Temporary indelibly mark.., p.18
Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2), page 18
“Well that’s good because I brought my appetite and presents.” He patted her head.
Her grin grew. “How about the two of you sit down, and I’ll bring you something cold to drink after your long ride.”
“Sounds perfect.” He gave her one last kiss on the forehead.
Emily trotted into the kitchen.
“I’ll be right back.” His father lifted his finger and walked into the bedroom toward the bathroom.
Ivan flopped on the couch and went to flip on the television. The soft clinks and clanks of Emily doing whatever females did while they fiddled in the kitchen, caused him to simply hold the remote in midair.
“Well this seems all homey.” His dad returned, tossed his jacket on the couch and took a seat in the chair.
As if she’d rehearsed her next move, Emily appeared from the kitchen carrying two bottles of beer and a bowl. “Here you go.” She gave each one of them a drink and put the dish of nuts on the end table. The end table both of them could reach with Emily’s new arrangement.
“Thank you.” His father took a sip and tilted the bottle in her direction.
Ivan smiled and raised his eyebrows.
“Do your father/son stuff. I’m making something with chocolate.” She winked at him and left again.
He watched her go, taking note of the bottom of her backside peeking out from under her shorts. His mouth watered. If his dad had showed up an hour later his visit would have been much better. Okay maybe an hour and a half.
“You are a bundle of conversation.” His dad grabbed a handful of nuts.
“I just don’t want her over working herself.” He shook his head. “You know, with Shane and Carson tied up, someone has to look out for her.”
“She seems like she’s holding up pretty well. Actually, she’s glowing.”
“Maybe she’s still dizzy from passing out.”
“Maybe she’s giddy at getting to play house.” His dad tossed a peanut up in the air, catching it in his mouth.
Ivan let out a laugh. They each took turns one-upping each other with insane maybe scenarios. “Maybe she’s drunk after taking some pulls of cooking wine.”
“Maybe she’s high on using your special toothpaste.”
Ivan pursed his lips.
“Maybe I saw her toothbrush next to yours in the holder.”
“Maybe she collapsed in front of me, and I got some of her stuff.” He peeked at his father out of the corner of his eye.
“Maybe someone used the velvet hangers so her clothes would be all nice.” His father let out a chuckle. “Maybe someone doesn’t want her to leave.”
“Maybe my best friend may not take kindly to me being with his baby sister. Maybe she’s really young.” Ivan ground his teeth together.
His father grunted. “Maybe someone finally needs to realize what he wants.”
Ivan gulped down the beer, buying some time to come up with anything.
Instead, his father took another turn. “Maybe she’s floating around your apartment role playing as a wife because she’s in love.”
Between his mind coming up empty of any smartass response, and his body breaking out into a sweat, he polished off the beer.
His father put the bottle down and leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe, just maybe, my son is quiet and not going on and on about tattoos and motorcycles because he’s enjoying building something else.”
He ran his hand along his chin, fighting the urge to run out of the apartment, or alternately go find Emily. After all she was at least fifteen feet away from him.
He focused on the window. Though the blind was down, the gray peeking between the slats told him it was the perfect October overcast day. Cool but not cold, crisp and fresh. Tomorrow would mostly likely be hot and sunny. Weather changed fast in Southern California. “Nothing lasts.”
“Nope, nothing does. That’s called life.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe it matters more than anything.”
He turned back and studied the man who raised him. Over the years, a few more lines had appeared etched on his face, he became a little puffy, but the man was still his father.
“I loved your mom.” He stared up at the ceiling and nodded. “I really did.”
“Dad.” The mention of his mother weighed his chest down.
His father put his hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to go after what you want because you may lose it. What if you never get the chance to have it again?”
“What about the lawsuit?”
“What about it?” His father laughed and sat back, locking his hands behind his head. “You’re relying on lawyers and suits, when you should be relying on yourself and your girl. You deserve what you get.”
“Billy insists something isn’t right. The lawyer said to let him handle it.”
“What does Emily say?” His dad leaned forward. “She’s genuine.”
“I need to ask her. She’s been twitchy about the whole thing.”
“Maybe she wants to be sure her brother and her man have a job. Women are weird. They like a roof over their heads.” His father drank down the last of his beer and held out the bottle. “I could use another one.”
“Me too.” He grabbed both bottles and headed into the kitchen.
With her back to him, Emily leaned over the counter reading something on her phone. Her ass was practically an engraved invitation to the Promised Land. Next to her was a bowl filled with chocolate goodness.
He put the bottles down and approached her, putting his mouth by her ear and copping a feel of her bottom. “Can I have a taste?”
She shivered, but turned, scooping some of the chocolate whatever up with her finger and putting it in his mouth.
“Um.” He sucked her finger, swirling his tongue over the tip and possibly showing off a little of his technique.
A blush took over her cheeks, but she never broke eye contact.
He finished by kissing her finger. “You used dark chocolate.”
“It’s your favorite.”
“You would know.” He scanned the kitchen. She had managed to unearth all his pots and pans. “Maybe we need to bring some of your kitchen things here.”
“You like home cooked meals?”
He nodded. His father was right he needed to act.
“You okay?” She pressed her palm to his face.
“Tomorrow I want to get to work early.”
“Will you give me a ride?” She giggled.
“Yeah.” He took her hand. “What do you think about me doing a little investigating on my own with the case?”
“I think it’s about time.” When she leaned back against the counter, the way her back arched gave him a perfect view of her breasts.
Not wanting to rile himself up, he brushed his lips against hers and backed up to the fridge. “Well, we’re a team.”
“We are.” She stifled a smile by biting her lower lip and turned back to the counter.
He took in the view one more time before returning to his father.
Chapter Fifteen
“Ivan, we need more pouches for the autoclave.” Tamsin joined him in the storage room.
Ivan continued stocking the piercing supplies and pointed to the shelf. “I ordered them and they were delivered yesterday.”
“You did?” She walked to the shelf and opened the box. “You did. How did you know?”
“Emily and I took inventory and we ordered what was low.” He completed one last count of the nose rings and noted it on the box Emily had highlighted for him.
“What a concept.” She gave him a punch in the arm. “Also—”
Before she continued he held up his hand. “I ran the monthly check on the autoclave and Emily and I restocked the bathroom. I know you don’t do flash, but a walk-in came in wanting some traditional art, so I told them to come back later after Emily and I checked your schedule.” He crossed his arms and waited for her response. The only thing he didn’t have under control was his investigation on the case. He would have to break down and talk to Billy.
“Um…”
“Oh, here’s the phone number in case you need to talk to her.” He pulled the message out of his pocket.
“Thank you?” She took the paper. “It’s legible.”
“Anything else?” He gave her a smile as he passed by.
“You know what Harlow? You’re really getting the hang of running the shop. Let’s see if you can fill the last of Shane’s shoes.” She punctuated his compliment with one last sock in the arm. “Break a leg.”
“Thank you.” Not sure if he winced due to the throb in his arm or her mention of his media debut, he no sooner stepped over the threshold when his personal agent spotted him.
With her hands behind her back, Emily tiptoed toward him. “Can I get you ready for the spotlight, Mr. Harlow?”
Before he flat out refused any of her so-called help, he considered his situation. Jake from Inked Skin was on his way; therefore backing out of his media appearance was not an option. The glow bouncing off Emily’s skin told him she radiated health. Earlier when they ate a huge breakfast, she stole a slice of his toast. She was even well hydrated after he plied her with iced tea. Even if it meant a personal sacrifice and humiliation, he could not do anything to jeopardize her state of good health.
Of course, Emily’s glow also indicated he would benefit later if he played nice, and he sat down at his station. “You may get me ready for my close-up, Miss Elliott.”
Her smile outshined her glow. As she approached, she revealed her makeup tote from behind her.
“What’cha doing?”
Without answering, she reached into her bag of tricks and put her various pouches of elixirs on the counter, finishing by bending over and picking up the black case. In her defense, she did try to hide it like a doctor hid a hypodermic needle.
“Em?” His heart took off on a full-speed gallop and he gripped the edge of his seat. “I’ll wear the guy-liner if you don’t use what’s in the case.”
Worse than when horror movie music amplified and alerted the viewers to impending doom, the silence around him prepared him to be hacked.
Still, when Emily turned with the scissors in her hand he jumped, though he tried to keep a strong front.
“Emily, please.” He held his breath as she came forward.
Comb in one hand, weapon in the other, she inched toward him.
In defeat he closed his eyes. Only the warmth radiating off her body and the scent of her soap and perfume told him she had reached her goal.
His hair.
“I just need to fix something.” The way she gently ran her fingers through his pride and joy was merely a decoy to get him to relax.
“Remember how you told me how my hair turns you on.” He spoke through his teeth.
“Then remember I am the only person who has cut your hair since you were nineteen.” She laughed.
Fine, he always forgot that minor fact. “But…” He opened his eyes to something that made him forget his hair…her boobs.
“But what?” She leaned closer, her cleavage now less than an inch away from his nose.
Yes, the snipping of the scissors echoed in ears, but her cleavage was in his eyes. “I don’t know.” He straightened to get a look down there.
“Go ahead it will take your mind off the trim.” She gave her shirt a little tug to give him a better view.
“Do you want me tattooing you on camera with a hard-on?” He surveyed the rest of the shop in the mirror. Everyone continued their work as if having Emily and her boobs all over him was nothing to gawk at.
“Yes, I do.” She continued her work.
“Really?” Permission granted from all parties, he stared into the wonderland and the erection he predicted appeared. As he gawked, something sparkled inside, beckoning him and he hooked his finger in the neck of her shirt. “I don’t recognize this bra.”
“You know my bras?” Finished with her styling, she peered inside with him.
He paused, the images of her bras flashing through his mind. The red, the black, the pink, the plain beige one, not his favorite. Of course there was the polka dot, the one with the hearts, the lace one, and the one with the pink ribbons. His boner might insist on taking center stage if he focused on the transparent one that showed off her nipples. Her collection did not include a black satin one with sparkles.
“You do know my bras.” She put her hand under his chin and forced his face up.
“It’s like the wrapping on a birthday present. Are you trying to give me something?” He raised his eyebrows. “Em-Lee?”
“Not now.”
“I think it will relax me.” He stared into her eyes.
With the guy-liner, her hand headed toward his eye. “We don’t want to be a mess.”
“I’ll be neat.” While he didn’t know what being neat entailed, at least it sounded as if he was trying to comply with her wishes.
Apparently she didn’t understand either. She scowled and applied his makeup.
“Em.” Muscle memory from years of having Emily apply makeup to him took over and he spoke through gritted teeth.
“Yes, Ivan.” She moved to his other eye.
“Aren’t we at the point where we can just do it whenever?” Okay, he was whining, but he owned it.
She held the eyeliner back. “Are we?” Her expression, mouth partially open, eyes wide and skin paling told him her question was one of those tests, a pop quiz where he better come up with the right answer or be held back, literally.
In the past he’d failed each and every time. “I think we are.” He held his breath waiting for the verdict.
The glow returned. She licked her lips and stared into his eyes. “I want to make that eyeliner smear down your cheeks. I don’t care if we make a mess.”
“I want to inspect your new bra.” Flooded with arousal, he sprang out of the chair and considered their exit strategy.
“I wore it special for your show.” Without warning she took her shirt off.
“Emily!” He held his hands out in a vane attempt to shield her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s a Mark Markson original.” She jutted her chest out. “It’s not only underwear. It will be perfect on film.”
His mind wanted to collapse under the weight of the data it needed to process. Her boobs overflowed out of a perfectly fit designer bra that another man gave her. That was the way the whole world would see her chest. He didn’t want the world to see her boobs. “You will not display your chest region to the entire world wide web.”
“I’ll be on my side. I have the matching bottoms on.” She turned in a circle, hooked her fingers in the waistband of pants, and pulled one side down over her hip, revealing a piece of black string. “I need to provide the right canvas for your art. You are the star.”
His art. Since the day he made art a career, he got to stand two steps behind Shane, only edging into the limelight when needed.
His art, his girl, and for the time being, his shop. The heat of power surged though him only to be instantly extinguished by a dousing of reality. Nothing in front of him had been the same since the day he walked in as a sad substitute for Shane.
The bell at the front rang.
Emily grabbed his arm as Jake and two other men entered the shop with their camera equipment. “This is it.” She gave him a squeeze.
No, nothing was the same. Now he had way too much to lose.
~~*~~
“Lookin’ good, Emily.” Jake from Inked Skin sat down and motioned for the cameraman to come in closer.
Ivan finished setting up his station and unclenched his jaw. He didn’t need Jake or anyone else to tell Emily how she looked.
“Thank you. As we discussed, there is no need to shoot my face.” She rested her knee on a pillow, and rounded out her hip and her ass.
“There’s the shot,” the cameraman mumbled.
“We don’t need any footage of your face.” Jake tilted her head and even Billy stopped his trek across the shop.
Part of Ivan wanted to stand up and punch each one of these men in the eye they used to gawk at her. The other part wanted to elbow the other guys and tell them that he got to hold on to those hips every night, and sometimes during the day.
“Stay focused on the tattoo.” Emily kicked her foot out and caught Jake on the shoulder.
“That’s like telling someone not to blink.” He laughed.
“Listen to the lady,” Ivan said. Emily grew up around mostly men, and it had its benefits. She could take Jake in a second, but it was all part of her allure. With the looks of a modern day pin up girl and the toughness to match any tattoo artist, at the end of the day she was all woman. She never had a problem getting guys, but she wanted him.
“Let’s take a look at the ink.” Jake cleared his throat and leaned over. “In this case maybe I should say paint. You did the art all by hand, no stencils?”
The camera light glared, indicating the filming started.
What would Shane say? A simple yes would never leave his mouth. Instead Shane would have a story, a quip, something more than a single word. He swallowed and stared down at the tattoo. The violet, the rose, the daisy, the tulip, the sunflower and the pansy all intertwined in the vines he’d created. Each flower possessed its own meaning between the two of them. He only needed to add the final touch. “Yes.” Damn it.
“Most tattoo artists use a combination of stencils and hand drawing. Do you ever use stencils?”
Don’t just say yes. He picked up his marking pen. “Turn over a bit.” Great, rather than answering the question, he ignored it entirely.
Emily put the pillow behind her, got into position and stared right at him, in her unique way giving him every bit of her support.
“Do you ever use stencils?” Jake repeated.
Once more he took her all in. She always gave him her all, never one ounce less. More than Shane, she had never left his side. “Yes, I use stencils.” He pulled the cap off the pen and bent over his magnificent canvas. “There has to be a special relationship between the artist and the client if you do everything by hand. Trust is key. There is no way to predict what the finished product will look like. You really have to believe in your artist.”
