couldn't wait to devour, and Dylan's flaming gaze still scorching him like a sexual blow torch, he decided to cut his losses while he could. Before he embarrassed himself.

He spun around and stalked out of the place, the woman's throaty laughter ringing in his ears.

Sebastian didn't stop until he stood in front of his own shop's door. The post-lunch-hour, mid-afternoon shopping lull had hit, and aside from the tattoo place, the strip mall was quiet. He paused with his hand on the glass and, noting through the large window that no customers had wandered in while he was in the tattoo studio, rested his forehead against the cool smooth surface.

He dragged in a deep breath, smelling the scent of newly mown grass out in the median mixed with the damp, earthy smell of spring, the faint aroma of baking bread at Sugar Plum Bakery, Italian spice from the pizzeria across the street, and an underlying hint of car exhaust. All familiar and comforting smells that, ordinarily, would have calmed him. But today they did nothing to quell the thudding in his chest that was part anger and part the same, damned breathless rush of attraction he felt whenever he was in close proximity to Dylan Radamacher. Except this time it was all magnified a hundredfold.

What the hell had just happened in there? He'd had brief encounters with Dylan several times now, but the look Dylan had given him just now was all new, and one Sebastian had
never
expected to see coming from him. That had been no innocent straight man gaze.

Holy crap.
Sebastian's skin tingled, his palms were sweaty, and the ache that had begun in his balls spread to his cock.

Which only made him madder. At himself.

“God damn it,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can't do this.”

“Trouble in paradise?” a teasing female voice said behind him.

Dylan turned to find Joanie Bevins, who owned the bakery next door, standing nearby on the sidewalk, holding out a covered paper coffee cup. A white-toothed grin glinted in her pixie-like café au lait face that was accentuated by curly dark hair drawn back into a ponytail. Just a year older than Sebastian, Joanie had started her bakery here around the same time Sebastian had opened his store. They'd hit it off from the moment they met and been friends ever since.

“Here, I brought you a midday caffeine pick-me-up. I wasn't expecting to find you out here, though.”

Sebastian took the offered cup, thinking as he did that he probably needed something cold— icy cold— rather than hot. “Thanks. Tell me, do I have a sign taped to my forehead that says ‘Geek’ or ‘Book Nerd'? Am I that obvious?”

“Uh-oh. Let me guess... Rad Tattoos again?”

“The man infuriates me.”
And turns me on like nobody's business, which is a bad, bad thing.

Joanie wiped her hands on her apron and her grin widened. “You know what they say? The more you fight with someone and the more you think you hate them, the more it means you were destined to be together.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Sebastian growled, then lowered his voice when the two bikers emerged from the tattoo studio and headed toward the Harleys parked side-by-side. “You're supposed to be my friend and ally. I can't believe you just said that.”

“What do you expect me to say? Every time you have a run-in with him you're all fired up afterward.”

“Yeah, because he's arrogant and rude.”
And hot as proverbial, sinful hell.

“And the fact the man is sex-on-a-stick has nothing at all to do with it? For Pete's sake, Bastian, even grouchy ol’ Irene at the reception desk at Dr. Dean's gets damp panties over him. No way are you telling me you're immune.”

“I am immune.”
God, what a liar.
“I mean, I'm not denying the man's attractive, but when I look at him, all I see is... ” He grimaced.

“He doesn't look anything like Beck.”

“No, but he's the same type.” Sebastian sighed and leaned against the brick wall between Great Escapes and the bakery. Memories of Beck dashed cold water on Sebastian's lust in a way nothing else could have.

Joanie leaned next to him. “Beck was an asshole. But that doesn't mean all guys who ride motorcycles and have tattoos are assholes.”

“It's not just that. It's the attitude. It's the crowd he hangs with. And he's already proven over and over he's only interested in himself.” All good reminders of why he needed to stay far away from Dylan when it came to this growing attraction he'd developed for the man. “Do you know how many times I've already had to go over there and complain about the music? And the parking situation's out of control. But every time I darken his doorway I can feel him and that Ander laughing at me like I'm some conservative prick come to spoil the fun.”

Joanie patted his arm and her brown eyes filled with sympathy. “I'm sorry. I knew you'd been having problems with them, but I didn't realize you were feeling that way. I can't really hear the music in the bakery, and so far I haven't had any customer complaints about the parking. But maybe if I go over there and back you up, Dylan'll pay attention. If it's both of us.”

Sebastian shook his head. “No. Thanks, but no. The last thing I need is to have him thinking I have to have a girl stand up for me.”

“Hey! There's nothing wrong with girls standing up for anything.”

“I don't mean it that way and you know it. I'm all for girl power. But if you go over there and say something when you haven't before, he's going to know it's because of me and then I'll just be a bigger laughing stock.”

“Well, what do you want to do then? I hate seeing you this way.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and rested her cheek on his arm as she looked up at him and blinked. “I miss my happy, sweetie pie snookums Sebastian.” She gave him a pouty face that drew a soft huff of laughter from him. Joanie could always make him smile.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Remind me never to take you out drinking again. Every stupid name you've ever come up with for me originated over tequila. Don't
ever
call me that in public or I'll have to hurt you.”

She snickered. “I'm saving it up as blackmail fodder, in case you ever decide to tell anyone what I did on my birthday last year.”

“I can see the newspaper headline now:
Upstanding Baker Caught With Her P—"

“Shut up!” Joanie slapped his arm, laughing. “I swear, if you say another word I'll go to Mr. Rad Tattoos right now and tell him all kinds of juicy things I know about you! Like how you like to jer— ”

“Don't you dare say that out loud. I should never have told you that!” Sebastian covered her mouth with his hand to stifle her as the door of the tattoo studio opened again.

The swarm of emos poured out.

At the same time, a white Cadillac drove into one of the parking spots vacated by the bikers who'd left earlier, and Joanie pulled away. “Gotta run. That's Mrs. Silverthorn here to pick up the cake for her granddaughter's wedding shower.” She gave Sebastian a smile and a peck on the cheek. Then sobered for a rare moment. “Maybe you and Dylan should find a time to talk this stuff out after business hours, when neither of you has to worry about customers and without that snooty Ander hanging around.”

The knot he'd almost forgotten about in his gut dropped into place once again. “I don't know if it can be talked out.”

“Well, you can't keep on feeling the way you feel about him. Something's gotta give. Better to try to talk it through before it escalates. So just think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he said grudgingly. “I'll think about it.”

Joanie's smile returned. “Good. Okay, gotta go.” She turned to face the sophisticated, older woman with short gray hair. “Hi, Mrs. Silverthorn! Come on in. I've got the cake ready for you.”

Sebastian watched them disappear into the bakery, then turned to enter his own store.

It would probably help to be able to talk to Dylan without an audience. His cheeks stung again with embarrassment at how the woman Babs had spoken to him. And Ander really was a pain.

But the question was... could he trust himself to be alone with Dylan Radamacher and not make an ass of himself? Every time he saw the man his veins ran hot and his dick perked up. And after that blatant sexual look earlier... He'd been almost positive Dylan was straight, based on the way he flirted with his female customers. Sebastian had seen him walking them to their cars, and giving them hugs and kisses when they arrived and left, standing in plain sight out on the sidewalk in front of Sebastian's store windows.