Clipped Wings Page 11

  He raised a finger to prevent me from interrupting. My capacity for physical pain was high. A tattoo would be nothing compared to what I’d experienced, but I remained silent, unwilling to share that information with him yet.

  “If you let me do a test run, I’ll have a frame of reference. Then I’ll know whether you can handle a four-hour session. More importantly, I want to see how quickly you heal. Most multi-session tattoos require a minimum of two weeks’ recovery time between appointments. A test run will help determine whether we can work with that time frame. Above all else, it goes against my personal ethics to put a full back tattoo on a girl who doesn’t even have something small hidden under her clothes.” He grinned, looking too pleased for my liking, as if he’d won the argument already.

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you about this being my first tattoo.”

  “Excuse me?” His grin vanished, and a flash of anger hardened his features. I couldn’t understand why my admission would elicit such a reaction. It should have had the opposite effect.

  “I have a small tattoo,” I admitted.

  “Where?”

  “On my hip, but it wasn’t professionally done.” I rushed to explain. “I got it a few years ago, for my eighteenth birthday.” He’d gone eerily still. It made me nervous.

  “I’d like to see it.” He rolled his chair back, putting space between us.

  “Right here?” I looked around the studio. There were customers in the shop, and the tattoo sat pretty low on my hip.

  “Would you prefer privacy?” I couldn’t understand how he managed to make something that should have come off as a reasonable offer for discretion sound so sensual.

  “That might be best.”

  Unmoving, he stared at me for a protracted moment before he led me to one of the private rooms and closed the door. “Let’s take a look then.”

  I could feel the flush in my cheeks as I popped the button on my pants and lowered the zipper. I flipped over the waistband, thankful I’d had the foresight to wear nice underwear. My bra matched, but that was beside the point. It wasn’t like he would get a chance to see it. I pushed my underwear out of the way, but the tiny black heart remained covered. Embarrassed, I shimmied my jeans down farther, finally exposing the old, poorly done tattoo.

  Hayden crouched in front of me, putting him at eye level with the tattoo. He inspected it closely, and I became aware of just how low it sat. Maybe Connor’s anger had had less to do with the tattoo and more to do with the placement.

  “Who the hell did this?” He ran his thumb over the faded ink, frowning.

  The tattoo had hurt when I’d had it done, but now Hayden’s touch made me conscious of a different kind of ache centered between my thighs. It grew with the prolonged sweep of his thumb, back and forth. He looked up at me, waiting. Right. He’d asked a question.

  “A friend of mine. It was stupid, really. He did it in his basement.”

  “He what?” Now he sounded livid.

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” I replied. His hair kept falling in his eyes and he kept blowing it out of the way, puffing out gusts of air. Every time he did, it would flop back in place, covering his left eye. I ran my fingers through the disobedient strands. It was soft. I wanted to do it again.

  One of Hayden’s hands was on my hip, holding me steady, while the other was still touching my tattoo. He froze. I dropped my hand, and his hair flipped forward in rebellion.

  “Sorry.”

  He unfurled out of his crouch with a fierce expression. “Don’t apologize for touching me.”

  Hayden was close, invasively so. There was so much raw heat occupying the space around him that it was hard to breathe. I felt enveloped by him. He was always so tightly wound, buzzing with pent-up energy. I imagined when he let it out it was a sight to behold.

  “Sorry.”

  He gave me a look.

  “For apologizing. It won’t happen again.” I bit the inside of my lip to stop from smiling.

  We stared at each other, some strange shift taking place. I wasn’t sure what was happening between us, but it felt like whatever our tentative friendship was transforming into, the process wasn’t reversible. Like a chemical reaction, there was no going back once the catalyst had been added.

  “I can fix this. I can cover it up.” His thumb moved over the tattoo again, reminding me how close it truly was to places I shouldn’t be fantasizing about Hayden touching.

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Fuck that noise. This tattoo is a travesty. If I’m putting more ink on you anyway, we might as well start by covering over this one.” He took a small step back. “And for future reference, this is your hip.” He tapped the spot four inches diagonally to the right, then swept his finger down to the heart. “And this is about an inch shy of your pelvis.”

  “Thanks for the anatomy lesson.” I went for sarcasm, but it came out sounding wanton. An anatomy lesson from Hayden would be unforgettable, I was sure.

  “For you? Anytime.” He looked dangerously serious. “Now can I fix this shit or what?”

  My hesitation was short-lived. Covering over the old tattoo might help erase some of the bad memories associated with it. I wouldn’t have that painful reminder of Connor’s disapproval anymore. “Fine, but you have to do it tonight, because I want to get the back piece under way as soon as possible.”

  “Do you really think you can order me around?” He crossed his arms over his chest in a show of dominance.

  “I have more cupcakes in my apartment. You can have them if you fix this tonight.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great, let’s do it.” I clapped my hands together with genuine enthusiasm. Even if it was a small tattoo, Hayden would be touching me for an extended period of time.

  “What do you want?”

  Hayden had mentioned a ladybug last time. Those brought back memories of my mother, not all of which were necessarily good. “Um . . . I don’t know. Maybe I could look at one of your albums.”

  “I have a better idea.” He held up a finger and left the room.

  When he came back he was holding a file folder with my name artfully scrawled across the front. He slid out a piece of paper; on it were a number of small sketches. There were several blossoms in various shades of pink, all of which were beautiful. But what grabbed my attention was the adaptation of the cupcake drawing he’d gone crazy over when I’d first showed him my design.

  “When do I get to see my sketch?” I asked, wanting assurance he wasn’t putting it off indefinitely.

  “Right after I fix your botched home brew.”

  He was way too complacent. But then he must have planned it this way, coercing me into a small tattoo in order to see the design I wanted.

  I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said with contrived innocence.

  “I could still talk to Chris about this,” I threatened, moving toward the door. It irked me that he tried to manipulate me, and that part of me enjoyed the manipulation.

  That sobered him. “Settle down there, kitten.” Hayden threaded his fingers through mine and pulled me close, the intimacy unexpected. He was such a contradiction–hard one minute, soft to the point of vulnerability the next.

  “I need to make sure you’re serious and that you can handle this. You’re asking for a lot of ink. Usually there’s a story behind something so significant, but you don’t seem all that keen to tell it.” When I stayed silent, he gave me a wry smile. “I want to be the one who puts it on you. So if you’ll let me fix the tattoo you have, I’ll feel better about inking your entire back.”

  “You’re manipulative.”

  My threat to go to Chris was empty. I wanted it to be Hayden as much as he seemed to want the same. Part of the draw came from Hayden’s ability to ease the ache inside
with his presence alone. I craved the hours of relief that would come from being near him. I wanted a chance to heal, to transfer what was inside onto my skin.

  “And you’re cute when you’re mad. Now drop your pants.” He stepped back and waved his hand in the direction of my crotch.

  “Pardon?” I blushed, and then blushed some more.

  “Your pants, they’re in the way. I can’t work on you like that.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You’re asking me for a full back tattoo. Which means you’re going to be naked from the waist up, alone with me in a room, for the better part of twenty hours, and you’ve got hang-ups about dropping trou’ for a little one above your pubic bone?”

  “Can I leave my underwear on?”

  His brow furrowed, and then he laughed. “I don’t need you to take them off, I just need them below your hips so I have enough room to work. Unless you want to take them off. I’m not opposed.”

  “Of course you’re not.” Considering how fitted they were, getting my pants over my hips took some effort, even though the button was loose and the zipper was down. My underwear and half my butt were on display. I didn’t think I could be any more embarrassed. I sat down in the tattooing chair, hoping I had given Hayden enough room to work without putting on a show.

  He maneuvered around me on a rolling chair. “I’m going to suggest some looser clothes when we start sessions for the back piece. Constrictive clothing tends to make things more difficult.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  He suppressed a smirk while I watched him prepare his station. He donned a pair of latex gloves, then set out a razor, a spray bottle of solution, several small cloths, a new needle in a cellophane package, his tattoo machine, the ink, and finally the design.

  “All set?” he asked.

  I gripped the armrests. “Good to go.”

  Hayden ran a gloved finger over the old ink before he sprayed the solution on my skin. He wiped it down, then removed the plastic guard from the razor.

  “Will you have to do that on my back?” I asked as he passed the blade over the area.

  “No, this is just perfunctory.” His head was bowed, his brow creased in concentration. “It’s a small tattoo. I’m making sure the area is clean, but you’ve, uh—” He coughed. His tongue ring clicked against his viper bite. “—taken care of that for me.”

  A sensual smile appeared as he wiped the site with a cloth. I looked away, unable to handle the flirting when I was so exposed.

  “Wait! I didn’t even make a decision,” I said when he picked up the transfer.

  “I can make it for you.”

  I knew without asking which one he would choose. “Don’t you think it’s kind of juvenile?”

  “A cupcake right here?” He traced the old tattoo. “No. I don’t think it’s juvenile. I think it’s sexy.”

  When he said it like that, looking at me the way he did, it was hard to find a reason to disagree. It was the tattoo I’d wanted originally. No one could tell me no anymore. He waited for my approval before he sprayed the area again and pressed the stencil to my skin.

  He peeled it away slowly and inspected the placement. Satisfied, he handed me a mirror and turned to his workstation. Hayden held up the cellophane-wrapped needle for me before he broke open the package and assembled his machine. He worked with skilled precision, moving from one task to the next with efficiency. The session would be over far more quickly than I liked.

  “Ready?” he asked as he swiveled to face me.

  “Definitely.” I was all in now. The opportunity to cover over one of the many points of contention between Connor and me presented too much of an allure. Connor’s reaction to the black heart had caused the first fissure in our relationship. The cupcake would hide this reminder that he and I might not have been the match I originally believed us to be.

  Hayden turned on music before he started, the beat a complement to the hum of the tattoo machine. He dipped the needle into the ink and pressed lightly against my skin. It didn’t hurt the way it had the first time. Initially it stung, but soon the sensation hovered between mild irritation and pleasure. He was careful as he worked; one hand splayed out over my lower abdomen while he traced the lines of the stencil. His touch was gentle, a soothing counterpart to the bite of the needle.

  “Everything okay?” The hot sting was briefly eclipsed by the cool swipe of the cloth as Hayden wiped away the residual ink.

  “It’s fine, hardly hurts at all.”

  The drone of the tattoo machine started up a few seconds later and Hayden resumed tattooing. He asked me about school, keeping up a steady stream of conversation while he outlined the design and filled it in with color. I told him about my program and the class I was teaching. I avoided his questions about my advisor and the content of my thesis paper. The revisions had been sent to Professor Calder. All I could do was hope he was satisfied. The alternative was too disheartening to consider.

  Too short a time later, the buzzing ceased. He set down the machine and gave the tattoo a final swipe with the cloth, examining it.

  “All done,” he said hoarsely and cleared his throat.

  He offered me his hand, and I stood with his assistance, greedily accepting the prolonged contact. He guided me to the full-length mirror and placed his gloved fingertips on my hips, turning me until the light hit the tattoo just the right way. No one would ever guess it had been a cover-up for a badly drawn heart.

  “It’s perfect.”

  “The canvas made it easy,” he said and waited for me to finish inspecting it before he dressed the tattoo. I stood while he sat. He made one last pass over the fresh ink with a new cloth. Next he rubbed a dab of ointment over the area before he secured it with gauze and medical tape.

  “So . . .” I pulled my pants over my hips and buttoned them. “Can I see the design?”

  The professional guise dropped. Hayden’s hand smoothed down the outside of my thigh. “I’d be inclined to show you anything you want right about now.”

  12

  HAYDEN

  Shit.

  I hadn’t meant to do that—make it sound like a proposition. But for chrissake, I was only human. I’d spent the past hour tattooing a pretty little cupcake no more than two inches above a place I wanted to bury my face in. I was so screwed. There was no way I’d make it through twenty hours or more of sessions with her half naked in my chair without caving. My resolve had burned away like acid in the past hour.

  The shortest time line I could foresee for the back piece was just over two months. That was the best-case scenario.

  Armed with Tenley’s folder, I ushered her out of the private room and back to my desk. If I stayed in that room with her any longer, I ran the risk of acting on the thoughts running through my head. Particularly those pertaining to what exactly I would find under her panties. She took a seat as I pulled out her sketch. The amount of time I’d spent working on it over the past few days was ridiculous. I’d added more depth to the wings to play up their iridescent quality and make them appear more fragile. The detail in the fire had been difficult to preserve, but I’d managed it using only the most vibrant colors—a stark contrast to the decimated wings. I waited for her reaction.

  She pressed one hand to her mouth and blinked rapidly. When her breath left her, she shuddered. The delicate lines of her face morphed into something alien, void of all emotion. She hated it.

  “I have other options,” I said, ready to file away the sketch and pull out a different one. There were three versions.

  Tenley put her hand over mine. “It’s perfect. Better than I imagined.” Pain laced her words with a jagged edge. “When can we start?”

  Whatever happened to her must have been bad, because she was ready, more ready than I anticipated, to commit this piece to her skin.

  “I’d like to see how the new tattoo heals. Then I’ll have a better idea how far apart the appointments should be.” I was sure if I tol
d her I would start right now and work for twenty hours straight as long as I had an intravenous coffee drip, she would agree to it.

  “Does that mean I have to wait two weeks?” She withdrew her hand and chewed on one of her raggedly bitten nails. They hadn’t been that bad last week.

  “Give or take a few days. Either way, I’m not backing out on you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Promise?” she whispered.

  “Look, I’ll check the new ink in a day or two to see how it’s healing,” I reassured her. “If progress is good, we could schedule a tentative appointment for, say, a week and a half from now?”

  “Can you check it every other day?” she asked.

  “Sure. Every time you work if that’s what you want.” I mentally kicked myself; I’d be seeing a lot of Tenley’s underwear.

  “Okay.”

  That seemed to placate her. She traced the lines of the design as I flipped through my schedule, looking for a good time to fit her in. Lisa appeared out of nowhere, peering over my shoulder.

  “You have space next Tuesday in the evening,” she pointed out.

  “That’s barely a week.”

  “Maybe Tenley will heal quickly,” she offered with a serene smile. I wasn’t fooled. “There’s also a block of time on Thursday evening if that would make you feel better,” Lisa told me. “I’ll put it on the main schedule. If it still hasn’t healed as well as you like, you can move the appointment.”

  “That works for me,” Tenley said, looking hopeful.

  “Fine,” I acquiesced, mostly because I didn’t want to disappoint her. “But if it doesn’t look good, we’re pushing the start date forward.”

  “That’s fair.” She took the little appointment card from me and slid it into her back pocket. She patted her hip. “What do I owe you for this one?”

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s our test run.” I was more than happy to give her a freebie, considering the size of the piece I planned to put on her back. Being able to cover over a horrible tattoo while in the proximity of Tenley’s Promised Land was payment enough.