WickedSeduction (3 page)

Given how she fisted her fingers, Tor could see her distress
was genuine, not an act to con him into anything. “I can close the door. We do
have security cameras for your protection.”

She lifted her face, staring at the camera in an upper
corner of the room.

Tor regarded her long throat, skin dewy with youth, the
small mole at the base of her neck. He imagined the hollow there smelled of her
fragrance, heat and a trace of musk. His testosterone punched up another notch,
making his boys and rod stir in interest.

“About the security camera…” she said but didn’t continue.

“Lauren’s the only one who looks at the images. You met her
in the hall. Blonde lady with blue eyes?”

“She’s your security force?”

“God, no.” Tor chuckled. “She owns the parlor. You can trust
her.” He wondered why Marnie seemed so wary. “Lauren’s practically family. She
and my brother are getting married in the winter.”

“Are they happy?”

There was a question he hadn’t expected. “Disgustingly so.
I’ve never seen two people laugh as much together. They’re always joking around
and teasing. Especially Dante, my brother. He’s easygoing to the extreme.”

She smiled. “Do you mind closing the door?”

“Not at all.” He reached over and eased the thing shut.

“Guess you need to see what I’m talking about,” she said.
“What I want you to tattoo, huh?”

Must be bad. “Take your time.”

Marnie didn’t, unbuttoning her right sleeve immediately,
folding back the fabric until she’d reached her biceps. On a heavy sigh, she
held out her arm to him. “Can you make this pretty?”

Tor didn’t want to stare but couldn’t help himself. The
slash marks on her arm were cruel and numerous, one running into the next, some
quite wide with the scarring raised between the edges. Others had a shallow
appearance, similar to a gulley. The skin was puckered, parts of the scars
darker than Marnie’s natural coloring, other portions white.

Although Tor wasn’t a wound expert, he could see her
injuries weren’t recent and didn’t seem too accident-related.

Before he could ask about them, she pulled her skirt up on the
left and straightened her leg. Jagged marks ran down her thigh, stopping at her
knee before continuing to the outside of her calf, as though someone had
slashed her repeatedly with a fucking large knife.

“Who did this to you?” Tor asked before he could stop
himself.

Marnie lowered her skirt and sleeve. “Can you make them
pretty?”

Shaken, he nodded. “Let me show you what I can do.” Tor
hauled two binders off the table, handing one to Marnie and putting the other
on the chair next to her.

“If you don’t see anything in there you like,” he said, “I
have three more binders.” He gestured to the table. “Or I can create a special
design.”

“How much more would one of those cost?”

“Nothing. Comes with the price of the service.” Not true but
Tor wasn’t about to argue money with her. He suddenly understood her caution
the first day when their eyes had met and her reserved behavior now. Either an
attack from a rapist had left her wary of men or an ex-boyfriend, possibly an
ex-husband, had done his number on her.

Damn. Had the prick gone to jail? Was he still there?

“You did these?” she asked.

“What? I mean, yeah. The pretty ones are toward the back,
including those where I inked over scars.”

As though she were reluctant to get to those photos, Marnie
paged through the unconventional designs first. She made a face at a cobra Tor
had inked on a man’s arm. The reptile’s fangs were exposed, portions of its body
appearing elevated above the guy’s skin. She bit her lip at the image of a
large hook seeming to run through a man’s calf, pulling up his skin. Another photo
showed a large zipper he’d inked on a guy’s shoulder, the unzipped part
exposing bloody muscular tissue beneath. One woman had him design an eyeball on
her chest, the skin around the orb pulled back by hooks, creating a gory look.

Marnie chuckled at the shot of a guy’s feet Tor had inked to
look as if the man were wearing blue tennis shoes. The next photos showed a
series of large eyes he’d created on men’s biceps, the images frighteningly
real in appearance. One of his designs even had a woman’s face in the iris as
though the eyeball had reflected her features. Huge tats of scorpions and
spiders took up a good part of the next pages, along with star designs
seemingly carved into the customer’s flesh, the edges of the wounds held
together by what appeared to be staples. One guy sported a vampire’s mouth on
his throat, the being’s fangs glistening in the light. Another man had images
of nails stuck into his shoulder with blood leaking out of the wounds. Strange
shit, but challenging and fun to—

“Oh my God,” Marnie suddenly whispered, hand to her throat.

Tor wasn’t surprised. She’d stopped on a photo of a young
man whose face he’d inked. Both sides of the guy’s mouth extended to his ears,
giving him a look similar to Heath Ledger when he’d played the Joker in
The
Dark Knight.
In addition to the never-ending lips, Tor had tattooed hazel
eyes, identical to the man’s, on his face. One orb sat smack in the center of
his forehead. Two were on each cheek, one on his chin, several gracing his
throat. Absolutely horrible and unforgettable.

“Why would anyone do such a thing to themselves?” she asked.

Tor lifted his shoulders. “Different strokes.”

“Then you agree with this?”

“Not for me, personally. But I’m not the client. I have no
right to stop customers from doing what they want, as long as the tats don’t
injure them physically.”

“For men,” she said. “What if a woman wanted this?”

He smiled. “None have. I doubt any ever will. This seems to
be a guy thing.”

“If a woman wanted you to do this to her, would you?”

Not certain what she was getting at, he lifted his shoulders
and went for the truth. “I’d have to. Her call, not mine.”

“What if your sister wanted this? Do you have a sister?”

“Two actually. Gaby wouldn’t do this ever, not even with a
gun to her head. Sofia?” Tor sighed. “She’s the baby and would probably get a
tat like one of those to screw with our parents’ heads. I’d try to talk her out
of anything this dumb, of course. Ultimately, though, it’s her choice even if
she’s made a God-awful one. Thankfully, lasers can undo the damage.”

Marnie studied him and smiled. “Where are the pretty ones?”

She’d changed the subject so quickly and her expression was
so warm and inviting, Tor had trouble catching up.

“Ah, halfway through.”

As she paged quickly, he reached out to stop her from
passing the first set of photos, their fingers touching.

At his hand on hers, Marnie stilled, not in surprise or
dread—but in wonder. Too many glorious sensations surged through her, reducing
her caution, weakening her will.

Careful.

Although Tor seemed like a patient and kind man—especially
when he spoke of his sisters—she didn’t know him. Wouldn’t. Except to have him
ink her scars.

She eased her hand from his, missing his warmth and
closeness immediately.

He looked incredibly handsome today. Even better than he had
the last time she’d seen him, several locks of his dark hair dangling over his
forehead, his white tank top complementing his deep tan. She caught his fresh
scent, a clean, citrusy fragrance with a hint of musk.

Her skin tingled with excitement and need, emotions she’d
pushed aside for so long.

As Marnie paged through the book, she tried to pay attention
to the designs, but kept thinking of Tor instead…reliving the last minutes in
her head.

Showing her scars to him had taken enormous will and had
depleted the last of Marnie’s pride. As long as she covered herself, she could
forget what had happened—what had continued to happen—the past repeating until
she’d put an end to the horror in her life. The marks would always be a
reminder unless she got rid of them too.

How ugly they’d looked under the harsh fluorescent lights in
here. The emergency room doctor who’d treated her hadn’t bothered to call for a
plastic surgeon. Specialists were for people who could afford the luxury. For
someone as poor as Marnie and her family had always been, having a physician
save her life would have to be enough.

“Don’t like any of those?” Tor asked.

She’d flipped through the book without seeing anything. “Why
would you think that?” Had she been frowning at her memories of the past with
him thinking she’d been judging his work?

“You’re paging through really fast.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to be. If you’re rushing on my account, don’t. Take
all the time you need.”

She did finally, pausing on a page showing butterflies in dark
blue, yellow, purple, pink and green. Impossible colors that made her smile.
Each of the images showed shadows beneath the insect wings, creating the
illusion of depth.

“You like those?” Tor asked.

She liked how he treated her, with kindness, respect,
patience. Tilting her head, Marnie regarded him.

His complexion darkened slightly. Whether from embarrassment
or desire, she couldn’t be certain. Even though Marnie wasn’t good at choosing
men, she did know when a guy was interested in her. Tor was. He’d proven so
repeatedly by not wanting her to leave, assuring she could take her time to
decide what she wanted, and most of all, how he’d reacted when she’d glanced at
Van Gogh earlier, guessing she’d wanted him to do the work.

On the way here, Marnie had decided not to seek out Tor. Her
reactions to him were too intense and dangerous, making her want his mouth on
hers, tongue inside, large hands on her body, his strength imprisoning her for
pleasure. She’d imagined his thick cock buried in her pussy, their curls
touching, his smile and hers before he got down to business and pumped, delivering
her to a screaming orgasm.

A fantasy that might turn into a nightmare quickly. Been
there, done that with her ex-boyfriend Ethan. She wasn’t eager for a repeat.

Even so, she’d found Tor hard to resist, finally going with
her desire and him rather than Van Gogh.

“What?” Tor asked.

She blinked, not realizing she’d been staring. “Nothing.
These are great.”

Marnie returned to the binder, forcing herself to pay
attention, and finally one picture caught her interest more than the others
had—a woman’s back with a series of flowers covering her scar from spinal
surgery. Again, the images were three-dimensional, the butterflies in this work
seeming to hover above the blooms, none of the woman’s imperfections showing.
“Wow.”

Tor grinned. “You like?”

“Absolutely. But I want to look some more if you don’t
mind.”

“Take your time. I’ll be right back.”

A short time later, Marnie was studying delicate flower
designs, some in silver, others in gold, when Tor returned. He had an open can
of Coke in one hand. In his other, he held another Coke and a Mountain Dew.

“In case you get thirsty,” he said, putting the soda on the
chair next to hers. He glanced at the photos she’d stopped on. “You into the
metallic look?”

“The designs are beautiful but I like the ones with color
too.”

“Let me mark the pages.” He pulled out a stack of sticky
tabs and went through the binders with her, tagging the ones Marnie liked best.

“You want to think about these for a few days?” he asked. “I
can run off copies for you to take home. You can line them up against each other
to see which grabs you the most. Or I can do an original design with the parts
of these you like best.”

What he was offering seemed like a lot of work. “Before we
go ahead with this, I need to know if the parlor has an installment plan for me
to pay for your work. I don’t have credit and I don’t have a lot of cash saved.
If you can’t do this with me paying you a little each week, then I can’t
possibly move forward.”

Rather than look disappointed or pissed because she’d taken
his time, Tor smiled. “I think we can work something out. Did you see the
drawings on the walls when you came in here?”

When she’d entered the parlor, Marnie had been so focused on
him and getting enough courage to reveal her scars, she hadn’t taken much time
to notice her surroundings. “Not really.”

“No biggie.” Tor reached over and grabbed another binder
from his desk. “Take a look.”

Page after page showed incredible drawings in various
mediums—pen-and-ink, chalk, watercolors. “Did you do these?”

“It’s what I did before I was hired here. My work’s hanging
on the walls out there.”

He sounded so proud, Marnie smiled.

“Wow, you’re a real artist. How cool.”

Tor chuckled. “Until I have to pay the bills. Believe me, I
know where you’re coming from when you talk about dough. So, I’ll make you a
deal. You get your tats—for free—as long as you let me sketch your face. After
I’m finished, I can offer the drawing for sale in the parlor, and…”

Marnie stopped listening, her skin going hot, cold and hot
again. She stood so quickly, the binder slipped off her lap and fell to the
floor.

Tor looked up, surprise crossing his handsome face. “What’s
wrong?”

“You can’t draw my picture.” She stepped away and shook her
head. “I don’t want my likeness hanging in here.”

He seemed confused. “Sure. Not a problem.”

“If I can’t pay in installments, then—“

“Look, you can still pose. I’ll make your image so stylized
no one will ever know it’s you. Let me show you something.”

Tor grabbed the binder off the floor and flipped pages until
he came to a series of drawings depicting women and men’s faces, some in ink,
others in pastels or watercolors.

“See this one?” He tapped the picture of a young man.
“That’s a self-portrait of me.”