by MI
“Oh, it fucking is not the same. What the hell, Declan? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Hey, you’ve got your scale of things that don’t make sense, and I’ve got mine.”
“You know, it’s a good thing Henry Lee’s not here right now. Because he’d for damn sure fire my ass for what I’m about to say. You artists need to check your egos at the door. No one’s gonna die if you don’t tattoo them, all right? I mean, on the scale of things that might actually be important in life, this doesn’t even rate a number.”
Declan shook his head. “You’re wrong. It is important—especially to Sophie. Maybe you think I don’t listen when people tell me about what they want. Maybe you think it’s all about my own ego, about advancing my own career and the hell with everything else. And you know what? About half the time, you’d probably be right. But not this time. This isn’t nothing to Sophie. This isn’t like her other tattoos. Trust me, I was there when she got most of them, so I know what I’m talking about. She didn’t come here today on a whim or because she was drunk or she lost a bet or her friends dared her to do it. This time she’s looking for something that will make an actual difference to her life, something that’ll change the way she feels about herself. She needs this. And I’m not the right person to do that for her.”
“Of course you are! Who better to do it?”
“Why can’t you understand this? It’s not that I don’t want to do it. It’s not that I don’t like the design or because it wouldn’t be an awesome addition to my portfolio—because it definitely would. Under normal circumstances, I’d be knocking people down and climbing over bodies to get to be the one to do this tattoo. But I can’t. I’m not saying no because I want to I’m saying no because I have to. I’m saying no because I. Can’t. Do. It. I can’t give her what she needs. And if you still don’t get that…then I honestly don’t know how to make it any more clear to you.”
Sassy stood there for a moment, watching him, tapping her foot, still holding that stupid paper cup with the coffee he’d asked her for about a billion years ago. He supposed he should just be grateful she hadn’t thrown it in his face yet. He could tell she was still thinking about it. But maybe, by the time she got around to actually doing it, the coffee would be too cold to do too much damage. “So are we done now?” he asked hopefully.
“Did you know she nearly changed her mind? About the tattoo, I mean. I was the one who first talked to her about it on the phone. We weren’t thirty seconds into the conversation, and she was already trying to talk herself out of it—coming up with excuses, saying that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. I’d have bet a week’s pay she wouldn’t go through with it. But then I told her you were coming, and that made all the difference. I have to think she’s here today at least partly because of the connection between you. I have to think that means more to her than you think it does.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes about it.”
Declan thought about that for a bit. “Okay, let’s say you’re right, just for the sake of argument. So what? How does that change anything?”
“Because if you back out now, she’s not going to go through with it either.”
“That’s ridiculous. Sophie’s not like that. She’s not stupid—she’ll understand. She’ll want to have the best possible person tattooing her. Right now, that’s not me.”
“You know what, Declan? You can say that all you like. And you can sit there from now ’til Judgment Day pretending that it’s all gonna turn out fine, that I can just suggest someone else and she’s gonna be all ‘yeah, that’s great’, but you’ll only be fooling yourself. I’ve booked enough appointments to know when someone’s having second thoughts about getting a tattoo. If you really believe this is important to her—and important for her, and if she’s really as important to you as you claim she is, then I’m sorry, but I don’t think you have a choice. You’re gonna have to do it, Declan. You’re just gonna have to suck it up and do it.”
“And what if I can’t do it, huh? You talk like it’s so easy, but you have no idea what you’re asking for. What if I mess up?” It was a stupid question, a fucking terrifying question. It hurt just hearing the words. The thought of disappointing Sophie, of maybe making things worse…it made him want to puke his guts out.
“Is that what this is about?” The confident tone in Sassy’s voice made him furious. “Please. Why are you worrying about that? You won’t mess up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Actually I do. Listen, you take tattooing as seriously as anyone I’ve ever met. And that’s on the days when you don’t actually give a fuck. There’s no way you’re going to mess this one up. Not when it means this much to you.”
“Fuck.” Declan felt as though he’d just heard his doom pronounced. He covered his face with his hands and cursed again. “Fuck!”
“Does that mean you know I’m right?”
Was she? He had no idea. “No, it means I want to punch something.” In fact that wall behind him was beginning to look real attractive. Or maybe the dumpster. If he got lucky, maybe he would break one of his hands. It would be almost worth it. He’d like to see what Sassy would have to say then about his having no choice. But deep down he knew he wouldn’t do anything to damage his hands. She was right about that at least. He did take his work seriously. And maybe it was just ego or maybe it was ambition or maybe it was some kind of fucked-up ideal—commitment to his art or some shit—but, yeah, she was right. He wouldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t live with himself if he did. But that still didn’t mean he could give Sophie what she needed.
“Okay, well, while you’re exploring your Neanderthal impulses, let me tell you what I’m gonna do.” She thought she’d won; Declan could hear it in her voice. “I’m gonna go bring your girl some coffee now and maybe buy you a little more time to pull yourself together. But if you’re not back inside soon—and by soon I mean within the next five minutes—I’m gonna get Caliph to come out here and drag your sorry ass inside. Don’t think I won’t do it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Declan tipped his head back against the bricks, still trying to wrap his mind around this new reality. Somehow, he had to pull himself together. He had to clear his mind and go to work and give Sophie the tattoo she wanted. And it would be perfect. But would it be enough?
Chapter Five
The coffee Sophie had been drinking sat like a lead weight in her stomach. She glanced around, looking for someplace to dispose of her still half-full cup because there was no way she was ever going to finish it. Given the emphasis on cleanliness, how could there not be at least one trash can within easy reach? She wondered if anyone would notice if she just up and left?
She hadn’t anticipated that it would be so hard for her to see Declan again—or for him to see her. She certainly hadn’t imagined that he’d freak out the way he had. When it came to crises, he was pretty well jaded.
She was just gearing herself up to make a run for the front door when Declan came bustling back into the room, carrying a sheaf of stencils.
“Okay, here we go,” he said, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
She stared at him in surprise as he spread the papers out on the counter. She recognized them at once as copies of her own drawings.
“I thought I was going to have to re-draw some of these to make them fit,” he told her. “But now I don’t think that will be necessary. I think they’re actually going to work out fine just the way they are. We may have to re-size a few, but that won’t be a problem, and besides that’s mostly up to you. You might not want to do that either. I made them all as separate stencils so we could play around with them a little. All we really have to decide on is the placement of them.”
Sophie let herself relax a little. “Wow. You’ve done your homework, huh?”
“Of course I did,” Declan replied absently, his attention on the stencils as he moved them around on the countertop, as though s
earching for an arrangement that pleased him. “You heard what I told Sassy. I’ve been excited about this tattoo from the start.”
Yes. He had said that. But that was before she’d dropped her bombshell. Sophie couldn’t help but notice that he’d been avoiding her gaze ever since he’d come back into the room. So he couldn’t even look at her now? What was up with that?
Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he was just preoccupied. But suddenly there was too much tension between them and she needed to get away from it. She stood and picked up her purse. “Okay, well, placement, that’s the easy part, right? I mean we don’t really even have to decide on that today, do we?”
“Not really, no. I mean, we could, but it’s not really critical. They’re just a guide anyway. As long as we’re on the same page and you’re happy with the sizes and all… I’ll probably end up free-handing some of the elements anyway.”
“Good. Fantastic. Sounds like a plan.” It had been a shock for him; she got that. He probably needed some time to adjust. If she left now, he’d have almost twenty-four hours before he had to tattoo her. Hopefully, that would be time enough for him to get over…whatever this was. “Then I guess we’re done for now.”
“Yeah.” Finally, Declan’s eyes met hers. “So…whaddaya think? You wanna go grab some dinner with me?”
“Dinner?”
“Or drinks, I guess, if you’re really not hungry. I kinda hope you are though, because I’m starving.”
“I don’t know…”
“Oh, come on, Sophie Jane. Why not, huh? I’ve really missed you. I want to hear more about what’s been happening with you. I have the feeling there’s a lot we need to catch up on.”
“A heart to heart?” Sophie couldn’t help grimacing. “Now? Oh, please, let’s not.” She did not want to discuss anything while he was in this kind of mood—especially not that. She did not want him feeling sorry for her or making her feel any more sorry for herself. She needed the old Declan tonight, the one who usually thought only about himself and who she could always count on to distance himself emotionally whenever things got even a little bit rough.
“Just dinner then, all right? Please? You know you want to…” And there it was. The tiny half smile, the sexy pitch to his voice, that look in his eyes that promised it would be well worth her while to give him whatever he wanted. She never had been able to resist that look.
Sophie sighed in surrender. “Sure. Why not? Dinner sounds good.” But she knew it wouldn’t end with dinner. It never did…
Just as she’d expected, dinner led to drinks, which led to a nostalgic visit to that little jazz place over on Frenchmen Street where they always used to go, which led to even more drinks. From there it was just a short walk back to the hotel where Declan was staying, in an extravagant, two-story suite with shuttered French doors and a balcony that looked down on Bourbon Street. It was the kind of place he could never have afforded five years ago. The kind of place neither of them would ever have thought to stay in.
“This place is amazing,” she’d said as she turned away from that view, just in time to catch an even better one—that of Declan pulling his shirt off over his head. Her mouth went dry. Omigod. Talk about amazing. The past five years had clearly been kind to more than just Declan’s bank account. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so healthy and fit. It could be he spent all his off time working out in the gym, she supposed, although the sun-bronzed tone of his skin suggested otherwise.
As he turned to toss his shirt onto a nearby chair, the tattoo emblazoned on his left shoulder blade caught her eye. The large Celtic cross, with ‘Ross’ inscribed above it and three sets of dates beneath, brought her back down to earth with a bone-jarring thump. There were still some things that hadn’t changed, that never could change. The boy came with baggage. Heaps of it.
In fact, the only major difference between now and years ago was that, this time around, they both had scars. She wondered if the ones you couldn’t see were still the hardest to deal with.
That alone probably should have had her running for the door. But somewhere along the way Sophie had decided to stop worrying about any of it—at least for tonight. She didn’t care where they were headed, where they’d end up, or how things could possibly work out between them now when they’d never worked before. She’d worry about that tomorrow.
She already knew where they’d end up tonight. If she was lucky, they’d end up in his bed. And, if there was any justice at all in the universe, she also knew how things would work out—in exactly the same way they’d always done, with her feeling very, very satisfied. She’d have to be crazy not to jump on that. Crazy, or a lot more sober than she was feeling at the moment...
Now, just a short while later, she was halfway to her goal, propped up on her elbows on the bed, naked from the waist down, while an already completely naked Declan lay stretched between her spread thighs. He stared at her pussy with the kind of rapt attention that made her want to beg him to stop looking already and touch me, please, please touch me—yes, there, now.
“God, Sophie, look at you. Look how wet you are.” He reached out and ran a single finger up the length of her cleft. “Jeez, you’re dripping for me. I fucking love that.”
Something about the awestruck tone of his voice made her giggle, although that could have been the absinthe too, come to think of it. “Well, you know, it has been kind of awhile since I’ve done this with anyone, so...” It really wasn’t all that surprising. Actually, it was more than a little depressing. Stop thinking. Don’t wanna think about that right now.
“Sophie Jane.” Declan glanced up with a scandalized expression. “What is wrong with you? You never want to tell a man something like that. You should always make me think it’s because of me, that you’re wet for me, that I’m the reason you’re about to soak through this duvet.”
“Aw, poor Declan.” More giggles threatened to erupt. “Will the hotel charge you extra for that?” She fought down the laughter and put on her most serious face. “You know I’m always wet for you.”
“Uh-huh. That’s better.” Declan lowered his head to press a soft kiss against her inner thigh. “That’s what I want to hear.”
“But…it has been a really, really long time.”
Declan’s eyes danced with mirth. “Brat. Now you’re gonna be sorry. You do know you’re going to pay for that, don’t you?”
“Oh, God, I hope so.” Sophie fell back upon the pillows, giggling once again. Oh, how she’d missed this. She’d missed it so much: the teasing, the playfulness, the control—just Declan being Declan. Even if it couldn’t last, even if he was only doing this to prove some kind of point or as an act of misplaced nostalgia, why should she care? It was still one perfect moment in time, and who knew if she’d ever feel this way again? Why shouldn’t she allow herself to enjoy it? It was only a few days after Christmas, after all. Why couldn’t she look at this night with Declan in the same way she’d been looking at her tattoo: as a flashy and extravagant, only-slightly-belated Christmas present to herself. Ho ho ho.
When her giggles threatened to give way to tears, she took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to center herself. A heavy silence from the bottom of the bed drew her attention. She raised her head to find Declan staring at her face with an expression she couldn’t fathom.
She frowned. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”
He didn’t answer, just surged up to cover her body with his. Instinctively, she moved her arms inward, shielding her chest. The hair that dusted his pecs bristled against her palms as he kissed her with exquisite gentleness. All this tenderness was more than a little unnerving.
Sophie pushed at his chest in an effort to dislodge him. “What are you doing? Stop that. I’m not dying, you know.”
“What?” Declan lifted his head and stared at her with an alarmed expression.
“I am not dying,” she repeated, adding when he didn’t respond right away. “You seemed worried.”
&nbs
p; “I seemed… Jesus, Sophie. Why wouldn’t I worry about you? Why would you even say something like that?”
“Because it’s true. And because I want you to stop it. You don’t have to worry. Really. My last blood tests were all normal. I think my doctors were very encouraged by that.”
“Sophie,” Declan growled. He sat up and looked at her sternly. “You need to stop talking right now.”
Sophie was happy to oblige. She shut her mouth and gazed up at him. Expectant. Hopeful. Only the littlest bit dizzy. Until he took hold of her wrists and attempted to lift her arms over her head and the whole room began to spin. Her stomach quivered suddenly, but not in that pleasant way she’d come to expect.
All the drinks she’d consumed this evening and that, so far, had been contributing to her pleasantly intoxicated mood seemed to slosh violently around inside her. Sophie shuddered, trying to pull away, trying to break his hold on her. The weakness in her muscles made that almost impossible, and the resultant feeling of helplessness had her once again on the verge of tears. “Let me go.”
Declan released her immediately. He sat back on his heels and gazed at her quietly for a moment, his eyes dark and troubled. “Take your shirt off.” It was too gentle to be an order, but what did that matter? Order, suggestion, demand, request—however he meant it, there was no way she could give him that tonight.
“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, feeling suddenly no more than twelve years old, wishing he wasn’t right there, looming over her, his big body wedged between her legs. She wrapped her arms around her middle, more aware than usual of the slight tremors that so often affected them, particularly when she was feeling stressed or anxious or if she pushed too hard.