No, not perfect. There was no such thing as perfection and it would do Callie well to remember that.
She cleared her throat. “You can turn around now. I’ll show you what I have and we can either start the outline tonight or give you more time to think about it.”
He turned and stared at her. “Okay then.”
She thought of Miranda’s words, thought of what she wanted. It would be a mistake to ask him, yet an even greater one to hold herself back.
“When we’re done, we can grab some food if you’d like,” she whispered. She hadn’t meant to whisper, but saying it any louder was too difficult. The way she put it gave her an out in case he said no. It could have been a dinner with friends and her watching over him to make sure he refueled. Could have been.
Something she read as need washed over his gaze and she held her breath.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he said softly and she smiled brightly, her heart aching.
Damn it. She shouldn’t have put herself out there. But if she hadn’t done it, she would never have known for sure. Holding herself back would only have led to worries of what might have been.
Whether he meant appropriate in terms of her being his tattoo artist, her age, or just who they were in respect to one another, she didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
“No problem,” she said smoothly. “Just make sure you eat something when you get home. I don’t want you to crash on me.”
He nodded and then sat down on the stool. “Show me your sketches. If we find one that calls to me, then we can start tonight.”
She smiled again, then turned around to pick up her work and compose herself. The blade in her heart from him saying no shouldn’t have hurt so much. It wasn’t as if she ever stood a chance anyway; they were too different.
She turned around again and showed him her work. This time the nervousness in her belly made her shake a bit. For some reason, this meant more to her than just asking him out for dinner. This was her heart and soul on paper. If he didn’t like any of them, she knew she’d have to turn him over to Austin. She’d put everything she had into what Morgan held in his hands and she knew she didn’t have the heart to do it again.
Morgan didn’t say anything, his attention on her work. She tried not to bounce from foot to foot, but failed.
“Each of them follows the same premise,” she explained. “The colors can be changed, but I do think the pallet for each of them works well. I like the phoenix over your left shoulder, rather than your right and the tail leaning more toward the right hip; that way, it’s not too symmetric, but not too one-sided either.” She forced herself to shut up. He didn’t need to hear her ramblings.
He looked into her eyes and she held her breath. “They are all amazingly detailed and beautiful.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting such breathtaking work.”
She ground her teeth but didn’t say anything. For all she knew, he didn’t mean her talents, but meant what he would be seeing on paper.
“I enjoyed it,” she said honestly.
He looked down at the art in his hands one more time. “I can tell.” He handed her one, her favorite, that held blues and purples so rich she’d love to see it blend on his skin. “This one. This one is perfect.”
She smiled. “That’s my choice as well.”
He met her gaze and she wanted to say more, but held herself back. “Let’s get started then.”
“Yes. Let’s.” It would kill a bit of her to keep her hands on his body for the next couple of hours, but she’d do it. She was a professional after all and Morgan McAllister was just a client.
And maybe if she said it often enough, she would believe the lie.
Chapter Four
This had been a mistake. Morgan gave no outward sign of his frustration and agitation. He maintained an outward expression of disinterested courtesy as he watched the other guests mix and mingle. It would do him no good to make clear his disdain for their pompous hypocrisy.
He was above that.
Barely.
He had promised himself that if he thought about Callie one more time, he would go to the gala with Heather. And now here he stood. He honestly thought he’d be strong enough to control his will, to control his desires. How little he knew about himself and his attraction to his tattoo artist.
As soon as he’d left the shop, she remained on his mind. Her scent had permeated his skin especially around the partial outline. He could do nothing about the dreams, his thoughts, and his need when it came to her. He had to put an end to this for both their sakes.
Instead of succumbing to what was fast becoming an obsession, he’d called his mother and told her to let Heather know he’d reconsidered. Apparently, that had not been necessary since his mother, conniving and devious as she was, hadn’t bothered to tell Heather he’d said no in the first place. This woman who had allowed him to be raised by nannies and boarding school faculties spoke to him with what he knew was a facade of cold courtesy - not exactly unpleasant and not unusual for her.
That was how he now found himself at the gala with Heather on his arm and a headache that wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t push the thoughts of Callie away any more than he could stop breathing.
Now he was stuck at a function he’d told himself he wouldn’t attend with a woman who was completely wrong for him. Heather was fake, her hair color, her rack, her cheekbones, her lips—hell, even the curve of her ass didn’t look natural. Morgan had no problem with plastic surgery; it was a fact of life in the society he lived in. What bothered him was that people lied about it when it was obvious they’d had a nip here and a tuck there—even major ‘body work’. And then those same people would put others down who chose to age gracefully or were obviously satisfied with how they looked and who they were.
Let’s hear it for the rampant insecurities of the very rich and shameless.
How his mother had thought this woman would be good for him, he’d never understand. His mother didn’t know him, though, so he couldn’t really blame her. She’d never tried to get to know him more than superficially, and he’d long since given up caring.
Heather wasn’t speaking to him right then, thankfully. Instead she was talking to one of her acquaintances about dresses, or maybe it was about the women who wore those dresses. He didn’t know or care, but he’d satisfied his obligation and made an appearance at this function, so he might as well try to be cordial.
The spot between his shoulder blades started to itch, and he had to take a deep breath so he wouldn’t start scratching like some ape. Callie had worked on his back for over three hours. She’d talked during some of that time when he needed her voice to get through the pain. It hurt when she’d gone high on his shoulders and her voice had helped. She’d been gentle, even when she was digging a needle into his skin. Her hands didn’t shake at all and was professional. His mind had gone to dirty, sweaty places and he had to force himself to keep his erection at bay. It hadn’t worked entirely since he’d had a hard-on during the whole damn process, but he at least looked like he was in control.
He didn’t remember getting the silly starburst on his lower belly and hip. It had been a teenage mistake that only few saw unless they were naked with him. He figured it had probably hurt like hell, but he’d been too much of a man to let on about it. Last night though, he’d grunted and cursed when Callie had gone over a particularly sensitive area over and over to get the outline just right.
It seemed as soon as he’d gotten used to the needle in his skin for a long line, she’d pick it up and start again. She’d soothed him, though, and that had made him want her more. Not something that pleased him in the slightest considering he’d been trying not to think of her. Their session was most likely the first of four. She’d done the big outline on his back and it surprised him that she’d done so much in such a short period of time. When he mentioned that she shook her head, telling him it was easy because he’d been so still. The coloring and
his arms would actually take longer, hence the next few sessions. Those sessions would be over weekends and be longer than just over the three hours this one had been.
By the time they were through and she’d taught him about aftercare—telling him about using a spatula to get those hard-to-reach places on his back with the special lotion he needed to use—it was late, and he hadn’t wanted to leave. What he wanted to do was ask her to come with him so she could help him with his back, even though that would have been a lame excuse. He didn’t and walked her to her car since it was late. He hadn’t said a word, just looked into her eyes and turned on his heel so he wouldn’t do something stupid like kiss her senseless against her car.
He hated the fact he’d had to leave her and he hated it more that he had to turn her down before they even started. Though she’d phrased her request for dinner as if it was an everyday occurrence and purely professional, they both new it wasn’t. He’d desperately wanted to say yes to her and have her sit at his table while he fed her from his hand. He’d wanted to care for her as a Dominant would his submissive and have her care for him as well.
He’d cursed himself for those thoughts even as he’d been polite—or as polite as he could be considering that on the inside he’d been screaming yes.
She’d done her best to sound friendly and yet he knew that she wanted to take care of him as well. She wanted to ensure he’d eat afterward and take it easy. While he would have loved to let that happen, he knew he couldn’t. He was too old for her, to big. He’d scare her. Despite the fact he sensed strongly that she was a submissive, he had no clue about her experience. He’d never know.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t move in his circles. He hoped she’d understand that, but in order to tell her that, he’d have to let on that he was interested in her. That wouldn’t be happening.
He’d hurt her though. He’d seen it in her eyes and he regretted that.
“Morgan, darling, where is your mind?”
Morgan turned to Heather and tried not to recoil at her touch. He shouldn’t have come to the gala and doing his mother’s bidding by taking Heather was going to have consequences he should have considered beyond trying to get Callie out of his head. Now he was stuck with a woman he truly had no desire to see again and no desire for whatever deeds his mother hoped would happen at the end of the evening.
“Morgan? Darling?”
I’m not your darling.
“What is it, Heather?” He spoke softly, cool and impersonally courteous. Why did he allow himself to be manipulated into these situations?
Damn it all.
“Did you hear what I was saying?”
He looked down into her shrewd, calculating eyes and shook his head. “No, I was thinking about a project at work. What is it?”
She pouted like a small child, her lower lip stuck out. “If you don’t find me interesting, maybe I’ll go talk with your mother.” She stroked his arm as she said it and he had to swallow the bile in his throat.
A manipulative idiot; nice one, Mom.
“No, I’m back now. What is it you were saying?” Don’t go to my mother, you calculating bitch. I don’t need to have to deal with her and you too.
“I was talking about your sisters, but that is done now I suppose. You know about the pregnancy, I take it?”
He nodded though he had no idea who was pregnant. His mother might have told him, but he hadn’t listened. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for his sisters—he did—he could only take them in small doses. He loved his nieces and nephews, and if his sisters actually raised them instead of giving them to nannies and boarding schools, he might have been closer to them.
He tried, he really did, but there was only so much he could do when they were not his children.
He didn’t have children and didn’t plan on having any since he’d closed himself off from the idea of ever settling down. First, it was because he’d been too busy trying to step out of his father’s shadow while learning to run the company at the same time. Then it was because he needed to find out on his own what he wanted, rather than living under his mother’s thumb.
He knew what he didn’t want, which was more than some people could say, but did he know what he wanted?
Callie’s face popped into his mind and he shook it away.
She wouldn’t be good for him.
He knew that.
He just needed to remind himself of it. Often.
Heather was still talking and he nodded in all the right places. If she’d been saying anything of consequence instead of gossiping about who was sleeping with whom and who was down on their luck because of poor investments, maybe he’d listen. Instead he tried to keep his mind off the woman he shouldn’t want while planning a way to get out of the building as soon as he could.
“Anyway, darling, Daddy and Mother are planning a trip to Italy to summer but I’m not sure if that’s where I will go. Where will you summer next?”
Who the hell summered anymore?
Where his mother and sisters spent the summer was none of his concern. He had a company to run and a woman to forget. Yes, work would help him forget.
As if he’d drawn her out of thin air, Callie walked into the room and a hush rolled over the crowd like a wave.
She was here.
How could she be here?
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Why shouldn’t she be here? He didn’t know her well, although the attraction he felt for her made it feel like he did. For all he knew, this was also her social circle and she was just new to his life. She could be moonlighting as a tattoo artist and come from money for all he knew.
Heather was whispering to one of her friends and he had a feeling it was about Callie. In fact, from the way others discreetly—and some not so discreetly—glanced at Callie while they whispered, he knew Heather wasn’t the only one who had noticed the new arrival.
He let his gaze rake over her, taking in every detail.
She wore a black dress that draped over her body like it was made for her, but from the fabric he knew it hadn’t been. Unlike the others in the room, this one was off-the-rack and not as expensive as what every other lady in this room wore.
It didn’t matter.
She made the dress.
It covered one shoulder and left the other bare. Dear God, he wanted to lick every inch of her. It was as if she was teasing him showing just that bit of skin. She didn’t wear any jewelry except for small black earrings. The ink she wore like a proud badge was enough adornment to make her look like she was a princess.
A sexy, exotic one at that.
She was out of place and everyone knew it. He saw the others murmur around him and he held back a curse. What did they know? How did they think they were better than her? He’d never once thought that. Money and designer clothes didn’t make the woman...or the man.
But Callie was clearly being judged—and found wanting.
Callie’s face didn’t show any response to the whispers, the looks, the judgments. No, she looked…happy. Proud.
He finally looked to her left to her date and the bottom of his stomach fell out.
No, he had to be wrong. It couldn’t be.
He knew the man on Callie’s arm.
The married man on her arm.
Well, fuck.
He hoped to hell she didn’t know Matt was married to another woman—a pretty and sweet woman named Virginia. Because if Callie did know Matt was married? Jesus. She was just like the rest of them, wasn’t she? Everyone around him cheated and enjoyed it. It was a game to them. How many people could they screw without the world knowing? It didn’t matter that they broke their vows; it was all about some selfish need, some insecurity, and making sure their reputations stayed intact. As long as there were no whispers, it didn’t matter what they did.
Discretion was key.
Matt appearing at a gala attended by most of the influential people in Morgan’s world with his mistress on his arm was not
discreet.
Matt was young. New to their world. New to his company.
He was also an idiot.
An idiot that Callie had chosen.
She’d asked Morgan out, shared the heat between the two of them because there was no way she hadn’t been affected. He’d felt it, seen it on her face, and he’d seen the way her nipples hardened whenever he was near.
The fact that he was with Heather that night meant nothing. His appearance with Heather was to pacify his mother; it was also a complete lapse in judgment on his part. One he would never allow to happen again.
And Callie was here on the arm of a married man. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he thought.
“Look at that trash he brought with him,” Heather’s friend whispered.
“I know,” Heather answered. They were quiet, but with the way their voices rose with the crowd, the majority of whom were clearly discussing Callie, he knew she had to be hearing this. “Look at those tattoos? Where did he pick her up? The street?”
Morgan ground his teeth together. This was one reason he’d held off getting the ink he’d desired. If they only knew where Callie’s hands had been the previous night…where he wanted her hands that night.
“Dear God, what the hell was Matt thinking?” Sam said as he walked up to Morgan, Sally on his arm.
“I know, I mean look at those tattoos,” Sally sneered. “That hair. Who does she think she is?”
“You can’t just come into our world looking like some prison reject,” Heather added in.
They weren’t whispering anymore.
He should have been defending her. He knew it, but he couldn’t, not when he thought she was part of the world he’d pushed away. She was one of them.
A mistress.
A cheater.
Just another in a long line of people in his life who had broken their promises. Marriage vows meant nothing to these people.
Another reason he’d never been married. What was the use when words meant nothing?
“He and Virginia are still together I take it?” he asked softly. His gaze remained on Callie but she hadn’t seen him yet. Instead her focus was on Matt and a painting they seemed to be talking about. She laughed and Morgan clenched his jaw.
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