MidnightInk-epub

by MI

  Etta crossed her arms. “Rosie wouldn’t be angry. She’s the one who told me I needed to…” She shifted uncomfortably. “Enjoy myself.” She was also the one who sent her home with Christie in the first place.

  He folded up the printer paper and slipped it into his pocket, reaching for a white towel that was folded on top of the bookshelf with a grin. “Honey, I’m not talking about that.”

  He started wiping the chair down. “It’s this thing. The expensive antique we nearly broke a few minutes ago. The one Henry Lee promised would be hers one day. She loves it more than she likes most people.”

  Etta smiled foolishly up at him, unable to help herself when she thought about what they’d done in that chair. How Rosie would react if she found out. She did love her uncle’s collection of classic tattoo paraphernalia. “I see your point. We won’t speak of the chair again…but I make no other promises.”

  ***

  Rosie returned just as they came to stand beside the front desk. Etta noticed only one other artist who hadn’t been in before they went into the office, and the gorgeous dark-haired Eli, whose expression when she’d passed him was positively wicked.

  Sassy, too, was looking rather pleased with herself. Etta glanced over at Christie and noticed the light red flush on his cheeks. He looked like a kid who’d been caught in the act. It made her want to kiss him. Or unbutton his jeans, bend down and lick him like a candy cane.

  He’d created a monster. A shameless one.

  Luckily, no one teased them or said anything that might give Rosie a clue about what they’d been doing. Yet. From the stories she’d heard about shop gossip from her friend, that wouldn’t last long. Etta just hoped it lasted long enough for her to be the one to share. And while they were sharing, she hoped Rosie had more to tell about a certain Australian alpha male and what he was doing to her friend’s hard candy shell.

  For now, all Rosie’s attention was on her. “I tried to call you this morning on my way in to see how you’re feeling.”

  Etta licked her lip nervously. “I must have had the volume down. Sorry about that. The tattoo looks fantastic, though and I feel great. I can’t stop checking out my leg in the mirror.”

  “I knew you’d like it.” Rosie looked pleased. And just as stunning as she always did, even though she’d gotten her to work before noon. Etta had always admired her friend’s curves and fashion sense. She always looked so…cool. And her tattoos didn’t do anything to detract from the blue-eyed, black-haired beauty gene that obviously ran in her family.

  “I love it.”

  Rosie nodded thoughtfully. “The back will be harder. You’ll need someone to help you clean it and apply the ointment.”

  She took Etta’s hand and walked toward her station, lowering her voice. “This first session is just outline. I can test a bit of color to see how your skin takes it, but since the hummingbird went so well I think the pink of the cherry blossoms will really pop. The good news is the design I drew up for the stencil should ensure that, even before we add color, the lettering will be unnoticeable.”

  Etta could sense Christie watching them intently. She hoped he hadn’t heard that. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel.”

  Rosie’s grip tightened on her hand and she turned to look up at her, a fierce expression on her beautiful face. “Etta, you are one of my oldest friends. Seeing that tattoo the other day, knowing what you went through—at least, what you’ve told me—trust me, it makes me feel good, too. Every time I think about it, I wish I’d taken you home from that party after I saw you with that prick. Or that he hadn’t been shanked so I could hurt him, repeatedly, with every sharp instrument at my disposal until he prayed for death.”

  She took a breath and glanced around, as if ensuring no one had heard her whispered rant. “I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to go there. But I want to get this right for you. You deserve something beautiful on your skin. Something that truly represents you and the way you’re blossoming, I can’t think of a better tattoo than the one we’ve chosen.”

  Etta smiled softly. “I agree. And I have the best tattoo artist in Louisiana to make sure it’s perfect.”

  Rosie’s eyes sparkled with repressed emotion. “Damn right. Let’s get started then, shall we?”

  Christie spoke loudly enough for them to hear his sarcasm. “Good morning to you, too, Rosie. Me? I’m fine. Thank you for asking. I’m also ready whenever you are.”

  Etta looked over at him as he dragged a stool over to Rosie’s station and set up the table before moving to erect the privacy screen. When he was done, he kept his back to them. “Don’t worry, I promise not to peek.”

  “Wait just a damn minute, Christie Ryder. Owner or not, you can’t just take over and—”

  Etta squeezed Rosie’s hand again. “It’s okay. I…asked him to be here. To distract me, remember?”

  “I don’t remember giving him permission to be this up-close and irritating.” Rosie’s slender brows furrowed over her bright blue eyes. “Are you sure?”

  She knew what her friend was asking. Etta had been adamant that no one but Rosie see the original tattoo. She’d woken herself up in fear when the Christie in her dreams had gotten a look. But after what had just happened in the office… “I’m sure.”

  Etta took off her shirt while Rosie, who was still frowning, pulled out the transfer paper and made sure her station was ready.

  She lay down on her stomach and rested her chin on her folded arms, her back bared. She’d never felt so vulnerable.

  “That must have been one interesting ride home,” Rosie muttered as she settled onto her own high stool beside Etta. “If only someone had called to tell me about it. I’m going to want details later, but since we have company, are you comfortable?”

  No. She was anxious. More nervous than she had been yesterday, because she wouldn’t be able to see what was happening. The last time she’d been in this situation, a different tattoo than the one she’d asked for had been inked into her back at her husband’s request.

  This is Rosie. The one person in the world you know would never betray your trust.

  The knots in her stomach weren’t listening to reason. “Shaky,” she answered honestly. “But I’ll be okay.”

  “You can turn around and make yourself useful anytime now, CC,” Rosie’s voice was dry. “Unless your plan is just to stand guard. I’ll admit I’m curious—how are you supposed to distract her without your guitar?”

  Christie turned around slowly, purposely not looking at her revealed skin as he placed the stool beside Etta’s head and sat down. His gaze was firmly fixed on hers. He was so close she could see the flecks of black mixed into the deep blue of his eyes. His lower lip, swollen from her kisses. Those sharp teeth that had left a mark she could still feel on her breast.

  Wasn’t he curious about what she was having covered up? Anyone would be. She would be. But his attention never wavered or shifted. As if he knew how much she’d been dreading this moment, and her trust was more important to him than his curiosity.

  She’d thought she would be nervous with him so close, whether he got a look at the tattoo or not. Instead all she could think about was how deliciously her body ached from what they’d just done together. How intimate this felt, looking into his eyes. Just being with him.

  Etta dropped one of her hands from its perch on the table and he took it, his fingers caressing her palm. “I forgot to bring my guitar.”

  Rosie made a sound of disbelief as she transferred the design onto Etta’s back. “That’s a first.”

  Christie was staring at Etta’s lips. “You’re right. It is a first. I suppose we’ll have to make do without it.”

  He started to sing as soon as Etta tensed at the hum of the tattoo gun.

  Singing to her. For her alone.

  If there was pain she barely felt it, though her skin was tingling from head to toe. If time passed, she wasn’t aware. All she saw, all she heard, all she knew was Christie. His hand hol
ding hers, his voice in her ears, his eyes silently telling her things she wasn’t sure she was ready to believe.

  But she wanted to. It worried her how much.

  Chapter Seven

  Christie was bent over his guitar, trying to work out the song that had been swirling around in his head for a week, when he realized he wasn’t alone.

  “Haven’t seen you at our bench in days, son.” The deep familiar voice held a tinge of surprise. “I was beginning to think you’d found a better place to while away your time.”

  Christie nodded at the old gentleman, who’d sat down without his even noticing. It had been days since he was here, he realized—six to be exact. Had it only been six? When he was young, a priest had assured him God created the universe and everything in it in that same length of time. He’d had trouble believing it even then. When something was that important, it took more than a few days. It took eons. It took patience.

  But rules for mountains weren’t the same as those for human hearts, apparently. At least not in his case.

  He’d fallen in love with Etta Santos. And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

  The old man tapped Christie’s leg with his cane. “I can hear the wheels grinding and see smoke pouring out of your ears, my friend. You could talk to an impartial observer about your troubles. Someone who has heard the same song more times than he can count.”

  It was eerie how much this was like the dream he’d had the night after he met Etta. They’d been sitting here, just like this, the man talking to him about the real magic of New Orleans. Something about souls. The details were fuzzy since they’d been pushed aside as soon as Etta entered his dreamscape and gave him an erotic preview of what was to come.

  It was the best fantasy of his life, but the reality had been so much better.

  After she rode him to heaven in Henry Lee’s office and then got the outline of her back tattoo, he’d taken her to his place. He’d been determined to take care of her, but she’d been just as determined to experiment with sexual positions that worked around her temporary handicap.

  She’d been his dessert, his breakfast, and his air for days. The things they’d done with and to each other…the things Etta had let him do… But it was never enough. He still wanted her as much as he had the first time he kissed her. Wanted her more.

  And it wasn’t just the sex, though he couldn’t deny the wildfire between them. It was waking up to find her in his arms. Making her laugh. Seeing her eyes light up in true surprise when he opened a door for her or brought her breakfast in bed. As if no one had ever taken care of her before. As if no one had seen how special she was.

  They hadn’t spent every waking moment together. Etta had gone to brunch with Rosie. She’d gone back to her aunt’s a few times for clothes, and over to Celestin Rousseau’s house for dinner and bonding time with the baby.

  But all her nights, and most of the time in between, she spent with him.

  When she wasn’t with him, Christie felt as if he were in limbo, waiting for life—for her—to come back. The one silver lining was that her absence made him productive. He had hammered out more songs this week than he had in a year.

  But he couldn’t stay in his bubble forever. When Sassy called Christie over to Midnight Ink to sign that paperwork he’d forgotten about again, he hadn’t wanted to linger the way he normally did. Hadn’t wanted anyone or anything to bring him crashing back down to reality. Unfortunately, Rosie had been waiting to do just that.

  “Other than Henry Lee, you are my favorite relative,” she’d assured him. “I also like to think you’re one of the good guys, as far as women are concerned, but I know how overwhelming desire can be. I know it can make people do things they never…” She blew out a long breath. “Just trust me, I know.”

  Christie heard an undercurrent in her voice that he knew had nothing to do with Etta. “Rosie, is there something going on with you? Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

  “No. Christie, this isn’t about me. It also isn’t my story to tell, but you should know she’s been through a lot.”

  “I’ve been getting that feeling.”

  “Too much,” Rosie added grimly. “I’m not sure I could come back from that still believing in love songs and happy endings. Not that I do now. That’s your department.”

  He’d come away from that conversation not knowing if Rosie was warning him not to hurt Etta or not to get too serious about her. But it seemed to confirm his suspicions that Etta’s marriage hadn’t been a good one.

  She hadn’t told him. He would know for certain if she didn’t close up every time he tried to find out more about her family. About her past.

  The whistling pulled him back to the present and the old, bearded gentleman beside him. The tune sounded like his song, the one he’d been hearing in his head but hadn’t been able to work out on his guitar.

  “Sorry.” Christie shook his head with a humorless laugh. “I got lost for a minute there.”

  “I’ve seen some good men stricken by the sickness before, Christopher Ryder, but you are unique.”

  Christie frowned. “Sickness?”

  The man nodded, his dark eyes sparkling. “Love sickness. Some try to fight it off, and some think they can wait the fever out. But you just opened all the doors and windows and invited it to come on in, didn’t you?”

  Christie’s grin was rueful. “Calling me a sucker, friend?”

  “Not at all,” the man said with a smile. “There’s one of those born every minute, and like I said, you are unique. It’s a gift to know what you want. A strength. You’re one of the lucky ones, if you ask me. You’ve always known. What path you wanted to travel, who you could count on, when you needed to come home.”

  He leaned closer. “You got something in your gut that tells you when it’s right, and you listen. The curse of it is that—on occasion—you have to wait for other people to catch up to you. I’m thinking it’s your muse. That girl from the other day?”

  “She’s the one,” he murmured. It was true. Every hour of every day she was with him only confirmed what he’d known from the moment he laid eyes on her. She was made for him.

  And that same “something” was also reasonably sure she hadn’t realized it yet. Or if she had, she wasn’t willing to admit it. Not after a few explosive, passionate days of mindboggling sex. Not when she knew she would only be here one more week.

  “She’s the one,” he repeated. “But she’s drawn a line in the sand, you know? I can feel it. Don’t get me wrong, this week has been unbelievable. She is unbelievable. I keep telling myself it’s only been a few days. Expecting more right now is unrealistic. I just need to be patient and she’ll open up to me. Tell me why she gets such a sad look in her eyes when she talks about her cousin’s kids. Why she shuts down when I ask her about anything before she went back to school, especially anything to do with her parents. Her husband.”

  He set down his guitar and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “She’s holding back, and it’s like Christmas morning and I get to open every present but one, so that’s the only one I want. But at any moment she could hop on a plane and take it away, and I’ll never know what was inside.”

  Christie dropped his head in his hands with a raw laugh. “God damn it, I am a sucker. You know I’ve written love songs since I could put pen to paper but I don’t think I’ve ever been in… Hell, I’m sorry, man. I’m not sure why I’m telling you this.”

  The hand on his shoulder radiated warmth. “Because I’m here. Always have been. But maybe we’re looking at this situation the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man sighed. “Maybe patience isn’t the right answer this time. You didn’t wait for your music to come to you. You went running after it like your shoes were on fire and you never stopped.”

  Christie lifted his head, looking down at his hands. “That was easy. That was just about me.”

  Unrestrained laughter brought his head up.
“’That was easy,’ he says. Which part? Leaving your family? Starving on the road and playing on the street for pennies?” His cane hit the ground, punctuating his remarks. “Oh, I know, don’t tell me. It was all those holidays you couldn’t afford to make it home and sat alone in your motel room with only your guitar to keep you warm. Or when you started making money, trying to balance your obligations to your band with helping your parents move after Katrina or making sure your uncle got the best cancer treatment money could buy.”

  The man took a breath. “Or maybe you mean it was easy to turn down the deal that could have made you famous if only you’d dropped the rest of your band and gone solo. Maybe something like that’s easy when it happens in the movies, but how many times does it happen to you?”

  He had Christie’s full attention now.

  “How did you know that?” He’d never told a soul about that. Especially not his band.

  The cane waved away his question as if it were an irritating insect. “My point is you’ve never done the easy thing. That’s not your style. What you do is the right thing. For your band. For Henry Lee. For your parents. And now you’re thinking the right thing is to wait for your woman to realize you aren’t like that last man. That she can trust you. You’re thinking you shouldn’t push the river, as they say. It’s got to go where it will flow.”

  Christie was starting to feel lightheaded. And that’s when he knew he was dreaming again. It was the only explanation that made any sense. The only way this stranger could know so much about his life. “You’re an unusual man. You had me going there for a while.”

  Dark eyes twinkled. “I’ve heard I’m getting more eccentric in my old age.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “You said she drew a line?” Christie nodded and the man smiled, his teeth gleaming. “I say cross it. Take a risk. Find that Christmas present and open it up. If you’re sure it’s what you want, that you can handle whatever comes out of that box, then do what you need to do to get the river to come to you.” He laughed again. “Hey, that rhymed didn’t it? You must be rubbing off on me. You have my permission to put that in one of your songs.”