Temptation’s Edge (25 page)

As he’d told Mischa, his work was by contract, and he was between deadlines. But he had a few ideas he was knocking around for a new video game for a company out of L.A., and he needed to put some drawings together sometime in the next few weeks. The last two days had been a wash and he’d ended up going to
the gym both days, working out like a fiend. Working off…what?

Whatever it was that had blown his focus.

You know damn well what it is.

Mischa.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. And how many times had he said that to himself since they’d met? It was getting old.

It was the truth.

He blew out a breath, sat down at his drawing table.

“Just do it,” he said aloud.

He picked up his pencil, bent his head to work.

But all he could see in his mind’s eye was the creamy skin of her shoulders, the rich red of her mouth. And instead of the interior of the interstellar ship he was supposed to be working on, it was her face that began to appear on the page.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

He gave up and let his hand show him the way. The curve of her cheekbones, her jaw, her long, thick lashes. Then her eyes…except that there was something in them he couldn’t get quite right. He needed to have her in front of him, needed her to pose for him.

They’d talked about it. Had talked about her tattooing him later today. And he was as eager as a puppy, waiting to hear from her. Which made him feel like an ass.

He got to his feet once more and began to pace. Back and forth over the wood floor, passing the bookcase filled with art books he’d collected over the years: comic illustrations, classical art, photography. In front of the books were a few framed photographs: his sisters, Clara and Molly, his mum in her garden. They had been the only women in his life—
really
in his life—since Ginny.

He shook his head. He’d never quite let Ginny in, either.

And why was that? What was he so damn afraid of? Because—and he was seeing it for the first time—it was fear that was holding him back. He knew it because Mischa Kennon scared the shit out of him.

He jumped when his cell phone went off. Muttered a curse as he picked it up.

“Alec.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood.”

“Yeah. Sort of. Brooding, maybe. Sorry.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s up?” Alec asked.

“Yeah, not really.”

“Okay.”

“You’re too fucking agreeable sometimes, you know.”

Alec laughed. “Funny, no one’s ever told me that before.”

“Well, I will tell you. Because I’m crawling out of my skin over here, to be honest.” He paused, and Alec waited for him to go on. “You remember we talked before about Mischa.”

“Sure.”

He started to pace again, putting the phone on speaker, gripping it in his hand. “It’s gotten worse. I’m waiting to hear from her today.
Waiting
, Alec. I’ve never waited on any woman. Not my ex-wife. Not anyone. So what the hell does this mean? No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, just enough time to make him feel even more foolish.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Connor. That you shouldn’t see her again? That you’ll grow bored and stop feeling like this eventually? I can’t tell you that. I don’t know what will happen. Everyone is different. You need to calm down and see where this goes.”

“The whole ‘seeing where it goes’ thing sounds an awful lot like going in blind. No control over the situation.”

“Sometimes that’s all we can do. Even guys like us. One thing I’ve figured out is that we’re still human. You, me, Dylan. Mischa. And that makes us unpredictable.”

“I don’t like unpredictable.”

“You like to
be
unpredictable,” Alec said. “You just don’t like it when someone else is.”

He let out a short laugh. “You’re right there. But part of the problem is that right now I don’t even know what
I’m
going to do.”

“You’ll figure it out. I say let it ride for a while. She’s in town for another two weeks.”

“What? I thought it was one more week.”

“She told Dylan last night she needs to extend her trip to finalize some things with the new shop.”

“Ah. So.” He stopped pacing, ran his hand over his head again. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think about this new piece of information “So why’d you call?”

“There’s a dom support group at the Pleasure Dome tomorrow night. Maybe you’d like to come along and talk about your feelings?”

“What?”

“Just kidding.”

“Ass.”

Alec chuckled. “I called to see if you and Mischa want to have dinner with us tonight. Or is that too weird?”

“It’s too…couple-like.”

“All right. We’ll table it.”

“Anyway, she’s doing some more work on my tattoo later,” he said, picking up his pencil and tapping it on the edge of his drawing table.

“I didn’t know she was tattooing you.”

“Yeah. Her work is amazing.”

“It is. She did a small piece for Dylan and me both last night.”

“Ah, she mentioned she was going to do some work on you two.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about what she’s doing for someone who’s not into the ‘couple-like’ thing.”

“Fuck off, Alec.”

Alec laughed. “Hang in there. I’ll talk to you soon.”

They hung up, leaving Connor feeling a bit more centered. Alec was right. He could let this thing play out. Just let it be whatever it was. Great sex with a gorgeous woman who would, in two weeks, take off for California, go back to her life. He didn’t have to remind himself that once this new tattoo shop was set up, some of her life would be here in Seattle.

But two more weeks, rather than one…that was good, wasn’t it? He shook his head, gripping the pencil in his hand. He wished to God he knew.

Mischa raised her hand to knock on Connor’s blue door. Her heart was tripping in her chest. She pulled her hand back, biting her lip.

She was being ridiculous again. Just because she’d realized how she felt about him…God, she couldn’t even think the word in her own head. But that didn’t have to change anything. That’s what she was trying to tell herself, anyway.

She shifted the big, boxy red leather case that held her tattoo equipment to her other hand and knocked firmly.

There, that was better.

Until Connor opened the door.

The breath just went right out of her as she stared at his massive chest, a black sweater stretched tight across it. It was even worse when she raised her gaze to his green eyes, felt as if she was
falling into their gold-sprinkled depths. There was so much in this man’s eyes…

“Hey,” he said, his voice that low throaty tone that turned her knees to mush.

“Hey.”

She smiled, tried to get her composure back as he took the case from her, took her hand and led her inside. He set the case carefully down on the floor, slipped her coat from her shoulders, then pulled her in close and even more carefully kissed her.

His mouth was hard and soft all at once, his tongue sweet as it slipped into her mouth. Then he was really kissing her, and her whole body was lighting up with need as he crushed her to his chest. She sank into his kiss, into
him.
Her brain was starting to shut down already.

He let her go, held her at arm’s length.

“Jesus, Connor.”

“Yeah. I know. That’s why I stopped. We have work to do.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He stared at her for several long moments, yanked her in again, his mouth coming down so hard she thought her lips might be bruised. She didn’t care. He opened her mouth with his tongue, all sleek velvet as he pushed inside. One arm went around her waist, held her tight. The other went around the back of her head, under her hair, so that she could feel the heat of his big hand.

Lovely.

She went loose all over, her body yielding even before her mind had time to consider it. All she could do was grip his arms, use them to hold herself upright as her sex pulsed with need. As her heart beat with it even harder. A different need…

Need him.

He pulled back with a snarl. “Mischa.”

“Connor?”

“We need to…talk.”

Her head was spinning now. “About what?”

He drew in a deep breath; she could see the way he filled up his lungs, his chest expanding even more. He held her shoulders with both hands, watching her face as he spoke, his dark brows drawn.

“Look. This is…Things are getting intense here. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Does it freak you out at all?”

She couldn’t help the small, nervous laugh. “It does.”

“Yeah, well, it does me, too. And I am not the kind of guy who has conversations about where we’re going, or any of that.”

“I wouldn’t expect it of you. And I’m not the girl who does that, either.”

“Right. But here’s the thing. I think it’s necessary to say something now. About what’s happening between us. Because we’re spending a hell of a lot of time together; the time has been condensed.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But I’ll be going home soon, so there’s really nothing to talk about.”

Why were her own words making her heart sink? Maybe because she knew damn well she wasn’t being honest.

“Yeah, two more weeks.”

“How did you know I was staying longer?”

“Alec told me. But look, can we spend these next couple of weeks together? I mean, whatever time we have here. Can we agree not to question it, just be in the moment? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She nodded. “I get it. And I don’t see why not.”

When had she turned into such a good liar? She had nothing
but
questions. For him. For herself. Questions she probably didn’t want to know the answers to.

God, she was a mess.

“Good. That’s good,” he said, dropping his hands from her shoulders.

She bit her lip, waited for him to say more. When he didn’t she asked, “Why don’t I start work on your tattoo? There’s a lot to be done, still.”

“Sure. You can set up in the dining room, if that works.”

“That should be fine as long as there’s good light.”

“There is.”

He picked up her leather case and she followed him, watched him put it down on the floor, then concentrated on setting up her workstation at the big glass dining table while Connor moved into the kitchen to get them both some bottled water.

She needed to calm herself. To stop trying to dissect what this odd little discussion had meant, if anything. She really couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. Obviously he still wanted to see her. The way he kissed her would have told her that, if he hadn’t indicated it himself. But he didn’t want anything more from her. He’d made it clear that once she returned to San Francisco, they would be done. Hadn’t he?

Which would be for the best. She couldn’t afford to let a man throw her like this—she had too much at stake. Her focus had to be on opening the new shop. Her business, her success at it, was who she was, every bit as much as the art itself. She wasn’t about to throw it all away because of a man, the way Evie had. If she compromised even a little on the promise she’d made to herself long ago—so long ago she couldn’t even remember when her mind-set had been any different—it would ruin everything she’d worked so hard to build for herself.

Just stay on course.

When Connor returned, handing her a bottle of water, she accepted it with barely even a small patter in her chest. She’d always known what she wanted. And even Connor Galloway, even the way she felt about him, was not going to steer her down another path.

“Okay,” she told him. “Let’s get to work.”

They spent the next five hours with the tattoo needle whirring against a backdrop of music playing on Connor’s iPod. Neither one spoke much other than to comment on a song, or when Mischa checked in to make sure he wasn’t getting too sore or tired. She liked these long tattoo sessions. A lot of other artists would limit their sessions to two or three hours, but she enjoyed having the opportunity to really concentrate on a piece, to let herself fall into the work. It was meditative for her, made her feel more connected to her art.

She was making excellent progress, the lower half of the dragon taking shape, the detail in the wings. Finally, she got to the point where she’d worked on every bit of skin available that wasn’t still healing from the previous session, and stopped. She sat back to look at the overall piece, pleased with what she saw. This was going to be really beautiful when it was done.

“Do you want to take a look in the mirror, Connor?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

She followed him into the bathroom, remembered in a shivery flash the times they’d had sex in the shower, the water spilling all over their naked skin. She pulled in a breath.

Calm down.

Connor was standing with his back to the big vanity mirror. Mischa handed him the hand mirror she always kept with her tattoo equipment.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“It’s incredible. Looks even better on my skin than it did in your sketch. I can’t believe how much work you did today.”

“Well, I work fast. And you took it like a champ. Not everyone can sit for so long.”

“That’s my Irish peasant blood. I come from sturdy stock.” He winked at her, grinning.

All tension seemed to be gone. On his end, anyway. She was still feeling a little uncertain, especially now that she’d stopped working on his tattoo. She wanted—needed—to regain some sense of control. Not that she was ever the one holding the reins with Connor…

“Oy, I’m stiff from sitting still so long.”

He set the hand mirror down on the counter before raising his arms over his head to stretch. Mischa eyed the ripple of his abs, the narrow line of dark hair leading into the low-riding waist of his jeans, her body going warm in a flash.

Without saying a word she pulled her knit dress over her head. Connor’s eyes widened but he didn’t move to stop her as she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her thigh-high sweater tights. As she sank down to her knees on the bathroom rug and unzipped his faded jeans, the last thing she saw of his face was his wide grin.