“Oh, no,” Zoe muttered. “They’re not deer.”
They weren’t. They were supposed to be flames.
“Jesus, Zoe.” Rachel stared across at the younger woman. “Are you drunk?”
Zoe blinked, her eyes even more owlish than normal behind her glasses. “No. Just shortsighted.”
“Like hell.”
“Like hell that I’m shortsighted or like hell I’m not drunk?”
“You’re drunk,” Tamara confirmed, patting Zoe on the shoulder. “But don’t worry, you can get a tattoo too.”
Zoe frowned. “I don’t want a tattoo.”
Meaning, Gideon wouldn’t let her have one.
“Hey, you’re twenty-five,” Rachel said. “What does it matter what Gideon thinks?”
Zoe’s frown deepened. “It’s got nothing to do with Gideon.”
“Sure it doesn’t,” Rachel muttered.
“I heard that.” Zoe leaned forward and grabbed her glass from the table in front of her. “And I don’t give a shit what he thinks.”
Rachel shot Zoe a glance, picking up on the undercurrents that Tamara, still happily leafing through the designs, wouldn’t.
Was something going on with Gideon and Zoe? It wasn’t a big secret that Zoe had a major crush on the guy, though Gideon had never given any sign that he felt the same way about her. He wouldn’t though. Gideon would probably rather chew his own leg off than think of Zoe as a woman.
Zoe was sipping moodily on her margarita, her basketball-booted feet crossed at the ankle and up on the table. She wasn’t a person who hid what she felt; it was all right there to read on her face. And right now her face was saying “I’m fucking pissed.”
“Something up, Zoe?” Rachel asked.
Zoe shrugged. “Gideon was in a bad mood this afternoon.” She took another long sip. “He yelled at me.”
Actually, that was kind of shocking. Gideon was almost never in a bad mood, and still less frequently shouted at people. Especially Zoe.
“Oh,” Rachel said. “Why?”
Zoe scowled. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Hey, I never said you did—”
“It was just that he was being a tool about seeing Levi walking around Royal with some guys in suits today. So I told him to stop giving Levi such a hard time.”
“Actually,” Tamara murmured, “you told him he was being a dick. I know; I heard you.”
Zoe scowled even harder. She drained her glass and put it back on the table with slightly more force than necessary. “I think I might go home,” she announced. “Have a nice tattoo party.” Then she got up and headed for the front door.
Rachel stared at her in shock. Zoe in such an obvious temper wasn’t something you saw every day. If at all.
“Zoe, wait.” She half got to her feet only for Tamara to grab her arm.
“Leave her,” the other woman muttered. “I think she needs some space.”
“What?” Rachel only half heard her, her attention on Zoe’s retreating back.
“Gideon also told her that if she didn’t like it, she should stop following him around twenty-four seven.”
Oh, hell. That would hurt. That would really hurt.
The door of the studio slammed.
Slowly, Rachel sat down and glanced at Tamara. “What happened? You heard it?”
“Zee was doing something on his Trans Am at Gideon’s, and I was waiting for him. I heard Gideon and Zoe arguing upstairs.” Tamara pulled a face. “Like Zoe said, Gideon saw Levi showing some guys around Royal, and Gideon wasn’t happy about it. God knows why.”
“Some guys? What guys?”
Tamara shrugged. “I don’t know; I didn’t see them. Not locals from the sounds of it though.”
Rachel frowned, trying to make sense of it.
The past week or so of living in Levi’s apartment hadn’t been as bad as she’d first expected.
Waking up in his arms that initial morning had been the worst moment, when her stupid, sleep-deprived brain had thought it meant something more than it had. That his arms around her and his mouth on her skin had been a sign of some tenderness, when all it had been was the usual male response to a naked woman first thing in the morning.
She’d felt suffocated. Not by him, but by the feeling unraveling in her chest. The need, the sheer, painful yearning for that long-gone friend. And the ache of knowing that nothing was going to bring him back.
She’d been glad when he’d gone out for a run, while eating the breakfast he’d cooked for her alone in the dining room, trying to ignore the stupid fucking feeling of hurt.
They’d spent the day apart, but that night she’d come back to his apartment—after checking herself when she had automatically headed toward her old place—and there hadn’t been any candlelit dinners or talks of dates.
There hadn’t been any talking at all.
Only Levi, hard and hot and demanding, pushing her up against a wall and taking her so fast she’d barely gotten a breath.
Which was kind of what they’d spent the last week doing, in between cursory attempts at stilted conversation. Her attempts, at least. He didn’t attempt to talk about anything. The past two nights he’d sat on the couch with his laptop, fiercely concentrating on whatever it was he was doing.
It was a weird sight, the massive tattooed guy with the ring in his eyebrow, tapping away on a sleek piece of silver technology. She’d asked him once what he was doing, but he’d only said, “Business.”
She hadn’t wanted to watch him after that. Looking at him only made her aware of the distance between them, of everything she’d lost.
Maybe whatever he’d been working on had something to do with these guys in suits. But then, what about them would piss Gideon off? It had to be something major to put a dent in Gideon’s normally chilled-out personality.
Curiosity gathered inside her. She wanted to ask Tamara more about it, but since the other woman had only overheard the details from someone else, questioning her wasn’t going to get Rachel any more information.
Clearly Rachel was going to have to ask Levi himself. And maybe at the same time she could push him more about her building. She’d tried bringing it up with him a number of times, but he’d told her she was going to have to wait. That he was still sorting some things out. It was blatant bullshit, but she hadn’t pushed.
Perhaps it was time to push again.
Tamara was eyeing her. “You don’t know what’s going on?”
“No. Levi hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it.” He hadn’t said anything to her about anything, period.
“Zee thought it was weird. Especially Gideon’s getting mad.”
“Yeah, that is weird. Gideon doesn’t let anything much bother him.” She paused. “Unless it’s something threatening his hood.”
Tamara’s pale brows arrowed down; she was obviously remembering what had happened with Zee and his father a couple of months or so earlier, when Joshua Chase had threatened Zoe. Gideon had been pissed then, though pissed was kind of an understatement.
“What could be threatening about guys in suits?” Tamara said. “No, scratch that. Plenty of guys in suits are threatening.”
“This is true. I’d better ask Levi what’s going on. No one wants Gideon in a mood, that’s for sure. He’s a fucking pain in the butt when he is.”
Tamara nodded, glancing back down at the book of designs. Her eyes widened. “Oh, what about that one?”
Rachel sighed. “That’s not a phoenix. It’s an eagle, and it’s supposed to go over your chest. You really want an eagle head on your left boob?”
Tamara’s look of distaste said it all. “Not so much. What I want is something pretty, but not too over the top. Small, but not so small it looks stupid. Maybe with some color, but not too much. You know what I mean?”
Yeah, Rachel did. It was the same thing she heard from every client ever. And there was only one answer. “Why don’t I design you something? It means you won’t get it now unfor
tunately, but if you’re happy to wait, I could draw you something really cool that I think Zee would find really sexy.”
Tamara’s eyes widened. “Oh, would you? I’d love that!”
Rachel grinned at the other woman. “Sure. Just give me a couple of days. I’ll draw a few things so you can choose.” She liked doing custom design and didn’t get to do enough of it since most of her clients were either conservative in their tattoo choices or balked at the cost.
The door to the studio banged opened.
Rachel lifted her head, ready to tell whomever it was that the studio was closed for the evening, but the words died in her mouth when she saw whom it was coming toward them.
Levi.
But it wasn’t the Levi she was familiar with, the guy in battered jeans and a T-shirt. This Levi was different. Because he was wearing a suit. It was an elegant dark-charcoal color that perfectly set off the width of his shoulders and his chest, the blue of his business shirt making the silver blue of his eyes more intense. She could even see the fine rim of color around his one dilated pupil.
He wasn’t wearing a tie, the collar of his shirt undone, and she couldn’t believe the sexiness of the exposed skin of his throat. It was difficult to drag her eyes away.
“Whoa,” Tamara breathed. “Maybe I should get Zee a suit.”
Rachel rose to her feet, her heartbeat accelerating all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous given the amount of sex she and Levi had had over the last couple of days. She should have been inured to him by now, but clearly she was not.
“What are you doing here?” The question sounded almost accusatory, but she didn’t take it back. He hadn’t come by the studio since she’d moved in with him, not once, and she hadn’t been expecting him, still less dressed like that.
“What do you think?” He stared at her. “I want a tattoo.”
“Um, you know what? I think I have . . . a thing . . .” Tamara slid off the couch. “Let me know about the design, Rach. Oh, and mind if I leave the margarita stuff here?”
Rachel barely heard her, all her attention focused on Levi. A tattoo? He wanted a fucking tattoo?
He didn’t say anything, standing not far from her, his hands in his pockets, staying utterly still as the door of the studio closed behind Tamara.
A taut silence fell.
“What do you mean you want a tattoo?” she asked inanely.
“I mean, ink me up. That’s what you usually do in here isn’t it?”
“Why?”
“Because I want one; that’s why.”
“Levi . . .” She didn’t know why she was protesting, because seriously, what did it matter why he wanted it? And why she didn’t want to do it was anyone’s guess. Clearly she was insane.
“What? Last time I checked this was a tattoo studio.”
Yeah, so what’s the big deal?
Getting a grip on herself, she shrugged. “Fair enough. What’s with the suit?”
“I had a business meeting.” His gaze dropped to the margarita glasses on the table. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Oh, Tamara’s thinking about getting a tat. We were just discussing designs. But don’t tell Zee, okay? It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Sure.” His intense, uneven stare returned to her again. “Do I get a kiss?”
A delicious tension had crept into the space between them, tugging at her, a pull she felt all the way down between her thighs. He’d been demanding the night before, keeping her up till way past midnight, and yet it felt like years since he’d touched her.
Dealing with the desire she felt every time he came near was difficult, mostly because it wasn’t purely sexual. She didn’t like it. Didn’t want to feel it. But it was there all the same, just like it was there now, making her want things from him that it was clear she was never going to get.
She let out a silent breath and skirted around the table, walking slowly over to him. A kiss was nothing—hell, they’d kissed so many times before. So why she should feel reluctant now she had no idea. Maybe it was because he was here, in her space, instead of the other way around.
Stopping in front of him, she looked up into his face. She should have gotten used to the intensity of his focus by now, but she hadn’t. Every time she met his gaze it felt like being plugged directly into an electrical socket.
“You look like you’re afraid I’m going to kill you, not kiss you.” The deep rumble of his voice was unexpected.
Dammit. Did he really have to pick up on her every emotion? She was usually way better at hiding things than this.
“I’m not afraid you’ll kill me, Levi.”
She placed her hands on his chest and rose up on her toes, pressing her mouth to his. His lips were warm, and she wanted to open them with her tongue, taste him. But she restrained the urge, keeping the kiss to a mere brush of her lips before stepping back.
He made no attempt to prolong the contact, continuing to stand there with his hands in his pockets, staring at her. “And that’s not a kiss.”
Her mouth tingled, the deeply physical pull she felt toward him tugging harder. But she ignored it. “I thought you wanted a tattoo.”
“I do. But I’d like a proper kiss more.”
“I’m at work. If you want a proper kiss, you’ll have to wait till we get home.” She was not going to be doing this now, not in her studio. “Where do you want this thing then?”
He didn’t say anything for a second, his gaze narrowing, and she had the impression he was weighing up something. Then he abruptly shrugged out of his jacket, throwing it carelessly on the couch where she’d been sitting, and undid a few more buttons on his shirt.
She couldn’t stop looking. At the slow movement of his fingers as he undid the buttons. At the tanned skin revealed under the cotton of his shirt. It was dumb; she’d seen him naked so many times by now it shouldn’t have had any impact on her whatsoever. Yet like the force of his gaze, the sight of his body caused a fierce, electrical thrill to go through her.
Levi opened his shirt all the way down and pulled aside the fabric to reveal his bare chest, then put a palm over his heart. “That’s where I want it. Here.”
“Okay.” She stared at his big, long-fingered hand. At the letters tattooed on the back, the first four letters of the word patience. She’d seen those letters a lot on various places on her body in the past week. He hadn’t explained why he had that word on his hand, but he hadn’t needed to. She knew. Seemed as if everywhere she looked there were reminders of what she’d done.
She turned away from him, moving over to the table where Tamara had left the book of tattoo designs. “I have a book of designs you can—”
“I already know what I want.”
Of course he did. He was that kind of guy.
She stopped and turned back. “What?”
“A sun.”
* * *
He saw the flare of shock in her eyes. Which wasn’t totally unexpected. After all, he hadn’t given her any reason to think he’d want something like that over his heart unless it was yet more punishment. But he’d decided that actually, he’d lost his taste for punishment. He had something better in mind.
He’d been thinking it over for the past few days. Specifically about how he was going to broach the topic of giving her Sugar Ink’s building in return for the trust she was so obviously withholding.
But he’d put the issue on the back burner for the past few days, irritated by the wall she seemed to put between them every time he tried to initiate any kind of conversation.
Every night it was the same: another awkward conversation in which he’d try to get something out of her and she would withdraw. He kept hoping she’d eventually open up without his having to ask her or force her, but that had clearly been a stupid fucking hope.
Nothing had changed.
Even though he wasn’t entirely surprised by this, he did find the disappointment of it unexpectedly sharp. Which was stupid, given that he hadn’t exactly opened
himself up to her either.
But he felt disappointed anyway.
He’d thought that maybe with enough sex, he wouldn’t care. Yet he found he did. Which meant if he wanted it to change, he’d have to be the one to make the first move.
The meeting with Novak and Ryan had gone on much longer than Levi had expected, finishing back up at Gino’s where he’d bought a couple of rounds, oiling the wheels of commerce a little more. Not that he needed to, when Novak was so obviously enthusiastic about Levi’s plans and Royal in general.
Levi had felt good after Novak had departed, sliding into the evening traffic in a black chauffeur-driven town car. And positive too. More positive than he’d felt in months, as if everything was finally coming together.
Which was why Levi was here now, making that first move.
He was done with waiting.
Naturally, as a businessman, he’d use whatever leverage he could find to convince Rachel to open up. And if that meant going into her territory and getting her to give him a tattoo, then that’s what he’d do. Especially a tattoo that would be meaningful for both of them.
Rachel stared at him. She was looking especially hot today, in a tiny blue denim miniskirt and a tight white T-shirt with a sugar skull printed on the front of it. Her legs were bare, pale and elegant and strokable, her feet in black platform sandals with lots of buckles and straps.
He wanted to run his hands up those pretty legs and under her miniskirt. See what color panties she was wearing today. Then rip them off.
“Why a sun?”
He met her gaze. “Why not?”
“Because that’s not what we are to each other any longer,” she said without hesitation. “Because that’s not what I am to you.”
“You got one on your back.” He’d run his fingers over it the night before, while she lay asleep on her stomach, tracing it as if he couldn’t help himself.
She flushed. “That’s different.”
“Why? If I want a sun, I’ll get a sun.” He didn’t know why he was arguing with her when he quite easily could have gotten something else. Problem was, he didn’t want anything else. He wanted a goddamn sun.
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