“I’ll see what we can do. See you there.”
She hung up, knowing she’d sort of just bullshitted her way through the conversation. And she knew just as well that Kitty saw right through her, which was the beauty of their close friendship. She only hoped Duff couldn’t see it, too. Because she still couldn’t trust that this was right, no matter how utterly right it felt—or maybe because it did.
But it had only been a month. She didn’t need to worry about all that yet, did she? Even if the intensity of kink in a relationship had a tendency to step up the pace, the sense of connection—if the people involved let it.
Was she letting it? Or was it so far beyond her control there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it?
She didn’t like that thought. She never liked being out of control, except when she did like it, with Duff.
Leaning over the bathroom sink, she asked her reflection in the mirror, “What am I going to do with you?”
Unfortunately, she didn’t have an answer. She was going to have to live with the fear nagging at the back of her mind. Luckily, most of the time, the sheer pleasure of being with Duff, under his hands, in his bed, talking with him, joking with him, kept her distracted.
“Oh, yeah,” she said to the mirror. “You just keep telling yourself he’s nothing but a distraction. Especially since you just now thought of this thing with him—whatever it is—as a ‘relationship.’”
Since she had no reasonable reply, she turned away and headed out to her studio to work. And hoped she wouldn’t end up sculpting yet another clay phallus modeled on Duff’s.
? ? ?
IT WAS SATURDAY night and Layla had been thrilled when Duff picked her up for the party wearing his black utility kilt with his big black boots—one of her favorite looks on a man, and the combination had never looked better than it did on him. He’d lifted her into the SGR Motors truck—apparently he didn’t like to ride his Harley in a skirt, either—and they’d driven down to Canal Street, where Rosie’s tattoo shop, Midnight Ink, was located. Well, the shop was owned by her cousin, Christi, a successful indie musician who had bought the place when their uncle, the infamous tattoo artist Henry Lee, had passed away. Layla hadn’t had the opportunity to meet Christi before, and she was looking forward to it, as well as to the evening ahead.
They’d somehow found parking a block away, and were walking down Canal Street, Duff’s hand at the small of her back. The weather was just cool enough to wear a light coat, but even through her short leather jacket, she could feel the heat of his big hand, something she’d come to love—that and his protective nature when they were out in public, which surprised her. She’d always been the kind of woman—even the kind of girl as far back as middle school—who watched out for herself. But she had to admit there was something very girlish in her that appreciated having someone watch over her. And suddenly, the idea of that made her breath catch in her throat.
Never had this before. No man’s ever wanted to treat me this way—as if I’m something precious. Maybe it’s about time.
“Hey, lovely, what’s on your mind?” Duff asked.
“What? Nothing,” she fibbed. “Just checking out this area of town. I haven’t been down here in a while.”
“I like it. I like all of this city. Which is a good thing, since I intend to call it home.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, trying to ignore the small voice rejoicing inside her head that he wasn’t planning on heading back to Scotland anytime soon. Instead, she asked, “So, who do you know from the shop, aside from Rosie?”
“I met a few of ’em when I was in there getting my bio-mech piece done a few months ago—Christi’s girl, Etta, dropped in to see Rosie, although he wasn’t around. Declan was there—great guy and amazing artist. And the huge guy with the shaved head . . . Caliph is his name, yeah?”
“Yes. His work is incredible, too. Have you met Eli, their piercer? You know, in case you wanted to have another piercing done.”
“Fuck no—the one nipple was as much as I could take. I’m a big baby when it comes to having needles jabbed in my body. Ah, here we are.”
He swung open the door and held it for her, and she was greeted by music, then by the hulking blond Finn taking her in a big bear hug that nearly smothered her.
“You’re a pretty sight for sore eyes, Layla,” he proclaimed, his Aussie accent lending good humor to everything he said.
“Oh, ’cause you’re not getting enough pretty at home, you monster?” Rosie teased, coming up behind him and elbowing him out of the way to wrap her arms around Layla.
“Always, my girl. The prettiest girl in town.” He leaned down to give Rosie a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek and a pat on her bottom. “And Duff—good to see you.”
He and Duff gave each other a manly back-patting embrace, and as they stepped back Layla saw Finn also wore a black utility kilt.
“Aw, you two dressed to match,” Rosie said. “How cute.”
“You’ll pay for that later,” Finn told her, grabbing her and picking her up in one arm. “Or maybe right now.”
Rosie pounded on his huge arm with her fists. “Put me down, you beast. I have a party to run.”
“All right, all right. But later.” He kissed her cheek again and set her on her feet.
“I actually did think we were cute,” Duff said, sending Rosie a wink and making them all laugh.
“There are so many people here already,” Layla remarked.
“It’ll be a good crowd tonight,” Rosie said. “And have you noticed nearly everyone is dressed in black? That’s what we get for throwing a party that’s almost all tattoo artists and kinky folk.”
Duff let out a big laugh. “Right enough. But I hear black is the new black.”