He reaches out, then traces his fingertip along my collarbone as I stand stock-still, trying very hard not to shiver from the thrill of his touch.
“I want you naked,” he whispers in a voice as tempting as sin. “I want you exposed. I want you open to me. And I think,” he adds in the kind of voice that will broach no argument, “that you want me, too.”
I exhale slowly and force myself to look at him. “Goddamn you, Jackson Steele.”
“I once told you that I’m a man who goes after what he wants, and that’s still true. But here’s a question for you, Sylvia. Are you a woman who does the same? You say you want this project, this resort. Prove it. It’s here for the taking. Right now, the only obstacle is you.”
I say nothing, because if I speak, I’m afraid of what I’ll say.
His eyes, like blue fire, meet mine. “Tonight. Eight o’clock. Be ready for me.”
I pull open the glass door to Totally Tattoo and am immediately accosted by both loud colors and equally loud music.
“Sylvia!” Joy high-fives me as I step up to the glass case that doubles as a cash register stand and a display for the shop’s various rings and bars. Cass doesn’t do piercings herself, but she hired Joy just shy of a year ago, and the arrangement has worked out well for both of them. “When are you getting your tongue pierced, girlfriend?” she asks, just as she does every time I come in.
“This side of never,” I reply, just as I always do.
In theory, I have nothing against tongue piercings. In practice, I lean far too much toward the wimp side of things.
“You are seriously early, but I’m just about done!” Cass calls from the back.
Joy cocks her head as she looks at me. “Cass is just about done. She says you can go on back.”
“You can come on back!” Cass’s voice rings out from her table near the back of the shop.
I exchange a grin with Joy and head back.
Cass is standing now, pulling off latex gloves as her client—a tall, bald man with arms the size of most men’s calves—stands shirtless, admiring the huge colored dragon she’s inked on his back.
“Looks great,” I say.
“Fucking awesome,” the guy agrees.
“Looks great so far,” Cass corrects. “See you in two weeks, Gar, and you’ll really see that bird pop.”
“You got it, Cass,” he says, then pulls on a T-shirt with a logo that I don’t recognize, but assume is either a heavy metal band or a motorcycle.
“He’s a sweetheart,” Cass says, as soon as the guy’s out the door. “Wants the tat done before he gets married in January. Guess they’re going to Cozumel for the honeymoon and he wants to rock the look if he’s going to be shirtless ninety percent of the time.”
As she talks, she cleans up her station, and I hop onto the table and get comfortable watching her.
“Just give me ten to get everything put away and then we can head out. I don’t have any more appointments today, and Tamra’s here in case we get a walk-in.”
I glance around, looking for the elusive Tamra. “Is she folded up under one of the stations?” I ask, which isn’t entirely unreasonable. Tamra’s the most petite woman I’ve ever seen, short, lean, and perfectly proportioned.
“Funny. No, she’s in the back. At any rate,” she continues, her voice rising in a way that signals she’s excusing my idiotic interruption but may not be so gracious about another one, “I’m thinking late lunch with alcohol, then shopping with loose inhibitions.”
“And alcohol is the only way to loosen your checkbook?”
“Absolutely. And I have to shop because I need a Halloween costume.”
“Seriously?” In all the years I’ve known her, Cass has worn the same costume. A floral print skirt, a solid pink T-shirt, and three-inch high pink stilettos. Her straight girl costume.
“Zee’s throwing a party,” she says. “I need to trot out something new.”
I cock my head. “Falling for someone who doesn’t share your sense of humor?”
“Just being careful,” she says, a little sheepishly. “I like her, okay?”
I nod. What little I’d seen of her, I’d liked, too. But Cass is a little wild, a little weird, and a whole lot out there. She pulls off feminine, grunge, sporty, and elegant with equal aplomb, and she has about as much politics attached to her sexuality as she has wheatgrass in her kitchen. Which would be exactly none.
If she’s afraid that the straight girl costume won’t go over with Zee, then my ears are pricking.
“Chill, Mom,” she says. “I just want a change. New girl. New costume. It’s not a big conspiracy.”
“Fine,” I say. “Then I wish you awesome shopping.”
“You like her, right?”
Once again, I eye Cass sideways, because she is not the insecure type who needs reassurance about who shares her bed. Which means she’s either really into this girl, or entirely unsure.
Since that makes me unsure, I go for the casual, supportive best friend vibe. “I do like her,” I say, and since that’s true, the words come easily. “What does she do, anyway?”
“Co-owns a restaurant. How cool is that, right? I mean, I love food.”
I glance at her workspace, where she habitually keeps two jars full of snacks. One full of Jelly Bellies and the other of Tootsie Rolls. Her non-snack choices aren’t much different. “So you’re saying her restaurant serves frozen bagels and Cap’n Crunch?”
Cass shoots me a frown as she takes stock of her area, searching for anything she forgot to store or clean. “Cap’n Crunch is a core member of one of the basic food groups.”
“Of course it is,” I agree. “Just like wine is a member of the fruit group.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“So, if she owns a restaurant, you should ask her about the franchise thing.” Cass wants to expand Totally Tattoo throughout California, and maybe into a few other states, too. She’s leaning toward franchising, and I told her I’d get one of the attorneys at Bender, Twain & McGuire, Stark’s primary law firm, to sit down with her and go over her options.
Cass looks up from the counter she’s tidying. “That’s a really good idea. Except I don’t think it’s franchised.”
“Can’t hurt to ask,” I say. “There’s no such thing as too much information. Besides, if you talk to her about it at her restaurant, you might actually get a free meal.” I grin to show I’m teasing. Mostly.
“Oh, hell. Now you’re just making me hungry. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”
“Yeah, about that—”
I cut myself off with a grimace, and she stops cold, hands on her hips. “Okay. Spill.”
“The thing is, I kind of need a tattoo.”
“You bitch. You told me you didn’t sleep with him.”
“I didn’t. I swear. This one’s not about sex. It’s about—” I cut myself off, then suck in a deep breath. “Okay, so here’s what happened.” I give her the rundown, and watch as her eyes get wider and wider.