“Positive. Thank you.”
With a nod, he headed out the front door, and Cait went back to Brant. “Where do you want your tattoo?”
Brant cocked a grin. “Wherever you want to put it.”
Her mind immediately ran down a laundry list of parts she’d like to touch, taste, and tattoo. Down, girl. She should have bought herself a shock collar at the pet supply store. She narrowed her eyes, trying to regain control of her runaway hormones. “You sure? I’ve tattooed some pretty sensitive body parts.”
His brows slanted. “How about my chest?” He pulled off the sling and set it on the counter, then tugged his shirt off, tossing it on top of the sling, and rolled his shoulders back.
Cait’s mouth went dry, her fingers itching to touch the dusting of hair on his chest.
“Where do you want me, angel?” he asked huskily.
Everywhere . . .
He brushed his fingers over his pecs and across one nipple, causing both of their nipples to pebble. His hand slid down his stomach and his muscles flexed.
Yesss. Keep going . . .
He cleared his throat, and his grin turned cocky, snapping her from her stupor. She waved her hand, laughing at having been caught for the billionth time gawking at him.
“Get all of that away from me.” She pointed to the table. “On your back.”
He chuckled as he climbed onto the table, and she turned to wash her hands. When she turned back, her eyes locked on the beefy buffet before her—thick thighs straining against his shorts, the impressive bulge behind his zipper, and planes of rough, rugged man. She needed to pull herself together or she’d drool on him, which he’d probably enjoy.
So would I.
Ohmygod.
What was wrong with her? She’d tattooed plenty of hot guys and never had reactions like that. She grabbed a paper towel and rubbing alcohol, reminding herself she was a professional.
He raised his brows. “Want to see my anchor?”
She gave him a deadpan look. “An anchor is a pretty common tattoo around here, and I know how to draw a mermaid’s tail. I’m going to do it freehand on your skin rather than drawing it on the computer and then printing a stencil, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine, but you might want to take a good hard look at it. My anchor is heftier than others.”
She shook her head, stifling a laugh. “Where do you want it?”
“Well . . .” That slow, sexy grin appeared again.
She rolled her eyes. “Which side?”
He patted his left pec. “This way you’ll always be anchored to my heart.”
She felt a tug in her chest at Brant connecting her to the mermaid tail, but she told herself that he loved Mermaid Cove, and she was overthinking it. “How long did it take you to think that line up?”
“About seven seconds, which is about six seconds longer than it took for me to be attracted to you.”
His charm was sucking her right in. She tried to focus on cleaning his chest, which was torture in and of itself. She didn’t dare look at his face. If she didn’t see it, maybe she could pretend he was just another customer. After cleaning the area, she grabbed a new plastic razor and unwrapped it.
When it touched his skin, he flinched and snapped, “What’re you doing?”
Why are you so nervous? “I have to shave the area.”
“Oh, right. Go ahead.”
He lay rigid as a board as she shaved that side of his chest. His skin was warm, his muscles hard, and he smelled fresh and manly. She had never noticed those types of things when she worked. She was usually too focused on the design. She set the razor aside and grabbed a pen. “How big do you want it?”
His eyes held hers. “You decide. I trust you.”
Why did those words touch her so deeply? She leaned over him and began drawing the anchor.
“Do you freehand all of your work?” he asked.
“Mostly. Sometimes the smallest changes can make it a thousand times better. I didn’t become a tattooist to follow other people’s lines.”
“Why did you?”
She felt his fingertips on her back, making it even more difficult to concentrate. “A lot of reasons.”
“Like?”
“I like to draw.”
He ran his fingers up and down her back as she drew. “That’s it?” he asked softly. “You like to draw?”
She lifted her eyes to his, and the genuine interest in them drew the truth. “I feel good when I’m drawing. I can disappear into it and tune out the rest of the world.”
“And you do piercings, right? Does that mean you like to inflict pain?”
“Everyone asks me that, and the answer is no. I like how body jewelry looks, and the money is good. I can make my own hours doing this type of work, and I don’t have to deal with awful bosses or crowds.”
He seemed to think about that as she finished the drawing and handed him a mirror.
He waved it off. “I don’t need to see it.”
“Brant, this is permanent. You should make sure it’s exactly what you want.”
“I don’t need to,” he said, holding her gaze. “I know what I want, and so do you. I trust you to do right by me, the same way you can trust me to do right by you.”
His words sank in, and I do trust you was on the tip of her tongue. But she held it back. “Okay. It’s your body. What colors do you want?” She began gathering her tools.
“Black for the anchor. Pink for the banner.”
She froze, his voice whispering through her mind. I pegged you as having a thing for black lingerie. Pink is much hotter. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Pink?”
“It’s a new favorite of mine.”
She couldn’t look away, and there was no suppressing her smile. “You’re too much.”
“Don’t be silly, angel. I’m exactly enough.”
Oh boy. There went her nerves again.
She got the tattoo gun ready, put on gloves, and scooted her tool tray into position beside him. When she leaned over his chest with the tattoo gun, his entire body flexed, hands fisted. “Nervous?”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Because you’re wound tighter than a top.”
“Nah, I’m good.” His jaw clenched.
“Okay, here we go.” She turned on the tattoo gun.
He sucked in air between gritted teeth and closed his eyes. When she touched the needle to his skin, his entire body jerked. She lifted the needle as Tank came in the front door, and Brant bolted upright, gritting out, “Holy mother of Christ. Is it supposed to feel like you’re tearing a hole in my chest?”
Tank chuckled as he headed into his work area with Scrappy.
Cait shot him a narrow-eyed stare to shut him up. Brant was rubbing his chest. She’d never seen him like this. He was always overly confident. “The night we met, didn’t you say you had tattoos below your waist?”
“Yeah.” Brant’s gaze softened. “That wasn’t exactly true.”
“Looks like we got back just in time for the good stuff,” Tank said.
Cait glared at him, then turned a kinder expression to Brant. “You lied to me?”
“I embellished.”
She raised her brows.