She glanced over at Corey’s shop. Low music drifted from the tattoo parlor and lights glowed warmly within. Should I? She shook her head and made for the back of her store, to the stairs that led to her apartment.
Just then, two young, giggling women stepped out of the shop. One stopped, and the other tugged at the back of her jeans, tittering “Let me see again,” as she moved a bandage placed just above the other girl’s waistline. “That is so cool,” the ginger-haired friend exclaimed. “I am definitely getting one next payday. Hey, and it’s worth it to come back for that tattoo artist, huh?”
The smaller blonde smiled at her and raised her eyebrows. “Definitely. Damn, was he hot or what?”
The redhead nodded in emphatic agreement and the two walked off down the sidewalk, then trotted across the street to a nearby gas-station.
Bekka looked at the shop and narrowed her eyes. She felt a pang of something she didn’t like hit her straight in the chest. A dull ache that made her angry at herself. Jealousy.
There was no mistaking Corey was a handsome man, in that wild, bad-boy rugged sense that made many women swoon. He had a quiet charm that was also mischievous, and Bekka had seen him use it in the past. She’d been on the receiving end of that melting charisma as well, many times.
“I’m going in,” she muttered, keeping a hand on her wallet as she tucked it into the pocket of her coat. Head down, long, black curls catching in the March breeze, she walked the dozen or so steps to Corey’s parlor.
***
The distinct sound of Motorhead made her grin as Bekka opened the shop door. Jamie, a young guy from Rexton who idolized Corey, rose from the couch in the waiting area of the tattoo parlor.
“Bekka?” He came forward, big blue eyes sparkling as he smiled. “Hey, girl! How the hell are you doing these days?”
Bekka grinned at Jamie and shook his outstretched hand. “Pretty good, sweetie.” She smacked him on the shoulder. “What are you doing all the way out here? Are you working for Corey now?”
Growing up in Alberta, she had spent her summers surrounded by tough, farmboy cousins when her and her father went to visit family. Bekka spent most of her life proving she could stand up to just about any man. That had toughened her, and she didn’t feel too comfortable in frilly outfits or at fancy dinner parties. Not that she knocked those ladies who did—to each their own—but Bekka felt more at home throwing wood than she did cooking a four course dinner. It was just the way life had taught her to be, and she was comfortable with it. Being raised without a mother, all she’d ever really known was male companionship growing up—her father, her uncles, her cousins—only her aunts and some female cousins had provided her with any female camaraderie.
“Yup.” Jamie’s voice broke through her reverie into the past. “He brought me with him. I’m gonna do my apprenticeship here.”
“No way.” Her jaw dropped. “You left the farm back home? Good for you, kiddo. You’ve got a natural knack with your art. Don’t see why you won’t make a great tattoo artist.” Bekka congratulated her friend with a hug just as Corey walked into the main area. His massive, muscled bulk seemed to shrink the waiting area.
He looked at Bekka with eyes of cold, blue steel. His jaw set, and his chin held high. He smiled a stiff smile. “Hey, Bekka. Did you just come over?”
Her heart thudded in her ears and she crossed her arms over her chest. Right away, Corey’s gaze wandered to her breasts. Bekka took a quick look down and saw why. Her v-neck blouse had pulled down with her motion, exposing a generous peek of cleavage.
Nodding, she admonished herself for letting him catch her off guard like this, with no excuse for being in the shop. Her quick mind raced through possible excuses. “I came to make an appointment.”
Jamie, obviously sensing the tension between them—so thick in the room it could practically choke its occupants—excused himself. With a “Great to see you again, Bekka,” thrown over his shoulder, he wandered into the back room.
Corey moved from behind the front counter, coming closer. He squinted and cocked his head as he repeated, “An appointment?”
She laughed, trying to wear a façade of pure calm. “Yeah, I…want to get that tattoo you started on me finished finally. I figured since you’re the one who did the outline, you should be the one to color it too.”
The bluff worked. He grinned. The tension eased with the renewed lightness of Corey’s mood. “You never had that thing finished. Well, that’s good news. It’ll give me a chance to touch up the outline too before I color it in.”
She thought about the now empty space on her left thigh where a black outline of a sun and moon intertwined with tribal ivy once resided. It had been Corey’s first attempt at a tattoo on human skin (he’d been using practice skins before that), and he’d been as nervous as hell to work on her. Bekka had encouraged him all the way and, being her first tattoo, she’d bit back every ounce of the pain, never letting him see her flinch. Despite a few shaky lines, the design had come out near perfect. While Corey hadn’t been terribly impressed, always being hyper-critical of his work, Bekka had been blown away by his natural ability already showing in such an early attempt.
Now, what would he say when he found out that she’d had the outline removed about six months back? Thankfully he hadn’t noticed when they’d slept together recently, but he’d had his attention on other things.
She’d been in a particularly low period after one of her friends, who ran an Adult Boutique three doors down from her bookstore, had set her up on a blind date. The guy had turned out to be a real bore and not at all Bekka’s type either. To top it off, when her companion for the evening excused himself to go to the Men’s room, he stiffed her with the check and never returned to the table.
When she’d returned home that night, Bekka had found herself reminiscing about Corey, and that only served to depress her more. In the morning light, that sadness, hollowness, had turned to anger, and she’d made an appointment with a cosmetic surgeon in Moncton to have the tattoo outline removed. It was the only thing she couldn’t stick in a drawer, or hide from her sight, to keep Corey’s memory from invading her mind. Sure, clothes covered the outline up, but she could still feel his mark, his warm touch brushing against her skin, every time the cloth dragged over the ink. It was like he had branded her for life and, at that time, all she’d wanted was his markings gone from her body.
“Well.” He ran a hand up the arm of her coat and squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s see it, and then we’ll go over to the counter and I’ll book you an appointment.”
Bekka froze. Great, Sherlock, she chided herself. What now? Nice bluff.
Corey was already peeling her jacket back from her shoulders. Damn, he was in a hurry to take a peek. Bekka backed up, pulling away from his touch, and Corey gave her a confused frown.
“One problem.” She bit her lip, and Corey continued to look bewildered. Bekka sighed, took off her coat, and draped it over the arm of one of the couches. She peeled her black jeans away from her hip. “I kind of had the outline removed. Ummm…looks like we’re starting from scratch.”
***
Bekka obviously expected him to blow up when she told him, but Corey remained calm. He stared into her soft grey eyes and saw fear of his anger. The look cut him like a knife. Not this time, Corey. He took a deep breath and smiled at her. Don’t let that damn temper of yours ruin this second chance. Prove to her you’ve changed in every way.
“No problem,” he said, as he lowered to his haunches to inspect her smooth, ivory hip. He looked for any traces of the original outline on her skin and chided himself for the deep ache he felt in his gut at the unmarked flesh. It made him feel lonely, hollow, somehow. As if his love had meant nothing to her, and she’d erased him completely from her life.
You’re being an ass. He stood, and she pulled up the waistband of her tight jeans. Speaking of asses… He shook his head. “How about Sunday?”
“Sunday?” Bekka looked confused, and
those big grey eyes widened as she cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you closed on Sunday and Monday?”
He nodded then flashed a lecherous smile. Corey wouldn’t hide the fact that he was trying to get her alone. Hell, no. Why? This time around, he wanted her to feel wanted by him in every way. He wanted to show her that she meant everything to him, and he’d do whatever it took to get her back in his arms.
Bekka lowered her head and laughed. Her pale skin flushed beyond the brushstrokes of blusher she wore. “I should’ve smelled ulterior motive written all over that one.”
He tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest then feigned hurt. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”
“No, no.” She held up a hand in defense. Her eyes glinted with a mischief Corey remembered, and he felt something stirring below at the memory of what that smile could mean. “I didn’t mean it that way…”
“Sure, sure.” He tossed his head, knowing it sent his long, dark curls spilling down his back. Corey remembered her weakness for long hair well, and damned if he wouldn’t use Bekka’s every weakness to his best advantage. “I know. You don’t have to explain.” He turned quickly on his heel, striding to the front counter in a mock gesture of anger. Corey also remembered her weakness for laughter, and he’d always been able to make her chuckle with his antics.
Bekka laughed softly behind him, and he heard her boots ticking on the linoleum as she followed him to the counter. Corey turned back to her once he was behind its glass front.
Bekka rolled her eyes at him and flashed a big smile. “I’m not sure what I want just yet. Maybe I’ll just get you to tattoo the same design I originally had there.” She pointed to her hip.
Corey popped a pencil between his lips and scratched his trimmed beard as he bent to retrieve an appointment book from underneath the cash register. “I’m going to jot myself a note about Sunday, just in case.” He scrawled a few words in the ledger and then looked up at her, grinning. “You know my memory.”
Nodding, Bekka gave him a shaky grin back and then heaved a deep sigh. Corey watched her tap the countertop with her fingers in a erratic rhythm. Was she nervous about having him tattoo her? Why?
“What time?” she asked, snapping him out of his ponderings.
“How about two o’ clock? I have some things to do before lunch on Sunday, so would that be okay with you?”
“Sounds good.”
***
Corey thought about it all evening after he closed up the parlor and declined Jamie’s invite to check out one of the local pubs with a few buddies.
What? A cynical little voice inside his head scoffed at him. Did you expect her to keep it forever as a reminder of you? Think you’re that unforgettable, Corey? Nice ego.
“Fuck off,” Corey muttered, and poured himself another shot of Jack as he surfed through the channels for a third time. Maybe he’d just go to bed with a book. That always calmed him. But he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Why, and when, had Bekka had that outline removed? She’d never been the vindictive type, and they had parted on amicable, if not heartbreaking, terms. So why the need to remove the outline? Was he really that bad of a memory to her?
“Sonofabitch. Why am I doing this to myself?” He slammed the bottle of liquor down on the oak coffee table and ran a large hand through his hair. Corey was halfway past tipsy and sticking both feet into the waters of drunk. With alcohol came the courage and the questions, and the need to know why.
Getting to his feet, he looked at the clock hanging over the entertainment unit. Ten minutes past midnight. No way Bekka would be in bed yet. Despite rising early to open her bookstore / gift shop, Corey knew, from watching her apartment through his bedroom window these past couple days, that Bekka was still a night owl, just like him. Her lights never went out until well past two in the morning.
He grabbed his leather coat from the hall closet and yanked it over his black, clingy tank top. Despite the chill in the air, being a six-foot-four solid wall—as his father use to call him because of his immense size and strength—made Corey almost immune to the cold, and he could feel warm on some of the chilliest of days.
“I’m going over, boy.” He bent to scratch the head of his old dog Chester, a black lab/retriever mix with a heart of gold. “Wish me luck, bud.”
Chester groaned and sniffed, then gave him a tired lick on the hand before going back to sleep in front of the couch.
***
The rain was falling heavily outside. Bekka peeled back the beige curtains and peeked up at the bruised-purple and black clouds. The streets below ran with the deluge, and Bekka let the drape fall from her grip. She glanced at the clock as she moved back to the couch. Just past midnight and no hope of sleep in sight, but that wasn’t unusual for her. Bekka grabbed her H.P. Lovecraft book off the black walnut end table and sat down to read.
A sharp knock at the door sent the paperback flying into the air, and she let out a small yelp at the startling noise. She waiting for the rapping to come again as she picked her book up from the floor. It soon followed. Pulling her robe closer around her neck, she padded barefoot across the carpet and on to the kitchen floor. Leaning over, she peered through the peephole before she undid the deadbolt.
Corey stood on the other side of the door, head down and soaked to the skin. His long, dark hair shone raven black with the wetness under the glaring streetlamp. That coat is going to be ruined.
Bekka opened the door just as he looked up. She took in his saturated clothes and skin.
It felt like someone had slammed her in the lower gut at the sight of him. Standing with hands tucked into the pockets of his soaked, tight jeans, he flashed her a cockeyed smile. His face glistened with beads of rain, and she found herself wanting to lick away the moisture from his strong, Russian face. Running her tongue over his cheekbones, across his chin…
“Hey, hon,” he slurred, staggering over the threshold as he peeled his wet coat from his massive shoulders.
“Oh, Corey.” She groaned as large puddles formed on the slippery kitchen floor. “You’re drunk.” Bekka took his chin in her hand and forced him to meet her gaze, while she inspected his bloodshot and swollen eyes. Was he crying? “Very drunk. Go sit on the chair over there. I’ll see if I have one of your old robes hanging around. Got to get you out of those clothes.”
Corey threw himself, wet clothes and all, on to the couch. Bekka slapped a hand over her eyes. Thankfully it’s only water.
“You always use to steal my damn clothes, babe.” He chuckled as she disappeared down the hall with his jacket. “T-shirts, robes…you loved the oversized stuff because it was comfy.”
She grinned at the memory of her pilfering t-shirts and pants from his wardrobe. Corey had massive shoulders to go with his abominable strength and height. At five foot six and just over a hundred and twenty pounds, Bekka could crawl into one of his shirts and an old pair of his flannel shorts and get warm and cozy when she was sick, or in the dead of winter. It use to comfort her to wrap one of his shirts around her and inhale the scent of him.
Returning to the living room, she went to throw him an old robe of his she had found in the back of her closet. Her hand froze in mid-swing. The towel she had brought for his hair dropped to the floor.
He was standing naked at the edge of the carpet, a lascivious grin spread across his strong, handsome face. The slice of streetlight falling through her large kitchen window caught the trickles of water falling down his large, chiseled chest, making them gleam. One long fingered, large hand wrapped around his straining erection. His cock slapped against his belly as he slid his grip up the shaft.
Bekka swallowed and remembered how vulnerable she was beneath the thick layer of housecoat. She’d just jumped out of the shower no more than fifteen minutes before he arrived and, after blow drying her waist length hair until it was just on the damp side, she had thrown on a comfy robe over her cool naked flesh. After a long, busy day on her feet, chatting with tourists who had co
me out in early spring to beat the bustle of summer vacation season, it felt good to shed the confines of clothes and just lounge in the robe.
“Do you know why I came here tonight?” His voice was clearing up some now, and she wondered if the cold rain had sobered him a bit.
She shook her head and licked her lips as he moved closer to her.
“I wanted to ask you why.” His right hand circled around her back smoothly and he stroked between her shoulder blades. “Why did you get my work removed?”
His eyes actually looked teary in the poor light of the apartment’s main area. Bekka bit her lip and reached up to brush a tiny river from his cheek. Was that just rain, or was there a tear in there as well?
“Sweetie.” She dropped her gaze from his. “It was a rash, spur of the moment act.” Corey’s free hand crept into her long hair and he kneaded the back of her scalp. Her head went limp from his touch. “I was down, thinking about you a lot, and I was having a hard time dealing with your constant memory.”
His hand slid beneath the belt of her robe, and with deft fingers he untied the terry-cloth sash. The material fell open, and he muttered something that made her pussy ache when his eyes fell on her naked form.
Bekka had been replaying their hot lovemaking from a few nights back over in her mind for the last few days. They’d always had scorching chemistry, and neither of them were shy when it came to experimenting with new ways to find that route to pleasure. The things they had experienced together, the sensual thoughts racing through her mind right now, made Bekka’s nipples pucker, and she felt the wetness dripping between her labia.
Both palms slid up the front of her body, cupping and squeezing her breasts, as he nipped at her lips with hungry teasing kisses. “Did you do it because you didn’t love me anymore?” he whispered in her ear, before slipping his tongue into the shell to titillate her further.
Bekka gripped his shoulders and slid her legs apart as one of his hands slithered down her stomach, looking for that mound of flesh he knew would drive her mad. Corey’s callused fingers slid down her damp slit and then returned to play with her engorged clitoris.
Shifters & Bad Boys Bundle (Shifters & Bad Boys. Man love, bdsm, and rockstar romance. Book 1) Page 40