Surrender of a Tattooist: Obsessive Dark Romance Alpha Bad Boy (Tattooist Series Book 2) (14 page)

Cliff was on the phone with the leasing agent when he walked into the shop the next day. Cara stood near one of the long walls. She wore a carnelian corset, torn blue jeans, and a pair of purple and red cowboy boots, and her hair was pulled up high so that her toned arms and shoulders were in full view. She’d died her blond hair blue. A really stunning color, actually.

She waited until he hung up and then, eyeing him warily, she asked, “Is your girlfriend going to come running in here to try to kick my ass?”

He tucked the phone into his back pocket and said, “No, but I wouldn’t blame her if she did. The way you acted yesterday was way past screwed up, and if you don’t know that then you’re screwed up.

“She thinks you want to get back with me. I’m pretty sure that you thought we might still have something too.”

She held up a slender hand. “You’re right. I didn’t have the easiest love life in Manhattan. Nothing ever worked out for me. I kept getting my heart busted, and in some weird way I thought it had to be karma coming back at me for what I did to you, and maybe it was.” She sucked in a hesitant breath. “I…I don’t know. I was thinking we could start over. For some stupid reason I haven’t been able to move on. Maybe it was because deep down I knew I’d wronged you and I needed to apologize. But your girlfriend can quit worrying. I am
not
chasing you, and I won’t be calling you anymore, either, unless there’s a real emergency.”

“Thanks.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Speaking of me calling you—Mitch is a psychopath.”

He blinked. “What?”

Her lips curved upward. “I mean that in the best way possible.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “So are you going to go out with him again?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure. He’s only a few months away from a very bad divorce, and I don’t have time to be anyone’s ear or shoulder. We had a nice dinner and he made me laugh. So I had my first good date in a long time. That was pretty awesome.”

“Good.” He bit his lip and added, “So no more calling me or running into my room or…look, I don’t even want to talk about the past anymore either.”

“Neither do I.” She cupped her elbows with her palms and sighed. “It’s way past time to get past it. Anyway, tell Pixie she doesn’t have to worry about me. I owe you a lot, I really do, so I’m leaving. I just came to tell Hawk I’m out.”

“Are you going back to New York?”

She shook her head, “No, Memphis. I got a good offer there. L.A. just isn’t the same. I don’t belong here. Maybe I never did.”

Like a gust of wind, she was in and out of his life again. “Well, safe travels.”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks. Good luck with your life, Cliff. I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve it.”

“Same to you.”

She turned and headed for the office. He watched her go. He had been wrong. She had changed, and a lot. The old Cara would have stayed because she wanted to, and to hell with what anyone else thought about it or if it was hurtful.

He went into his room and began to arrange his things for the day. He had an early customer who wanted a large and intricate design on her upper right thigh, a time-consuming and painstaking work that took many hours.

When he finished, he found Pixie sitting out in the front area, perched on a sofa. Her face was lit up and she was wriggling with impatience. He asked, “How long have you been here?’

“About an hour.” She bounced up and came toward him. “Congratulate me. I have a full-time job.”

He hugged her hard and then asked, “Are you happy?”

“I am. They agreed to let me keep my hair, as long as I cover most of the tattoos in class. I get to teach, even if it just at the community college level, and that’s what I’ve always wanted so…yes.”

“Good. I have good news too. Do you want to go look at a house?”

“Yes, absolutely. But I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Can we have a dog?”

He blinked. “A dog?”

She made a face and said, “Yeah, it’s at the vet right now. I sort of blew what money I had left to get it in there, too, so I’m afraid I’m broke until I get paid from my nail appointments this week.”

“Where did you get a dog?”

“In a dumpster.”

“Of course you got …um…”

“Pickles. That’s what I want to name him.”

His mouth dropped open. “You want to call a dog ‘Pickles’?”

“I named Caligula…Caligula. So why not?”

He tried not to laugh. “What kind of dog is it?”

“Oh just a little mutt. He’s at the vet down by your house. We can go see him if you want.”

He held back laughter. “I see. So, Pickles. Okay, cool. The house has a big yard, and they allow pets, so I don’t see why not.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t. You’re a rescuer, Pix, it’s what you do and who you are. Hell, you rescued me so how can I begrudge Pickles the same treatment?”

Her smile was beatific. “You’re going to love him.”

“I love you,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll love him. Do me a favor, though?”

Pixie sighed. “I know, don’t drag in so many strays.”

He chuckled. “My folks know a lot of people who run rescues, so rescue all you want, but tell me so we can find them a good place. I don’t know how many dogs and parrots I can take in.”

“Deal.”

The door opened and Mitch strolled in. Pixie smiled. “Hey, Mitch! Haven’t seen you in a while. I heard you went out with Cara last night. I see you survived.”

Cliff bit his lip to keep from laughing. Mitch took the cowboy hat off his head and scratched his scalp before saying, “I was hoping she was around.”

Cliff shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. She left this morning. She’s on her way to Memphis.”

Mitch frowned. “Memphis?”

Pixie echoed, “Memphis?”

Cliff said, “Yeah, she said L.A. wasn’t for her anymore.”

Mitch leaned against a wall. “I feel her on that one. My show wrapped yesterday so I’m headed back to Nashville. I was hoping to …you know what? Memphis is just a short drive from Nashville. I’ll find her. Have a great day, y’all.” He walked out.

Pixie looked up at Cliff, “She left again, huh?”

“Yup.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Why? You think she needed some of your dubious beauty treatments?”

Pixie shook her head. “Guys,” she said succinctly. “It’s a pattern. She ran out on you. No matter what she said, I’m willing to bet she got scared. Then she got here and you weren’t available, and a perfectly great guy like Mitch asked her out, so she ran again. She’s scared to death.”

He’d never considered that. “How do you know?”

Pixie waved a hand in the air. “I know what scared looks like. Especially when it’s scared of love.” Her hand wrapped into his and she asked, “You think he’ll go after her? I mean really?”

“I don’t know, but he sounded pretty adamant.”

Pixie muttered, “Must have been one hell of a date.”

“I don’t even want to know.” Hawk came out of the office and Cliff said, “Jack’s in the parking lot. I can see him getting out of the car now. I’m done for the day, if that’s cool. I tatted for four straight hours and my hands are killing me.”

Hawk nodded. “It’s cool. Pixie, what the hell are you wearing?”

“Your girlfriend bought it,” Pixie said. “I’m working now.”

“Nice,” Hawk turned away. “Remind me to thank her later.”

Cliff took Pixie by the hand and propelled her out the door. “So, let’s grab some lunch and then go see the house. We have to make sure it has a suitable place for Pickles.”

Pixie stopped. Her body swayed toward his and she kissed him, hard. Her body felt so right in his arms and her mouth called to his, and he kissed her back deeply and passionately until Jack came through the door and snapped, “Get a room, you freaks.”

Pixie said, “We plan on it,” and they walked out of the shop and into the sunlight beyond.

*  *

Pixie was thinking about what she had said about Cara as they stood in front of the kennel. Cara was scared. Why hadn’t she seen it when she met her? If only Cliff had opened up to her sooner, she might have known and been nicer to Cara.

She really did pity her. It wasn’t easy to be so afraid of love, and she knew that maybe better than anyone. She’d almost blown the best thing that had ever happened to her because she had been so afraid she would end up heartbroken yet again.

The vet came back, leading Pickles. Cliff asked, “What the literal hell?”

Pickles limped toward them, his long tongue lolling out. Cliff took an involuntary step back and Pixie choked on a laugh.

The vet said, “I do believe he’s a Pomeranian and Staffordshire mix.”

Cliff blinked. Pixie couldn’t blame him. The dog was hideously ugly. It had small pointed ears, a huge puff of tail, a Staffordshire’s face and compact body, set low to the ground, and long hair feathered away from its legs and around his neck, while the rest of his hair was short and fine, a combination that gave him the strangest appearance. He would have resembled a half-shaven lion cub if it hadn’t been for the color of his fur.

He had a blotchy mottled coat comprised of streaks of gray and black, with a dash of what looked like lavender thrown in.

Pickles whined and then lowered his head. Cliff’s eyes ran along its body and Pixie knew what he saw. The dog was emaciated to the bones. There were scars on his nose, and when he looked up his eyes were a lovely liquid blue. Those eyes held a hopeful and terrified expression that Cliff knew all too well.

Cliff dropped down and held out his hand. “Hey there, Pickles.” He wiggled his fingers and Pickles collapsed at his feet, his tongue licking adoringly along the top of Cliff’s shoes. He bent and petted and patted him, being careful to avoid the fresh stitches in his side and on his head.

Pixie sighed happily. “See, Pickles, I told you he would like you.”

Cliff grinned as he looked up at her. “He’s like us. Weird. He fits right in.”

Pickles whined in agreement and the vet said, “I have to take him back now. He needs more pain meds. You can come see him tomorrow.”

The vet took Pickles away and they went to his car and got in. Cliff stopped right before they reached it and asked, “How in the world did you manage to find him in a dumpster?”

Pixie bit her lips. “I heard him crying. I followed the sound. It never ceases to amaze me how cruel people can be.”

His arms wrapped around her. “It never ceases to amaze me that there’re people who are so kind.”

She let her weight rest against him. The sun beat down on their heads. She said, “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

His chest rumbled as he responded, “Yes, we are. And the sooner the better. I vote I pay off the last few days of rent at the old place and we go ahead and move into our place. What do you say?”

“I say I pack really fast,” she replied.

He opened her car door and said, “Good. Because I don’t think I can wait.”

“Me neither,” she said as he started the car and headed toward the highway that would take them back to Joy’s condo. “Me neither.”

One year later

Pixie opened the heavy envelope carefully, frowning as she did so. Cliff, busy stroking Pickles’ snout and trying to avoid Caligula’s well-aimed bird seed, which Caligula threw at Pickles out of sheer craziness whenever he thought Pickles was getting more attention than he was, looked up and asked, “What is it?”

Pixie read the words on the heavy cream-colored card again and then set it down on the counter. She said, “Either I’m hallucinating or…hell, maybe I
am
hallucinating.”

Cliff looked up. “Say what?”

Pixie laughed. “Um, it’s a wedding invitation. Cara’s getting married.”

Cliff shook his head. “Now that’s a story, I’m sure.”

She picked up the knife she’d been using to chop vegetables and said, “I’m sure it is. But I like ours just fine. Do you want to go?”

He shook his head. “I don’t. Do you want some help with dinner?”

“No, I’m good.” She expertly sliced a few radishes and then she chopped a peeled cucumber. She asked, “What time are your folks coming over again?”

“Six,” he said in a fond tone. “Relax. Why do you always get so nervous when they come over?”

She set the knife down. “Because they’re the people I always wished my parents were like when I was younger. I mean, mine are pretty heinous, you know. They don’t mean to be. They just don’t understand a single thing I do or say or feel.”

“Well,” he said as he stood and came to where she stood. He leaned his body against hers, his chest pressing against her narrow back, “they really love you, you know.”

“I do know. That’s why I get nervous. Oh, please tell me you hid all the pork chops and hamburger meat and…”

Cliff said, “You know they know I eat meat. They’re just happy I don’t eat as much of it as I used to. Besides, you can always tell them you cook it for Pickles.”

“Fuck Pickles,” Caligula howled.

Pickles lifted his head and barked once. Pixie started laughing. Cliff joined her. The invitation lay forgotten on the counter as he kissed her, then took the oven mitts and bent down to lift the roasted vegetables and tofu she’d made from the oven.

Pixie noticed it lying there and she frowned. Cara was getting married. Cliff was right about one thing: there was likely one hell of a story there.

But it wasn’t theirs.

Their story was here, in L.A. They had friends, family, and they had love.

So much love.

Cliff had tattooed himself and his love right on her skin. The slim band on her finger was forever. It was ink, not diamonds or gold, and she would not have traded it for either of those things.

Ink was forever.

They were forever.

It had taken a lot for them to get there. They had to set aside the pain from their pasts. They had had to learn to let go and talk to each other when things got hard, but the payoff was so high.

Forever.

She rested her head against his chin. His breath blew gently across her bare shoulders and she smiled. She’d finally found herself, the Pixie she was always meant to be, and she knew that she would not change a single thing in her life, not for anything.

His hand moved to her hair and he said, “You know, I’m wondering if maybe we have time to …”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. She turned, grabbed him by the hand, and hauled him off to bed in a gust of laughter and desire.

THE END

Heart of a Tattooist

Coming March 2016