Good, Bad...Better. Cindi Myers
off his gloves, then disappeared through a beaded curtain into a back room. A moment later, he emerged with a woman. She had black hair, like his, but hers was worn loose, hanging almost to her waist. She wore tight jeans, high-heeled boots and an inlaid leather halter top. A tattoo of a snarling tiger adorned one shoulder, while a Celtic knot nestled in the cleavage of her ample breasts. “This is Theresa,” he said. “She’ll finish you up.”
Theresa took her place on the stool and picked up the machine while the man walked over to the front counter.
“What’s with your boyfriend?” Jen asked, keeping her voice low.
“Zach? He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my brother.” They both turned to look at him. He was seated behind the counter now, hunched over a sketchbook, blatantly ignoring them. Theresa looked back at Jen. “What did you say to him?”
“I—I didn’t say anything.”
Theresa grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d shaken him up.”
“What do you mean?” If anything, she was the one shaken here. Her heart was still racing with the memory of his touch.
“He doesn’t usually go for the innocent type, but who knows?” She started the machine again. “Okay, take a deep breath and relax.”
For some reason, it hurt more this time. Maybe because she didn’t have Zach’s closeness to distract her. She turned to look at him again, trying to ignore the pain. He was still bent over his sketchpad, shoulders tensed. She had a feeling he was aware of everything that was going on in her corner of the shop. Was it possible Zach was as attracted to her as she was to him?
Come on! A sex god like him could have anyone he wanted. Why would he pay attention to a plain-vanilla “good” girl like her?
She looked away from him, at Theresa. “That’s a gorgeous top you have on,” she said. The black leather was inlaid with designs of vines and flowers in tan and dark brown.
“Thanks. It’s from a shop over in Lakeway. The woman who owns the place has some amazing things. Clothes and jewelry. I can give you her card if you’re interested.”
“Oh, thanks. But I could never wear something like that.”
“Why not?” Theresa’s eyes, black like her brother’s, bored into Jen, challenging her.
She felt like squirming, but didn’t dare for fear of messing up the tat. “I guess I’ve always dressed a little more conservatively.” But why? Because it was easier to do what was expected than to give in to the little voice inside of her that said wearing leather might be a real kick? She smiled. “But I will take the card. Maybe I’ll find something there I can’t resist.”
“Zach, dig out one of Sandra’s cards for me, okay?” she called across the room.
Zach responded with a grunt, and began rummaging through a drawer beneath the cash register. Jen took the opportunity to study him some more. His tough-guy image didn’t mesh with the sensitive artist who had produced the beautiful work that filled the shop walls. There was definitely a lot more to Zach than his leather and tattoos implied. The idea intrigued her.
And there was his perceptive assessment of her. He’d said she looked innocent, but had a highly sensual quality. Could it be that, maybe for the first time ever, someone had looked past her “good girl” image and seen the real woman who was trying to assert herself? A bubble of hope swelled in her chest. If Zach could see that in her, maybe she could find a way to make others see it, as well.
ZACH JACOBS DIDN’T NEED some gorgeous innocent messing with his head. For one thing, she absolutely wasn’t his type. He went for busty, brazen women who could give as good as they got, not some delicate, timid girl who looked as if a strong wind might carry her away.
Not that she was exactly timid. She looked that way at first, mainly because she was so small, with all that blond hair falling around her shoulders like an angel in a Botticelli painting. But when you really paid attention, you could see the fire in her eyes, hear it in her voice.
That was what got to him most—not her looks, but that fire. That…wanting.
Her response to him had been so obvious. Where some women tried to be coy, her desire was out there in the open. And his own reaction had surprised him in its intensity. When he’d brushed against her nipple, an electric shock had passed through him. His hand had started shaking so badly he knew he’d mess up the tat if he’d tried to finish.
He’d responded not just to her body, but to her obvious need. Talk about ready to explode….
He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the sketchpad in front of him. But he was too aware of her, only steps across the room. Through slitted eyes, he let himself take a longer look. Theresa had pulled the shirt down even farther, and the curve of the woman’s breast swelled above the white lace of the bra, which itself barely covered her nipple. His groin tightened as he thought of running his tongue along that satin skin, flicking it across that taut peak….
She winced, and he winced for her. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “Pick out something in the room to look at and focus all your attention on that. It’ll take your mind off the pain.”
Most people chose to look at one of the flashes on the wall, but she turned her eyes to him. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. She had unusual eyes, gray and slightly almond shaped, luminous against her pale skin and hair. “Tell me about your art,” she said.
He gave her the general spiel he’d uttered hundreds of times before. “Tattooing has been around since ancient Egypt. People decorated their bodies with images for religious, ethnic or simply aesthetic reasons. At times, it’s been considered a rite of passage, or something that marked you as part of a particular group. Sailors and travelers brought the idea of tattooing to Europe and America from the East. Today, it’s as much a matter of fashion as anything, though for some it’s still a sign of rebellion.” His eyes met hers. Was she rebelling against something? Or someone? What was going on in that gorgeous head of hers? “We specialize in custom designs,” he concluded. “We can do just about anything a customer wants.”
“You’re obviously very talented. Some of your work reminds me of Alex Katz.”
Her mention of the New York artist surprised him. “You’re familiar with Katz?”
“Not especially, but my father has some of his work. He collects modern art.” She flinched again as Theresa began work in a new area of the tat.
“Breathe deep,” he reminded her.
She nodded and did so. “Why did you decide to become a tattoo artist and not a painter or maybe a commercial artist?” she asked when she’d regained her composure.
As if etching a design on flesh didn’t take as much—or more—talent as rendering it on paper or in a computer file. “I prefer the human body to more traditional canvases.” It was a stock answer, but not entirely true. “I like to play by my own rules,” he added. “Doing tats lets me do that.”
Her gaze flickered over him, taking in the long hair, the leather. Some women really got off on the whole rebel image; maybe she was one of them. Just like some dudes really went for the innocent-virgin type. But he wasn’t one of them. At least, not before now.
“I imagine you meet some interesting people in this line of work.”
“Uh-huh.” Bikers and college students made up the majority of his clientele, but he got his fair share of businessmen and even the occasional bored housewife. Then there were ones like her, who were harder to classify. “What do you do?”
“I’m a dancer.”
Surprise jolted him. Exotic dancers were also frequent customers, but she didn’t look the type. He took in her trim figure and killer legs, and hazarded a guess. “Since when do ballerinas get tats?”
She smiled and looked pleased. “I