Merry Inkmas: A BWWM Romance

by Talia Hibbert

  “Right,” Bailey murmured. “About Gem—”

  “Hang on.” He reached into one of his desk drawers and produced a battered A4 notepad and an old biro. Bailey watched as he flipped through the pages, revealing snatches of darkly-shaded artwork. The glimpses were so compelling, she was drawn forward almost against her will.

  But then he came to a clean page and popped the lid off of his pen, looking up at her with a professionally bland expression. “Shop’s open ten ’til five, for consultations, but we only take appointments from eleven. Gem gets here about half an hour early to open up, but that will be your job from now on, too. Unless I get there first. We’re open Monday to Saturday. What hours can you do?”

  Bailey reached up to fiddle with one of her locs, then remembered that they were coiled neatly on top of her head. She drummed her fingers awkwardly against her collarbone instead. “Um… I can’t do Mondays, or Wednesday mornings. Uni. But are you sure—?”

  He looked up sharply, his frown cutting her off. “What do you mean, uni?” He demanded.

  “University,” she said slowly. “I’m an undergrad at—”

  “How old are you?” He dropped the pen and folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. But the relaxed pose was at odds with his clenched jaw and the way his words were forced out from between gritted teeth.

  “I’m twenty-five,” she said. “Oh, no—twenty-six, actually. It was my birthday last week.” Awkwardly, she gave a little wave of her hands. “Hooray for me!”

  He stared, stony-faced. God, why the hell was she so embarrassing?

  “But anyway,” she forged on, folding her hands safely behind her back. “What I’m trying to say is… well. I’m… I’m not taking Gem’s job, am I?”

  He stared at her for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, he barked out a laugh.

  “That’s what you think? That I’d throw out my employees for the next pretty girl that comes along?”

  Bailey felt her cheeks heat. “No! I mean—wait. Pretty?”

  He arched a brow.

  Funny; he’d been a hell of a lot more charming when she was just selling him coffee.

  With a sigh, Bailey explained. “I just meant, I know you’re a kind-hearted guy.” Even if he appeared to have undergone a personality transplant overnight. “And if Gem is already doing this job, there’s no reason for you to pay two people for the work of one.”

  Cash unfolded his arms and picked up his pen again. He began marking out bold, swirling lines on the corner of the notepad, not even looking down at his hands as he did so. Like it was habit. Muscle memory. His eyes remained on hers, and she felt like a fly drowning in lemonade on a hot summer’s day. Doomed, and a little too happy about it.

  “I appreciate your concern,” he said. “But don’t worry. My kind heart—” and the twitch of his lips told her what he thought of that claim—“doesn’t stop me from running my business properly.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean—“

  “Bailey. It’s fine. Gem’s an apprentice. She works the desk right now because we don’t have a receptionist, and the apprentice gets all the shitty jobs.”

  “Ah,” Bailey said. “I see. So she won’t feel pushed out if I take over?”

  Cash chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Bailey. She won’t feel pushed out. Are you always so… Painfully considerate?”

  She shifted on her heels, resisting the urge to look away from his mocking smile. How could he make her feel so uncomfortable and so electrified all at once?

  “Do unto others,” she muttered finally.

  “You a Christian?” The doodle on his page was turning into a full-on work of art; a cascade of feathers, falling from a twisted, dying tree.

  “No,” she said. “But I used to read the Bible a lot. When I was a kid.”

  He raised his brows, and she raised hers. Let him question her; it was true. The Bible was the only book to be found in most hotel rooms.

  And she’d spent a lot of time in hotel rooms back then.

  But he let the statement pass. “What do you study?” He asked, suddenly dropping his pen again. It was as though he didn’t want to hold it, but his fingers kept picking it up anyway.

  “Psychology with cognitive neuroscience,” she told him, her feet bringing her closer to the desk without permission. Closer to him. He watched her advance with cool certainty, as though he knew exactly how hypnotic his attention was. In the absence of another chair, she leaned against the side of his desk, and his gaze sank lazily to the place where her rounded hip met the wood. He took his time looking, unashamed, and the bold perusal aroused her awareness. Desire, warm and languid, awoke. It unfurled in Bailey’s belly and took a look around. Decided it liked the view. Settled in for a while, ready to make her thighs clench and her life hell.

  This man might be more than she could handle.

  Cash met her eyes again, and she found herself studying the colour: cold jade shot through with flecks of molten gold. Impossible eyes.

  “Are you going to psychoanalyse me?” He asked, his voice low.

  “I’m not a doctor. I don’t even graduate ’til July.”

  “But could you?”

  “I don’t think I’d want to,” she whispered.

  And just like that, the crackling energy between them was wiped out. His face was smooth as he leaned back in his chair, putting distance between them.

  “Good,” he said. And then, his voice strained, he continued, “When you mentioned university I thought you might be… Younger than I’d hoped.”

  Hoped? Why would he hope for anything to do with her? It couldn’t be the job; Gem was young, too. No; something told her Cash had slipped up with that comment, and he knew it. First he called her pretty, and now he… Hoped.

  “I took some time off after college,” she explained. “Illness in the family.”

  “Oh?”

  “My mother.” Why was she saying this? She never said this. She usually stared in silence until the subject was changed. “Lung cancer. She died.” Alone. Alone except for Bailey. Because all those men she’d spent her life chasing…

  Well.

  Cash cleared his throat and broke eye contact for what felt like the first time in forever. But then he was back, his gaze hypnotising her once more. Only now, she remembered why she couldn’t let that happen. “I’m very sorry,” he said, and she almost believed him. When he looked at her like this, she could pretend he was the man she’d dreamed up, rather than the man he was turning out to be.

  “Also,” she said, desperate to wipe the softness from his face, “I was held back at school.”

  “Held back, and now you’re studying neuroscience?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

  He looked like he wanted to hear it—only the sound of laughter interrupted them, floating up from downstairs, shortly followed by a burst of music. Thank God.

  The close, intimate air of the office dispersed, leaving behind a shabby room with too many fluorescent lights. And the softness in Cash’s green eyes faded away, until only the harshly-drawn lines of his face and the sharp set of his jaw remained.

  “That’s the rabble,” he said. “Why don’t you go down and let Gem set you up? I’ll sort out the forms you need by the end of the day.”

  “Um… Alright.” Bailey paused for a moment, despite her determination to let go of her attachment to this man. Now that she’d decided he was nothing but an illusion, she perversely wanted to see some evidence to the contrary. Some glimpse of the man who’d charmed her with his sweet smile and gentleness.

  But Cash remained a stony-faced stranger, beautiful and untouchable and so fucking hot. The sight of his broad chest and defined biceps beneath his simple black T-shirt was burned into her retinas.

  There was nothing soft about this man.

  With a quiet sigh, Bailey turned to leave. But as she approached the door, she noticed a small sprig of plastic holly taped to its frame, haphazard and incongruous. It reminded her of the
Christmas cheer downstairs. She looked over her shoulder at Cash and found him staring at her, his features full of something achingly intense, yet tender. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that it was longing.

  But then he cleared his throat and averted his gaze, the shutters falling once more.

  “Who put this up?” She asked, pointing at the mistletoe.

  He coughed. “I did, actually.”

  “Yeah? So you like all that stuff downstairs?”

  He looked pointedly at the clock on the far wall. “You should get going. Appointments will be starting soon.”

  “Right,” she said quietly, and hurried off. But as she made her way out, a reluctant smile curved her lips.

  Maybe Hot Coffee Guy was in there somewhere.

  Chapter Five

  The rabble, as it turned out, referred to the rest of the employees.

  They stood together, Gem behind the desk, two men in front of it. One was younger, brown-skinned, and handsome. The other was older, rougher, tougher; a white guy with a thick beard and heavy frown lines. All three of them were talking and laughing together, clearly close. But that stopped when Bailey came into the room.

  “Hel-lo,” the younger of the men said, straightening up immediately. He glanced at Gem. “Who’s this, then?”

  “That’s the new girl,” Gem said. She blew a bubble, let it pop, and the older man stared at her pursed lips as though they held the secret to life itself. But Gem didn’t appear to notice. “She’s gonna be our receptionist. So I’m finally free of the desk!”

  The young man’s brows shot up, practically disappearing into his razor-sharp hairline. But then a smooth smile took over his face, and he approached Bailey with practiced charm.

  It was effective. But it wasn’t Cash.

  “I’m Jay,” he grinned, holding out a hand for her to shake. He had big hands. He really was a handsome guy. She should feel something when she put her palm against his.

  But she didn’t. She just shook his hand, and smiled politely, and said, “I’m Bailey.”

  “And this is Steve,” Gem interjected, gesturing at the other man, who had a gruff shyness about him. He gave Bailey a nod, but every inch of his being was focused on Gem—like she was the sun and he the sunflower. Bailey wondered if Gem knew that this guy was in love with her.

  Probably not.

  “Hi,” Bailey smiled, nodding back at Steve. She was about to make her way over to the desk when Jay stopped her, a frown creasing his brow.

  “Have we met before?” He asked. “I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”

  “Um…” Bailey wracked her mind, but came up blank. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Huh.” He floated back over to the desk and she followed, brushing the moment off. If it was a line, it hadn’t worked. Then again, he hadn’t exactly followed through.

  “Cash said something about you setting me up?” She asked Gem.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll give you, like, a little induction. I’m kind of shit at this job though, so it won’t be that great. Come round here.”

  Docile as a lamb, Bailey made her way round to the other side of the desk. The men wandered towards the back of the shop, into another room that she could only catch a glimpse of from here. She heard them talking—well, Jay talking and Steve grunting—over the classic Christmas songs dancing through the air.

  “You guys like Christmas, hm?”

  Gem gave her a strange look. “Everyone likes Christmas.”

  “Well, maybe not everyone…”

  “Everyone,” Gem repeated firmly. “Even people who don’t celebrate.”

  “Uh… Really?” Bailey asked doubtfully.

  “Of course. They have more money for the Boxing Day sales.” Gem snorted at her own joke, then reached beneath the neckline of her vest to scratch her collarbone. The movement shifted her clothing slightly—just enough for Bailey to see the lavender and indigo tattoo on the other woman’s chest. It was delicately lined, surrounded by splashes of pigment that looked like a watercolour painting—a painting etched into her pale skin. Fascinated, Bailey stared at the tattoo. It was an intriguing shape—a merging of the symbols for male and female, along with a third symbol that she didn’t recognise.

  “What?” Gem demanded, her voice suddenly hard. “What are you looking at?”

  Bailey looked up sharply. Caught staring again. Everyone would think she was some kind of weirdo.“I’m sorry. I just saw your tattoo. The colours and the…” She waved her hand, unsure of how to describe it. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

  “Oh,” Gem said, and the guarded panic in her eyes faded. “Right. Jay did it. Watercolour tatts. It’s a cool technique.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Thanks,” Gem smiled. “Anyway, let me show you the books, okay? It’s all very simple. We’re kinda basic here.”

  They spent a cosy half hour behind the desk—probably longer than necessary, but Bailey found herself warming to Gem. The girl was funny, and her excessive energy was endearing. They were so busy giggling together, Bailey almost didn’t notice when Cash came downstairs just in time to greet his first client.

  And she definitely didn’t notice that the client was a beautiful, heavily-tatted woman who clearly knew Cash very well.

  And she certainly didn’t notice the fact that Cash grinned when he greeted the woman, or the way he hugged her, as though it were a habit.

  Nope.

  Nope, nope, nope.

  She didn’t notice any of that.

  ∞∞∞

  The low whine of the tattoo gun kept Cash in a state of meditation while he worked. He traced over the faint lines with a steady hand, falling into a familiar rhythm. Line, line, wipe. Line, line, wipe.

  Charlene was sitting like a rock, as usual. She was more canvas than human, she held so still—which wasn’t easy when someone was dragging a needle across the underside of your breasts, Cash was sure. It had been a three-hour session with no breaks, and her hyper-detailed, ocean-inspired sternum tattoo was almost done.

  He made a few finishing touches, then turned off the gun. As the buzz receded, so did his calm. Reality came filtering in.

  Fuck.

  That was Bailey laughing in the next room. He’d heard her uncontrolled giggles often enough to recognise them with ease. But who the hell was making her laugh like that? His calm shattered, Cash cleaned the finished tattoo with practiced movements before covering it in clingfilm.

  “You like it?” He asked Charlene. But for once, he honestly didn’t care about the answer.

  “Oh my God, yes,” she gushed, hopping out of the chair. She stood in front of the huge mirror on the wall, twisting her slim body this way and that. She was topless—had to be, for this—and one slender arm was pressed against her full breasts, hiding their nipples from view. He knew for a fact that those nipples were cherry-red and thick, but the memory did little for him today.

  Usually, Charlene was one of the women who made him regret his policy—ninety days, no going back. That was all he could offer a girl, no matter how beautiful or smart or charming she might be.

  But right now, with the echo of Bailey’s laughter teasing his memory, Cash didn’t regret a damn thing.

  The reflection of Charlene’s glittering eyes met his in the mirror. Blue. Perfectly pretty. But somehow not what he wanted to see.

  “You have magic hands, Cash,” she murmured.

  “Thanks,” he said shortly.

  She turned to face him, her smile wry. “I’ll never convince you to break those rules of yours, will I?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t change my mind,” he said, but this was familiar ground, and so he felt comfortable enough to crack a smile.

  “I didn’t believe you. I should have.” She sounded rueful. But then she let her gaze flit mischievously down to his crotch. “Worth it.”

  Cash chuckled as he left the workstation, pulling the thin curtain around it to give her some sembl
ance of privacy. “Get dressed, Char. I’ll see you out front.”

  He found Bailey seated behind the welcome desk, with Gem at her side. The two women appeared to be discussing some TV show about werewolves, while Jay leaned against the counter like some kind of sleaze.

  His white teeth were bright against his golden skin as he displayed his famous smile. That smile had won him mountains of pussy; it was handsome, debonair despite his relative youth, and the very definition of charming.

  And he was using it on Bailey.

  “I swear I recognise you from somewhere,” he was saying, his gaze a little too focused on Bailey’s full lips.

  Not that Cash could blame him. But he clenched his fists regardless.

  “I really don’t think we’ve met,” Bailey said. “I’m good with faces.”

  “So am I. Comes with being an artist.” Jay leaned further against the counter, making sure that his biceps flexed—and Bailey actually smiled, a sweet, shy smile that fired Cash’s blood in more ways than one. Shit, was she falling for this line?

  But then it hit him—it might not be a line. Jay might actually recognise Bailey. Because, like an idiot, Cash had been sketching out her face since the day he’d first seen her at that fucking coffee shop.

  Crap.

  Surging forward, Cash interrupted the happy little trio just in time to hear Jay purr, “You should come to lunch with me.”

  “She can’t,” Cash said, surprising himself. Six eyes swivelled to focus on him, all questioning. He didn’t have an explanation for his vehemence. Well; not one he could say aloud.

  “What do you mean?” Gem asked, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. Little trouble-maker.

  Cash clenched his jaw. “I mean, Bailey can’t go out for lunch. We have things to do.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jay rolled his eyes. “Like what? You gonna show her that shitty coffee shop you like?”

  Bailey’s eyes slid down into her lap. She bit her lip. God, what a fucking mouth. The things Cash could do with that mouth…

  “I don’t know why you even go there,” Gem said, and something in her voice made him suddenly nervous. “You hate fancy coffee.”