by MI
But the walls of art, his first signed guitar and pictures of Henry’s travels were a blur to him now as his gaze skimmed the room, seeking out the woman he’d followed inside.
He found Sassy instead, the shop’s brown-haired—with bright red streaks today—gal Friday, the person this place would crash and burn without.
She leaned her elbows on the front counter and smiled sardonically when she saw him. “Do you sleep with that thing strapped to you? Is it an extension of your…soul? I’m not judging, I swear. The old boss had quirks of his own, as you know. He even took one of them to Bali. Lucky for you, I’m very open-minded.”
Christie grinned and shook his head. “You come by your name honestly, don’t you? I’m glad to see my new status hasn’t affected the way I’m treated around here.” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “But maybe it will get you to tell me where the woman who just came in here disappeared to. You did see her right?”
“Of course I saw her. I may still be recovering from all the excitement we had around New Year’s and my new job as resident cupid, but I’m not blind. Rosie was waiting to take her back right away.” Her voice lowered and Christie had to lean closer to hear her. “Poor girl looked a touch green around the gills, if you ask me, so I set the bucket next to Rosie’s chair just in case.”
“Is she here for the special?”
“No.” Sassy glanced down at the appointment book in front of her. “She’s getting a cover-up with the friend discount.”
That was Sassy’s code for free tattoo. Christie looked over her shoulder toward Rosie’s station, swearing silently when a silk privacy screen blocked his view. Damn it. It was a Keep Out sign that meant Rosie’s client was either shy or getting inked in a revealing location.
Was it wrong of him to hope she wasn’t shy?
The friend discount. Not his imagination or an angel then, but someone his cousin liked well enough to offer up her not-insignificant skills free of charge.
Good to know.
Christie ran a hand through his hair and turned to find an empty chair. “Well then, I’ll just park myself here and tune my guitar for a while. You guys don’t mind a free concert, right?”
He spun the well-loved acoustic instrument off his back to sit down, waited for Sassy to turn off the music being piped in through speakers on the wall and closed his eyes—seeing her again.
A friend. Had Rosie mentioned her in one of her emails or phone calls? Had he met her before? It was hard to believe he’d have forgotten if that were the case. She wasn’t the kind of woman any man with a pulse could put out of his mind.
Christie was by no means deprived or lacking in female companionship. Never had been. He’d been around the world and dated his share of beautiful women, but he honestly couldn’t recall another time in his life when he’d reacted to the mere sight of a woman this way. Before he’d heard her voice. Before he’d looked into her eyes or touched her.
Lord, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to talk to her. But first, he had to meet her.
He started to play and immediately realized that it wasn’t any song he knew. It was her. He was playing her. A standard Blues progression mixed with a few complicated Spanish riffs. The melody was the way she moved. The way the winter sunlight hit her. It was how much he wanted to look into her eyes.
He swallowed a laugh. Maybe she was his muse. His thoughts were turning to fucking poetry.
There were more sad minor chords than he’d expected. Something he’d glimpsed beneath her determined expression that told him this tattoo wasn’t a desire as much as a necessity. A goal.
Was she covering up a lover’s name? Christie shook his head, leaning forward into the music. He didn’t want to think about her having another lover. She belonged to him, his woman and his muse, if only in this song.
A few of the artists called out greetings when they heard him and he nodded his acknowledgment, but he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t until Rosie’s raised voice reached him that he paused.
“Hey, CC Ryder, see what you done now? Some of us work better to Alice in Chains, hence the expensive and magical music machine Henry Lee bought for us to enjoy.”
“CC Ryder,” he called back playfully, wishing that the screen would disappear. “Because of my name and the song. I get it. Good one, Rosie. Never heard that before. Especially from you.”
He heard whispering. His cousin and…her. Her whisper. Rosie’s machine stopped and she poked her head out from behind the screen, a thoughtful expression on her pixie-like features.
“Scratch that,” she ordered. “Sassy, under no circumstances is the man allowed to stop playing for…another hour and a half. You can tell him if he does I’ll call his mother and tell her something scandalous and possibly made up about her son.”
Christie snickered. “You know I’m the boss of you, right?”
Rosie’s kohl-lined, deep blue eyes widened and she tilted her head meaningfully toward the screen. “Please?”
His heart started pounding. She liked it. His mystery girl. She wanted him to keep playing. “Since I can count the number of times you’ve said that word on one hand and I’ve got nowhere else to go, I accept your challenge.”
She stuck out her tongue and disappeared from view and Christie started to play again.
He leaned back against the chair and got comfortable, allowing his pleasure to flow from his fingertips. She wanted to hear more.
Artists sent people off with aftercare instructions and took their next clients around him, and still he played. Her song blended into a dozen others, most of them ballads to soothe her.
Soothe? Who was he kidding? He had a lot more than soothing on his mind. Things like her tracing her long, graceful neck with the backs of his fingers and kissing those luscious lips. What would she taste like? What would it feel like to have those long, golden limbs tangled with his? The melody followed his carnal thoughts as he imagined her lying on the padded vinyl table, revealing more of her skin than he’d gotten a chance to see while she was being tattooed. He’d love to see that. To watch.
He opened his eyes when Sassy plopped down on the chair beside him. “I get you’re doing your thing, baby boss man. But if you want me to do my thing efficiently and not flash my breasts in the hopes of getting to your beads, you should play something less provoking.”
He bit his lip, his fingers still plucking at the song. Baby boss man? “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So…no beads?”
He shrugged. “Alas, I am a bead-free zone.”
Sassy sighed. “I had a feeling. But with all the sexual energy that’s been buzzing around this shop lately, you can’t blame me for trying. Nearly everyone else is getting some and this cupid can’t go forever without getting her arrows polished, if you catch me. Can I at least request you amuse me by playing Rosie’s song?”
“You mean Roisin’s Mean Machine?” he choked out, stifling his laughter.
“That’s the one.”
Rosie swore, her voice close enough to startle him. “Don’t you dare, baby boss man. You know I hate that song. And you can stop with the coffee shop strumming already. We’re done and I’m worried if you keep playing that elevator music Caliph or Shep will fall asleep mid-session.”
The tattoo artists in question responded with varying degrees of salty sarcasm, but Christie’s blood was rushing so swiftly in his ears that he hardly heard them. When he looked up he would look into her eyes. Hear her voice. Maybe finally discover the name of the woman he was planning to seduce.
Sassy wasn’t kidding about the sexual energy. He was definitely feeling it now.
He stood and slid his guitar around to his back again, meeting the deep-set hazel eyes of his muse. Eyes that were looking up at him but still not quite focused, as if she’d gotten that special rush that tattoo addicts knew well. Or she’d just been made love to.
Her hair a tangle of curls on his pillow, the sheen of sweat on her skin…
Jesus, Christie, p
ull it together, man.
“Hello.” He kept his voice soft so as not to startle her. “Enjoy the concert?”
She smiled dreamily and Christie had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. What the hell had she done to his equilibrium? His cool?
“I did. And I told Rosie she should be thanking you for distracting me.”
Rosie groaned. “Yes, yes, fine I’ll say it. Thank you, Christie. When my friend here informed me of her needle phobia, I think I underestimated my ability to ease her fears.”
Christie knew he was beaming like an idiot. He couldn’t help it. “Whoever you are, you’ve gotten my cousin to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to me in a single afternoon. Anytime you require my services, I’m available.”
The women shared a look and then Rosie crossed her arms and lifted one perfect dark eyebrow. “You don’t remember Henrietta Santos? The thirteen-year-old girl you swore stole your favorite sweater when she came over for Sunday dinner? Thirty-five must be even older than it sounds.”
“Etta.” The woman blushed, nudging Rosie with her bare elbow, her jacket draped over her clasped hands. “And of course he doesn’t. We barely met and it was sixteen years ago.”
Christie rocked back on his heels and an image of a laughing girl with long, straightened hair and braces filled his mind. Was that her? Etta Santos.
Henrietta.
He’d just found the name of his song.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about that, Etta. I do remember it.” He placed his hand on his chest dramatically. “I loved that sweater. In all my travels I’ve never found another like it and I’ve spent years waiting for the day you’d finally admit to the theft.”
A surprised laugh rasped from her throat. “You’ll have to keep waiting, Mr. Ryder. I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
Her voice had a raw sensuality to it that was sexy as hell. A Jessica Rabbit-Koko Taylor growl that was so unexpected, it was even more of a turn-on. Christie stared down at her succulent lips until she licked them nervously. “I say you are.”
When his gaze clashed with his cousin’s, hers was knowing. Uncomfortably so.
“Etta has to come back tomorrow,” she informed him. “We have her leg piece done and it looks beautiful, but the art on her back will take more than one session. Since she’s only in town two more weeks, we’re on a tight schedule.”
Rosie’s words were a punch to his solar plexus. Etta didn’t live in New Orleans anymore? “So soon? Now, that’s a shame. I suppose I can make room in my not-remotely-busy schedule to play again tomorrow. Sassy keeps mentioning something about bills and invoices that need to be signed.”
His cousin nodded, a pleased expression on her face as she took in Etta’s blush. “That would be good. Oh, and Christie? Since you’re not busy, be a doll and drive Etta back to her aunt’s house. I don’t want her walking all over town, but this special of yours has me booked for the rest of the day, and I need Sassy on constant coffee duty to survive it.”
“I can do that.” He didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. It would save him from having to come up with an excuse to follow her, or interrogate Rosie for details about her friend.
She gave Etta a warm hug, and Etta’s hands fluttered in surprise before she responded with a squeeze of her own. Why did she look surprised?
“Don’t forget what I told you about keeping the site clean.”
Etta was looking everywhere but at him. “Yes, but you don’t have to make your cousin drive me anywhere. I can walk or take the streetcar. You’ve already done so much.”
Rosie pulled back to look up at her friend. “Just let him. Let me. You remember what we talked about on Monday? It’s your birthday, Etta. Stop being so stubborn and try to enjoy it.”
Etta bit her lower lip and Christie had to force down his groan of jealousy. He wanted those lips.
“Fine. As long as you promise to keep me in the loop about…” She looked around guardedly, as if there were too many people listening in. “That thing.”
This time it was Rosie whose cheeks appeared to be heating. “I will. You’ll have all the ‘thing’ news you can handle. Now go home and take this vagabond with you. He’s acting too much like he owns the place.”
He felt the need to have the last word. “In point of fact, I do.”
“Not that I can tell, but see what I mean?” Rosie teased him, gratitude and something else—a warning?—in her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Christie opened the door for Etta, sending her as innocent an expression as he could muster. “Shall we?”
Chapter Three
She wasn’t sure how this had happened. How she was walking down the street toward Christie’s car as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Christopher Ryder. Talk about flashbacks. Rosie must have done this on purpose. She knew good and well Etta had had a major crush on him for most of their high school years. What she didn’t know was how long it had lasted after that.
At nineteen he’d been a devastatingly handsome bad boy. Forbidden because he was older and—according to her devoutly religious mother—destined for a life of sin. She glanced at the guitar strapped to his back and smiled.
“I remember that. You always had a guitar within playing distance.”
He looked down into her eyes with a grin. “I’m rarely without it. You never know when you’re going to have a musical emergency. It’s best to be prepared.”
Oh, what that grin did to her knees. The years had been good to him. If anything he was sexier now, his laugh lines deeper and his strong jaw dark with stubble that only enhanced his appeal. He still had the short thick mane of wavy black hair and the blue eyes a woman could drown in. He still had those impressive shoulders, a six-foot-three body made of lean muscle…
And that walk. The same slow and easy stride that said he had all the time in the world to get where he was going, but when he finally got there you’d be in trouble.
His hand brushed the back of hers as they moved down the sidewalk, and she felt the sizzle all the way to her toes. Or maybe it was higher…
She’d gotten the same sensation listening to his music over the years. His voice was laced with soulful seduction, his lyrics full of blues, sex, and need. But Etta imagined she could hear a desire in them that matched her own. Desire for something better. For more. She’d wanted more too. Wanted to be as fearless as Rosie, and as talented as Rosie’s rock-and-roll cousin. Wanted to be free of her parents’ hypocritical rules about how she was supposed to live her life.
Etta received her first kiss at a party she’d snuck out of her house to go to, and it had happened to one of Christie’s songs. Unfortunately, it had been with the wrong kind of bad boy. The worst kind.
Christie took her elbow to guide her around a rough spot on the sidewalk, his touch a slow burn on her skin, and she stole another glance. His lips hadn’t changed either—always ready with a wicked smile and still all too kissable. She’d lost countless hours to daydreaming about kissing Christie Ryder. Being kissed by him. Tasted and explored by him…
Etta crossed her arms to hide the tightening of her sensitive nipples. She was doing it again.
Stop thinking about kissing Christie.
But how could she when Rosie had just reminded her on their way out the door about their Café Bwe conversation? The it’s-been-six-years-and-you-have-needs talk.
The one where she—and several women at the table next to them—had learned more than she ever wanted to know about her friend’s masturbatory habits, the best vibrators to purchase and why casual sex would not cause lightning bolts and brimstone to fall down on her from the sky.
Etta knew. She may not have much experience in that arena, but she knew that much. She’d learned from her own wedded “bliss” that satisfaction wasn’t a sin—it was lack of it that was the shame.
She’d given Rosie her list of excuses—she’d been busy with a full course load wh
ile working a part time job…
And she hadn’t been able to imagine a way to have sex without showing her skin. Specifically her back and left calf. Even when she felt safe enough with a man to go on a date, and even when she thought she might like to do more with him, it was just too hard to get lost in the moment when you had to make sure certain parts of you weren’t accidentally seen.
As for her needs, she was all too aware of those. They’d been banging at the door, demanding to be let out, for months. And now that the star of her adolescent fantasies was walking beside her with that sexy, confident swagger, there was no shutting them up.
“You okay, Etta?”
“Fine.” Speaking of fine... She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Honestly. Rosie worries too much. I can get back on my own. I promise I won’t tell her we disobeyed.”
He stopped and turned toward her, reaching for her hand. Etta swore something akin to static electricity zapped her, followed by another wave of heat that went straight through her body and made her thighs quiver.
More than sparks. Fire.
“You might not tell her, but I will,” he assured her. “She’s scary when crossed and creative in her revenge. Besides, I’m no good at lying.”
“Says the man.” The instant the words left her mouth, Etta wanted to take them back. Why had she said something so rude? Here he was, being a gentleman by allowing his cousin to strong arm him into giving her a ride, and she repaid him by implying that he…that all men were liars. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Bitter. It sounded bitter.
Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll forgive you if you call me Christie. Everyone else does. If it helps, just think of this as part of the full tattooing experience. Midnight Ink prides itself on taking a personal interest in our favored customers. Especially if their birthdays happen to be in January and they have naturally curly hair.”