“Already covered.” Tate rounded the back of the car and grabbed her hand just in time to help pull her from the low-slung seats. “Katy got tired of making coffee runs and put one of those single brew coffee things in the break room about a week ago. I’m not sure who’s happier—Priest because it means I’m not bringing in Whataburger breakfasts with my coffee hauls anymore, or me and Jade because we don’t have to fight over whose turn it is to go.”
“And none of you considered just putting in a coffee machine?”
Tate chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist like they’d been together years instead of days, guiding her to the half flight of stairs that led to the building’s raised back door. “Where’s the fun in that? We’re family. We gotta have something to bitch and hassle each other about.”
Coming in through the back instead of the shop’s storefront, it was a break room that greeted her first. A simple white Formica table that could have done duty at a coffee house sat in a corner with matching metal chairs around it. A refrigerator that was probably white ten years ago but was closer now to ivory sat tucked in a little alcove, and a long wall of dove gray counter space and cabinets with a sink in the middle ran opposite of it. It should have been depressing, and probably would have been combined with the industrial white tiles, but with the artwork adorning the walls, it was magical. Animals. Tribal designs. Flirty pinup cartoons and mystical beasts. If it existed in the real world or fiction, there had to be some rendition of it on the walls around her.
Vaguely, she clocked Tate setting aside his keys, billfold and phone, but most of her attention was rooted to the wall closest to her. “This is where you and Priest keep your designs?”
“This is more personal stuff. The ones you’re looking at are mine. The other wall is all Priest’s stuff. Nothing back here would end up on a random customer. It’s more for clanspeople or people we’re close to.”
Near the center of the wall was a drawing so elaborate—the details and the coloring so rich—it looked more like a photo than anything handcrafted. And it wasn’t just the skill of the drawing that caught her eye, but the content even more so.
A petite and fluffy fox snuggled trustingly next to a lounging black bear.
“Tate, this is beautiful.” She lifted her hand to touch it, then thought better of risking any damage to his work and glanced over her shoulder. “What made you put the two of them together?”
His gaze drifted to the picture and a smile mixed with both sadness and pride curved his lips. He paced toward her, blanketing her back and cupping her shoulders. “They represent my mom and dad. He was a hard man and aloof to those who weren’t close to him, but around her, he was an absolute teddy bear.”
He’d captured that. Not just in the protective way the bear lay semi curled around the little fox, but in the peace radiating from his eyes. A powerful predator willingly tamed. “I don’t know anything about art, but that one’s exceptional.”
“I’ll need to start a new one after we see what your animal is.” He dipped his head enough to skim a soft kiss to her cheek. “Come on. I’ve got to set up and I want time to get you started on something before my first client gets here.”
Even with her frequent trips to Lafayette and explorations in between classes, Elise had never once stepped foot in a tattoo shop, but she had a feeling this one wasn’t like most. Where the break room’s fixtures had been stark and void of color, the main area was a mix of urban art studio with exposed and weathered brick walls and a gothic heaven. Three rooms lined one side of the wide-open space, each with doors that allowed for privacy, where the primary section boasted every imaginable design on the walls and body jewelry in several glass cases. The room farthest from the door seemed bigger than the others and, while she couldn’t get a visual from where she gawked at the center of the room, the low masculine voice told her Priest was already inside and working.
Jade popped up from behind one counter, her dark hair pulled up in one of those artfully messy buns Elise had never been able to pull off and her fitted T-shirt a surprisingly good match for the Mini Cooper outside. She smiled and carefully dumped an armload of small cardboard jewelry boxes on the countertop. “Hey, Elise.” Her gaze shifted to Tate. “You’re late.”
“I thought you said my first one’s at eleven?”
“I did. It’s ten fifteen now, so you’re pushing it if you want to get Elise set up.”
Tate harrumphed and steered Elise toward the room in the middle with a hand at the small of her back. “Plenty of time. You get the stuff?”
“Yep.”
Elise followed where he led in a distracted haze, the sheer volume of amazing designs on the walls making it hard to know what to take in first. Heck, just the bright and shiny jewelry and charms under the counter would keep her oohing and aching for a good long while. “Get me set up for what?”
She rounded the corner to the room Tate had steered her to and stopped dead in her tracks, the answer she’d wanted from Tate displaced by a more pressing interest. “Why are there like twenty plus honeydews and grapefruits stacked in a fruit pyramid on your table?” At least she assumed the configurable black table was Tate’s. The artwork lining the room sure looked like his other stuff.
Tate strolled to the brushed chrome wall cabinet stocked with everything from cotton balls, alcohol wipes and black latex gloves, to razors, ink bottles and every color of Sharpie known to man. “The pyramid’s Jade’s way of yanking my chain. The grapefruits and honeydews are for you.”
“Um...” She studied the artfully arranged fruit, then shifted her gaze to Tate who’d already dug right in to pulling things out of drawers and cabinets. “I’m not hungry?”
He grinned over his shoulder and split open a packet with something long, skinny and silver inside it. “They’re not to eat.”
Fascinated by his smooth, efficient movements, she padded closer to watch him work. “What are you doing?”
“Prepping you a tattoo machine.”
“What? Why?”
Rather than answer right away, he tugged open a drawer and pulled out a thin stack of art paper. He slid it onto the counter in front of her then thumbed through a holder full of Sharpies. “I had an idea last night on the way home, so I’m going with it.” He waggled the pen in front of her. “Write your name on the paper.”
“My name?”
“Yeah, your signature. It’s pretty.”
“How do you know what my signature looks like?”
“Because the day I fixed the sink in your kitchen, your mom got carried away showing me pictures of you at summer camp in junior high and there were letters from you folded up along with them.” He nudged the paper closer and held the pen out. “It’s just a signature.”
No, it wasn’t. She wasn’t exactly sure what the real game was, but there was way too much clever calculation going on behind his eyes to be just a signature. Still, playful Tate was an awful lot of fun to be around and she’d promised herself to enjoy the day.
She took the marker and carefully wrote her name at the top.
Tate cocked his head and scanned it for a second. “Do a few more beneath it, but don’t think about it. Just sign like you would if you were signing for a pizza.”
“If I do it like that you won’t be able to read it. I’m usually starving by the time I break down and order a pizza.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Okay then. Somewhere in between slow and pizza scrawl.”
Sighing, she did two more, the last of the three a decent mix of legible and artistic. “Now what?”
“Now I take these and finish getting set up while you hit the break room and get us both a cup of coffee.”
“Seriously? You’re not going to clue me in?”
“Absolutely.” He paused in pulling something else out of the cabinets, leaned back and brushed a teasing kiss across her lips. “I’
m just not stupid enough to do it until I know you’re caffeinated.”
Her grunt sounded like something more appropriate for his coyote, but he had a point. Everything was better with coffee. Dastardly plans from gorgeous bearded men included. “Fine.” She turned and stomped a whole two steps away before she realized her grand exit was going to get derailed by a lack of information. “I don’t know how you take yours.”
“Black. But save the ones marked dark roast for Priest. I don’t know where he bought ’em, but I think they could fuel a jet engine.”
By the time she’d fumbled through the kitchen cabinets, brewed two coffees and meandered back, Tate had restacked the fruit at the foot of a small art table in the corner. All but one of them anyway. One honeydew sat in the center of the plain white tabletop and a machine just a little smaller than her hand sat mostly covered in plastic beside it. “Is that what I think it is?”
Tate turned from the cabinet with a smallish oblong shaped piece of paper and headed for the table. “I don’t know. What do you think it is?”
“Something that looks like I should have brewed a double dose?” She padded close enough to slide the cup she’d made for Tate onto the countertop, then watched as he carefully pressed the paper to the honeydew’s surface.
He peeled it away and spun the fruit around to show her name exactly as she’d written it transferred on the thick surface. “It’s a day in the life, right? Might as well get you hooked up with a machine and let you see what it’s like to do the actual work.”
“You want me to tattoo my name on a fruit?”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d be a fan of pig’s feet.”
She shuddered and stepped back.
Tate chuckled and guided her to the chair behind the table. “Come on. It’s not as bad as you think.”
In truth, it wasn’t. A little noisy. A whole lot awkward, like a seriously weighted and bulky pen in her hand, and weird with the way the vibrations rattled up her forearm, but all in all, the process was pretty cool. Granted, her lines were a complete mess and the final product looked nothing like the name he’d transferred to begin with, but it’d been a fun experience. She spun the honeydew back and forth, admiring her atrocious work. “Okay, so giving up kinesiology for ink probably isn’t a smart idea.”
Priest’s low voice from the doorway nearly jolted her from her seat. “Tate’s first try looked worse, but look at him now.”
One look at the fruit and tattoo machine in front of Elise and Katy hurried past Priest for a closer look. “Oh, wow.” She ran her finger along the funky line that was supposed to be the lower curve of her E then locked stares with Priest over her shoulder. “How come you haven’t taught me to do this?”
His wicked smile was enough to set an ice cube on fire. “Well, I was good with the marks you’ve been leaving with your nails and teeth, but if you want to add ink to the mix, I guess we could go there.”
Jade poked her head between Priest’s massive body and the door frame. “Hey, Tate. Your eleven o’clock’s here.” She scanned the room then locked on to Elise’s morning project and grinned. “Not bad for a first time. You should have seen Tate’s. Total disaster.”
Leaning against the counter’s edge, Tate crossed his arms and glared at Jade. “You gonna bust my balls in front of Elise or bring my client in?”
“That’s a no-brainer. Busting your balls is way more fun and you can get your own damned client.” Despite the sharp words, she paired the jab with a wink and shifted her attention to Elise. “Once you get the knack of ink, I’m totally teaching you how to do piercings. You wouldn’t believe the guy I got to do a dydoe on last weekend.”
Tate shoved from the counter and prowled toward Jade still leaning through the door. “She’s not doing any dydoes.”
“What’s a dydoe?” Elise asked.
Kateri coughed and covered her mouth with her hand.
Priest tried to fight a smile, but did a terrible job of pulling it off.
Jade shifted just enough to keep Elise in her line of sight despite Tate moving in fast. “Oh, girl. We gotta talk. It’s a piercing.”
“You can talk all you want, but Elise isn’t getting near anyone’s dick but mine.” With that, Tate herded her out of the doorway.
“Ha,” she fired back as they both disappeared from sight. “You’re assuming she even wants anything to do with your dick.”
Elise shifted her gaze to Priest. “So, it’s that kind of piercing?”
“One of many,” he said with a chuckle. “But you’ll have to stick to Google if you want to see what they look like. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of Tate leaving you alone long enough to get any in-person viewings.” He motioned Katy closer. “Come on, mihara. We gotta get back from our meet up with Garrett and Alek before two. I’ve got a client who’s gonna eat up the whole afternoon.”
Katy hesitated just enough to give Elise a hopeful look. “You’ll still be here when I get back, right?”
Elise glanced down at the fruit stacked on the floor beside her. “If that pile is any indication, I might be here until the shop is closed.”
“Oh, I doubt Tate’s going to make it to close with you here, but I’m glad we’ll have time to talk.” She waved and slid into the crook of Priest’s outstretched arm, but the glint in her eyes spoke of secrets and mischief. “Have fun playing with Tate.”
Playing with Tate turned out to be a mix of fascinating hours spent watching him work and tedious repetition inking her name. Granted, the tedium wasn’t all that bad when he didn’t have a customer to work on. Those periods he spent straddled behind her in her chair coaching her on technique. Not that she remembered a darned word he said. If he’d wanted her to actually learn something he’d have had to take his hands off her hips and not talk with his lips right near her ear in that sinfully low voice, like he was right now.
He nuzzled her neck, tickling the skin exposed by her ponytail with his beard. “I think you’ve got the hang of it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a miracle. Your mouth’s a distraction.”
“Mmmm.” His lips skimmed downward as far as the neckline of her tank would allow. “One more client and I’ll see if I can’t find other ways to distract you.”
The bell above the shop’s front door jingled, and Tate’s warm breath whispered down her back.
She gave up trying to focus and killed the machine, the room’s answering quiet almost as erotic as the press of his muscled torso against her back. “Is that your client?” It came out as ragged as her pulse.
Tate must’ve noticed because his fingers tightened on her hips. “If it is, then I’m that much closer to the best part of the day.”
“What’s the best part?”
“Alone time with you.” He guided her face toward his with a gentle finger at her chin. “Do one more for me.” With that, he kissed her soft but quick, stood and disappeared to the front of the shop.
She was still staring at her last attempt, trying to gauge her work and unsuccessfully getting her wits back together, when Tate led a woman almost as tall as him and built to dominate the fashion industry into the room. Given her toned muscles, the high-end yoga leggings and racerback tank weren’t just for show, and her hair was an enviable dark chocolate that fell in beachy waves to her shoulders.
The stranger peeled off her tank with a casualness Elise would never be able to muster in public and stretched out on her stomach, casting Elise a polite smile over one shoulder. “Hey. I’m Emma.”
One simple greeting, and Elise hated her. Absolutely, unequivocally hated her. Hated her freckle-free creamy skin. Hated the fact that, while Tate hadn’t seen Emma disrobe and couldn’t see her breasts now, one change in position would change all that. Hated the elegant and yet unfinished vine of exotic flowers twining down her back.
Tate had put those there.
Would finish it.
Would put his hands on her to do it.
“I’m Elise.” How she managed to say even that much was a mystery. All she knew in that second with absolute clarity was that the tattoo machine lying innocently in front of her had a relatively narrow point to it and could do a decent amount of damage if she used it right.
Apparently, the lack of warmth in her tone was even worse than she’d thought, because Tate froze mid-prepping his machines and locked a concerned stare on Elise. “You okay?”
“Fine.” More like seething hard enough to fuel the pits of hell, but no way would she admit otherwise. She fought the urge to throw the used honeydew at the gorgeous woman’s head and placed it on the ground with the rest of the used ones instead.
“Elise?”
She ignored Tate and the soft tenor of his voice, snatched a fresh grapefruit and thunked it on the tabletop.
“Elise, look at me.”
Hell no. Looking up meant looking at Emma stretched out and ready for Tate to touch her, and if she did that, she was pretty sure she’d end up in jail.
What is wrong with you?
The answer didn’t come, but an overpowering urge to physically put herself between Tate and Emma left her muscles tight and burning and a cold sheen of sweat fanning out along her neck. “I think I’ll take a break.”
Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strained, and the room around her registered as though it was a whole different reality. Like a camera projected the image from a remote location instead of from her own two eyes.
One second her gaze locked on to the safety of the break room door, and the next the world spun around her. Her back hit something solid, followed by the hot press of Tate’s muscled body against her front.
And then she was drowning in his kiss. His devastating, all consuming kiss.
He fisted his hand in her hair and dragged her head back, deepening each wicked stroke from his tongue and growling into her mouth. The delicious sound rumbled through her, ricocheting out in all directions and soothing her tension in its wake. Emma didn’t matter. Reality didn’t matter. Only his taste. His touch. His scent.
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