Biting down on her smile, she applied the green soap again, dabbed the stencil lightly with a fresh paper towel, and angled her machine light over him. She tapped the foot pedal twice to set it on cruise, and she leaned in.
“Here goes,” she whispered, pulling his skin tight with her left hand and letting the tip touch down, biting into his flesh. Wren pulled back and looked up to check on him. Lee’s eyes were closed, his brows high on his forehead. “You okay?”
He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. The heat in them nearly knocked her back.
“Yes, Wren.” His voice, low and hoarse, hit the tingly spot in her belly, and she took a measured breath. On the exhale, she set the tip back to his skin, and a sound, low and short, came from his throat. She didn’t stop, and she didn’t take her eyes off the stencil.
People reacted differently to their first tattoo. She thought she’d seen it all. The Fainters. The Shriekers. The Laughers. The tough guys with the stoic looks. And the ones who felt a rush and rode it like a wave.
She’d never seen the look Lee wore — as though he were submitting himself to the sweetest torture.
Wren felt his look sear through her, fluttering up to her heart and spreading down into her womb. She shifted on her feet and threw her concentration into the lining.
The first drop of blood that bloomed on his skin seemed to yank at her heart. Blood had never bothered her before; it came with the territory, but Wren found she had to concentrate harder on pressing ahead after she saw it. So she did. Down along the shaft, around the bit of the key, carving out the notched cross, up along the bottom, and then around the decorative head. She paused only to dab up the excess ink and the occasional drop of blood. Each time she did, she’d glance up to find Lee watching her with unshaken focus.
When Wren tapped the pedal to stop the machine so she could swap out the liner for the shader, she noticed Rocky grab his keys.
“Where are you going?” she asked, hearing panic in her voice.
Rocky cocked a brow at her and gestured to the empty studio. “No customers. I’m running to the bank while I can.”
Wren tried to shoot lasers from her eyes, but they only served to make her boss laugh.
“Be good, you two,” he called over his shoulder as he pushed his way out the door.
She swallowed and turned back to her tray, avoiding Lee’s eyes even more now that they were alone. She opened the pack of shader needles, changed the pigment to the mustard, and put on a fresh pair of gloves.
“This will feel a little different,” she told him. “More needles, but less pain.”
“Okay.” His voice still sounded hoarse, but Wren ignored it, hit her pedal again, and got back to work.
She started at the bit of the skeleton key, the largest area of the design, but she swept the shader across carefully so she didn’t lose the sharpness of the cross. She’d just made her way around it when Lee’s hand was suddenly at her cheek.
“Wren.”
She pulled the machine back and jumped out of his touch. “Don’t move.” She met his eyes to scold him, but his pupils, so dark and wide, made her heart start racing and her mouth go dry.
“I want to touch you.”
Wren hid her shiver. “Well, you can’t. Put your hand down or leave.”
He dropped his hand, but he didn’t look any less determined. “Keep going.”
“Don’t move again,” she warned. “I do perfect work. I won’t let you fuck this up.”
A grin lifted the side of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned in again. “And stop teasing me,” she snapped. She had to pull back the shader when he laughed, and it was easier to scowl at him this time.
“I won’t tease you,” he agreed.
She touched the shader against his skin again.
“But I will talk to you.”
Wren just rolled her eyes and kept working.
“I’ve wanted to be alone in a room with you for weeks.”
Oh my God. Her bones threatened to melt. “Stop. Please,” she hissed, but she didn’t pull the shader away. The sooner she finished, the sooner she’d be free. “You said you wouldn’t tease.”
“I’m not teasing, Wren.”
She sighed. Her best course of action would be to say nothing, just keep working. Little by little, she filled in the shaft of the key.
“I want your phone number.”
“Fine. I’ll give it to you,” she snapped. “Just shut the fuck up already.”
Lee’s chest shook with his laughter, and she pulled away just before mustard pigment crossed over black liner.
“Goddammit. Be still!”
He still laughed, and she glared at him, unamused.
“You do realize tattoos are permanent, right?”
“I can’t help it.” He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “You’re so damn funny.”
“Yes. Clearly. You laugh at me all the time.”
His laughter choked off, and his eyes widened. “Wren, I’m not laughing at you. You make me laugh. It’s not the same thing.”
It was too much attention. She shook her head and bent over him again.
“Whatever it is, stop until I’m done with this.”
She finished filling in the mustard, and she switched out her colors for the platinum.
“Almost there,” she muttered, leaning in one last time.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “I don’t know anyone like you.”
Without looking up from the tat, she rolled her eyes. “You don’t know me.”
“So let me get to know you,” he said gently.
If he knew me, she thought, he wouldn’t be in such hurry.
“What was that for?” he asked.
Wren frowned but didn’t stop working. “What was what for?”
“That sigh.”
“I didn’t sigh,” she protested.
“Yes, you did.”
She ignored him. The shading was almost finished. And as soon as Studio Ink closed, she was going straight to Agave and ordering the sixteen-ounce Top Shelf Margarita.
“When I saw you this morning, you said you were helping a friend,” he said, and she could hear in his voice that he was leading up to a question.
She glanced up at him and back at her work before he could continue.
“Were you giving her a ride to a meeting or were you helping to admit her?”
Wren pulled the shader back, but her heart started to pound against her chest. “What does it matter?”
Lee gazed back at her with the gentlest expression. “It doesn’t. But when I saw you — by the trees at the courthouse — you looked upset.” He paused, and his eyes searched her face in a way she didn’t like.
She looked back at the tattoo, even though it was completely finished.
Wren couldn’t let herself go back to that memory. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone, so she told him about Curtis instead.
“I was helping a friend. He’s starting a thirty-day inpatient program.”
“You talked him into going.” It wasn’t a question. “See? I already know you’re a good person.”
Wren put the shader down and turned off the machine. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered, and thrust the mirror back into his hands. “You’re done.”
Lee held the mirror in front of him. “Oh my God… that is so cool,” he said in awe. He sat up on the table, still checking it out. “It looks so real.”
He reached his hand up to touch it, and she batted it away. “No touching. It needs to stay sterile for a little while.”
She traded out her gloves a third time and gave the tattoo a final coat of green soap. It did look good. It looked great. The shading marks matched the original key perfectly.
Wren cut him a four-by-six piece of gauze and settled it gently over the fresh tattoo. “I’m going to tape this down, and you need to leave it on for at least twelve hours.”
Lee smiled. “Perfect. I have
a twelve-hour shift at the hospital in a little while.”
She ignored him. “It’ll be sore for a few days. And later, it’ll itch. Do. Not. Scratch. It. When you take the bandage off, you should treat it with a topical antibiotic twice a day for three days.” Then she got in his face. “If one of your patients has a staph infection, you keep it the hell away from my tattoo.”
His eyes sparkled. “Yes, ma’am.”
Again, she ignored him while she taped down his dressing. And, now that he sat up higher than she stood, Wren also had to ignore how his body loomed above hers. How his scent of sagebrush and soap was stronger now that he was upright.
“Okay,” she said, pressing down the last piece of tape and pulling her hands away. “Get dressed, and I’ll ring you up.”
She turned away, and, in matter of seconds, she put the distance of the whole shop between them. But even while she keyed in his purchase behind the counter on the company iPad, she managed to watch him dress out of the corner of her eye.
And the sight of him pulling on his button-down blue dress shirt made her breath stutter. Because — for now anyway — she was the only one who knew his secret. He would go to the hospital, and no one would suspect what was hidden right over his heart. The thought of her tattoo hiding beneath that dress shirt and tie was just about the sexiest thing Wren could imagine.
“That will be $125.00,” she said, congratulating herself on how cool and aloof she sounded, even as he stalked up to her, straightening his silk tie.
Lee handed over his Visa card, and she read his name across the front: Leland T. Hawthorne.
“What’s the T stand for?” she heard herself asking.
So much for sounding cool and aloof.
But this question earned her a look of surprise before he answered. “Thomas… after my father.”
“I should have known,” she mumbled under her breath, swiping his card through the Square reader.
Lee narrowed his eyes at her, but even this look couldn’t dim the way they twinkled.
“What’s your middle name?” he asked.
“Is that really the question you want to ask me?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, looking hopeful but cautious. “No. I don’t care if your middle name is Elephant.”
In spite of herself, she laughed, and Lee picked up one of her business cards from the counter and swiped a pen. “What’s your phone number?”
Sure she would regret the decision, Wren took the card and pen from him and wrote down her cell number.
“Here.”
He snatched back the card and read her number, beaming. It was hard not to smile in return. Then he pinned her with his gaze.
“What time do you wake up in the morning?”
She frowned. “What?”
Somehow, his heart-stopping smile only grew. “What time?”
Wren gave him the look she reserved for crazy people. The one where she made her eyebrows draw up together like an arrow. “Uh… I don’t know. Six-thirty or so? Whenever Agnes insists I feed her?”
Lee nodded as if this information pleased him. “Okay. Good to know.”
She added a chin tuck to the crazy look. “Don’t you dare call me at six-thirty in the morning.”
He ignored her and came around the side of the counter.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, stepping back.
Lee stopped. “I’m leaving.”
Wren blinked. “The door’s that way.” She pointed behind him.
“I know. I want to kiss you first.”
Her jaw fell. “You’re unbelievable.” But her heart hammered faster in her chest. She knew what it was to kiss him, and Wren wanted it again.
Lee stepped into her space. “Say no if you don’t want me to.” He hesitated a moment as her mouth worked, but no words came out.
“I-I won’t kiss back.” She meant to sound stern, but it came out ridiculous instead.
Lee leaned in and stopped just before his mouth met hers. “I’ll live.”
And then he closed the distance… slowly… until his lips pressed against hers in the sweetest greeting. Despite her words, her lips moved to answer, greeting them back.
“Mmm.” His groan was the sound of hunger meeting restraint, and it came just as his hands cupped her cheeks. He pushed himself away.
The kiss left her blinking and off guard, practically hanging onto him for more.
It was hardly a kiss at all. Wren had to concentrate on not looking disappointed. And not concentrate on the heat that swept up her body.
But the look on his face consoled her. Lee, his eyes ablaze and his breath sharp, looked like a man with a fever.
“Bye, beautiful Wren,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll call you.”
She bit her tongue before the words could escape.
You damn well better!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LEE’S NIGHT STARTED with a C-section and twin boys. Their mother had wanted to avoid surgery, and Dr. Yeng had been hopeful since both babies were head-down, but, after the first was born, his little brother started showing signs of distress.
For Lee, emergency C-sections always seemed to take longer than scheduled ones — even if the baby was born in a matter of minutes. The mother’s fear and the tension in the room could make time stretch.
But when he pulled Belinda Bailey’s second son from her womb, Lee allowed himself to draw in a deeper breath, and time resumed its usual flow.
As he and Dr. Yeng scrubbed out, the older doctor gave Lee a smile. “Soon, you’ll be the lead doc in the room, and you’ll have to pretend not to be nervous in front of your resident.”
Lee blinked in surprise. “You were nervous in there?”
Dr. Yeng chuckled. “I’m nervous every time. The day you stop being nervous is the day you start making mistakes.”
Lee let go a huge sigh. “I thought it meant I wasn’t ready.”
Jem Yeng tilted his head back and laughed openly. “No, Lee. You’re ready. And one of the reasons I want you around is because I know your nerves keep you sharp.” He wore a look of approval that made Lee’s awesome day even better. “It means I don’t have to be nervous about you.”
It was after ten o’clock once Lee got back to making rounds. He had two mothers laboring, but both were in the early stages, and babies might not arrive until morning. Yeng had done a hysterectomy that afternoon, and after the Chief of Obstetrics left for the evening, Lee made rounds for both of their patients, but he kept checking his watch and wondering if it was too early — or too late — to call Wren.
The electricity from their afternoon had carried him for hours. He could still feel it arching over his muscles. It had taken her nearly an hour to complete his tattoo, and the whole time, she’d been within reach, teasing him with her touch… maddening him with her patchouli vanilla scent.
And then there was the tattoo itself.
The heady cocktail of adrenalin, lust, and the sting of her needles had nearly overloaded his circuits. No wonder people with tattoos didn’t stop at one. The experience left its mark on more than just his skin.
He loved the lingering soreness in his chest. He’d caught himself running a knuckle over it several times during his shift. Nothing in his memory compared to the experience.
And he’d meant every word when he’d said he knew no one like her. She was different. And she made him different.
Lee Hawthorne had never pursued a woman so boldly. Without inhibition. Without hesitation. In her presence, his heart, body, and mind all said yes. He had to stop himself at every turn. Cram his thoughts into his mouth. Keep his hands at his sides.
He hadn’t always succeeded.
But, worst of all, Wren didn’t want to be pursued. Or, at least, she didn’t let herself want it. As he’d watched her — and he’d done nothing but watch her the whole time she worked — she’d looked conflicted. Her body responded to his attention — a blush, a gasp — but her words had shut him down.
&nb
sp; She was wary. And even though he couldn’t exactly blame her, he wanted her trust. So Lee aimed to earn it. He decided to test the waters with a text.
Lee: All the babes in the nursery love the tattoo.
He started second-guessing his joke as soon as he pressed send. It wasn’t that funny, and if she didn’t think it was a joke, he’d sound like a dick. But he didn’t twist in the wind long.
Wren: Of course, they do. Babies are my best customers.
Lee laughed in relief.
Lee: Done tatting infants for the night?
He’d noted as he left the studio that their Friday hours were 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., and he wondered what she did on the weekends.
Wren: Yes. I’ve moved on to slaying tequila.
This news intrigued him. She was out but still texting him. He gave in to his curiosity.
Lee: Where is this doomed tequila?
He texted her as he took the elevator from the maternity ward down to the cafeteria. Lee was hoping to get a sandwich before his next delivery — and maybe a nap.
Wren: Agave. Top Shelf Margarita. In a cactus glass.
Lee grabbed a turkey avocado wrap with a fruit salad and a bag of chips. He’d usually go up to the breakroom on third and see if Mercer wanted to play cards or watch The Daily Show, but he didn’t want to put away his phone. He wanted to know more about what Wren was doing.
Lee: Are you hanging with friends?
Wren: Sort of.
Sort of hanging? Or sort of friends? Was she with a guy? If she was, what did texting him mean?
Lee: Sort of???
Wren: Too hard to explain in a text.
Lee didn’t wait to respond. Instead, he tapped his screen and put the phone to his ear. It rang three times before she answered, and music blared out of the phone.
“I can’t hear a thing. Hang on,” she said by way of greeting.
Lee smiled as he took another bite of his wrap. She’d taken his call. While at Agave. That had to be a good sign.
He heard a muffling around the din, and a moment later the noise faded but didn’t vanish.
“That’s better,” she said, coming back to him.
He put down his wrap. Her voice in his ear commanded his full attention.
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