My heart pounds against my ribs by the time I slam my front door and fall back against it. Anyone would think I was being chased by a mad man, but then maybe I am. What the fuck was I thinking allowing him to put his hands—mouth—on me again?
My head bangs back against the door as I chastise myself for falling under his spell like I’m sure every other female does. One look into those mesmerising blue eyes and I’m sure they bend over on demand.
“Fuck,” I scream into my empty flat, dropping my head in my hands.
Why did it have to feel so fucking good? Why couldn’t he have been a fumbling idiot who had no clue what he was doing? That would have made this so much easier. If he had no skills, I could have easily avoided a repeat, but as it is, my body is already crying out to experience that all over again.
I tell myself it was just the heat of the moment that made it so good. The fact that he’d just spent hours working on my body made us both do crazy things that in normal circumstances wouldn’t happen. But it happened last night too, a little voice cries in my head, not helping with my attempt to rationalise what happened.
Knowing whatever I tell myself is pointless, I push off the door and head for my room, dropping my bags to the bed as I pass before proceeding to strip out of my clothes. What I really want is a shower to remove any lingering scent of him and sex from my body, but the ache down my side reminds me that that can’t happen right now. The ink is barely dry.
Dropping my skirt, I’m reminded once again of what an epic mistake I made this evening when my bare bottom is revealed in the mirror I’m standing in front of.
I left my sodding knickers on his studio floor like a hussy. I roll my eyes at myself. I really need to get a grip.
Twisting, I get a look at my new ink. I can’t deny that it’s not incredible. Zach really is talented. And he wasn’t wrong, I have been drawing it as a way of building my courage for getting it. I never could have imagined it would have happened quite like it did.
I sigh as I stare at the bright colours and sore skin. Every time I look at it I’m going to be reminded of him. Or more accurately, his mouth on me.
My core clenches with desire. It would have been so easy to stay and to enjoy whatever was to follow, and it was obvious there was going to be more, if the tenting of his trousers was anything to go by.
Getting frustrated, I drag myself away from the mirror and the lifetime reminder I have of it on my skin and pull a loose t-shirt from my draw and a fresh pair of knickers. After taking my make-up off—not that much is left after this long arse day—and brushing my hair, I crawl between the sheets and toss and turn as memories of his touch from both yesterday and tonight fill my mind, making me wonder what it might be like for him to give me his all. My core aches, overcome with emptiness.
For a fleeting moment I consider getting back up and going to his flat to finish the job so I can get some rest, but I tell myself that’s a really stupid idea and force my body to lie there until sleep finally claims me.
It’s long past morning when I finally open my eyes the next day. The fitful sleep I did eventually manage was full of dirty dreams about my boss and best friend’s brother. Rolling over, I groan when my side hurts and I’m reminded that my night-time fantasies are partly reality.
I don’t bother changing. Instead I get myself a coffee and head for my studio. I’ve spent all weekend either working or drinking; I’m so behind on my studies that I have every intention of locking myself in my flat and making some serious progress on my project until I’m forced to leave again Thursday night to face my boss. My cheeks flame at the thought alone. How the hell am I meant to show my face there again without wanting the floor to swallow me up?
Cutting myself off from the world, I turn my phone onto aeroplane mode, put my music on loud and set to work.
I paint, I drink coffee, I eat and get a little sleep. I’m totally in the zone and covered in paint after two whole days inside my studio. I’ve not bothered looking at my phone or stepping back into the real world. I desperately needed some time alone with a canvas, even if my back aches from leaning over and my hair’s slick with grease after foregoing a shower the past few days. I tell myself that I’m letting my tattoo heal, but really, I’m just being lazy.
It’s not until my buzzer starts ringing that I look at the clock and realise it’s Wednesday evening already.
Glancing at myself in the mirror in the hall, I wince knowing that if it’s my parents at the other side of the door they’re going to have fit once again. Proper ladies don’t spend their days locked in a room with only paint for company. I can hear my mother’s voice loud and clear, as if she’s already standing in front of me.
Pressing down the button, I hold my breath as I wait to hear who’s at the other end.
“Biff? You in there or do I have to send out a search party?” my best friend’s voice sounds out, and I sign with relief.
“I’m here, I’m alive. Come in.”
I press the button to unlock the door and wait until I hear her do so. I’ve got no time to change, so I settle for retying my hair and tugging down the huge t-shirt I’m wearing, hoping it’s enough to stop me flashing her. Not that it’s an issue, she’s probably seen my arse more times than I could count over the years.
I open the door and leave it on the latch as I go in search of wine. I really fucking hope I’ve got some in the fridge. I already know there’s not much in the way of food.
Danni’s heels click against my wooden floor, telling me that when I turn around I’m going to find her looking much more put together than I am right now.
“I brought dinner. I assumed you’d probably not eaten if you’ve been working.” Turning, I find her placing two bags on my island. “And I picked you up some basics.” She pulls some milk and bread from the bag and, more importantly, two bottles of wine. “And these are pre-chilled.”
“Lifesaver.”
“So how’s it going?”
“It’s… going.” I think about the progress I’ve made on the set of impressionist paintings I’ve started. “I’ve still got a lot to do before I’m happy.”
“Ugh, such a perfectionist. I’m sure they’re stunning already.”
I shrug before reaching to grab us two glasses.
Danni twists the top off the bottle and pours us each one.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really need to shower. The food will wait if you want to…” she gestures towards my bedroom.
“You saying I smell, Dan?”
“Something like that,” she says into her glass.
“Fine. I can take a hint, but I’m taking this with me.”
“Be my guest. I’ll put the food in the oven for when you get back.” She kicks her shoes off as I leave the room, making herself at home as she usually does.
I pull off my few clothes and drop them into the laundry basket as I pass before turning the shower on a little hotter than I usually like and step under once it’s to temperature.
It burns my head a little, but at least it’ll help wash the grease out.
Knowing I’ve got hot food waiting for me, I don’t take half as long as I could. I gently wipe over my tattoo before getting out and wrapping both my body and hair in a towel.
I wash and moisturise my face before grabbing a pair of leggings and a vest.
With my half empty glass in hand I walk into the kitchen. “Right, where’s this food? I’m bloody starving.”
Danni drags herself from the sofa where she was watching TV and comes to help me. I bend over to retrieve the boxes she placed in the oven before my shower, but I don’t get very far.
“Whoa, hold up a second. What the hell is that?”
My brows draw together for a beat, wondering what she’s talking about until all the pieces fall into place.
“Oh, this? I had it done at work the other night.” I lift my top to show her the whole design.
“Whoa, that’s incredible. Is it based on your sketch?”
“It is, with a bit of creative licence.”
“It’s stunning. That artist has some mad skills.”
I almost snort in response.
“Uh… yeah, he’s uh… pretty good.”
She eyes me curiously but doesn’t ask any more when I go back to the job I started.
“So what’s going on with you?” I ask once we’re both sitting at my dining table with plates full of incredible smelling chicken and steamed vegetables. It’s slightly more healthy than I’d have probably chosen for myself tonight, but I can’t complain.
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes, lowering her knife and fork. “My mum is driving me crazy with all the wedding stuff. And Zach’s not helping. He didn’t even show up to Harrison’s stag do this weekend. Can you believe that? His own brother’s stag do. No one knows where he is, if he’s even in the country. Mum’s beside herself thinking he won’t show to up the wedding. Makes me never want to get married.”
I bite my tongue from attempting to defend Zach. It’s not my place to explain his whereabouts when he clearly doesn’t want anyone knowing.
“Oh, and can I find a man who might be remotely interested in being my plus one? Can I fuck,” she fumes, stabbing a piece of chicken and shoving it in her mouth.
“I’m sure Zach will be there. Has she tried calling him?” I know it’s a stupid question, but I can’t really think of anything else to say that won’t drop either of us in it.
“Of course she has. He hardly ever answers, and when he does he makes some excuse that he’s busy and has to go. What the fuck is he busy doing? Banging some chick and pissing his money up the wall.”
I open my mouth to argue. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but the second Danni looks up at me expectantly, they die.
“Have… have you tried getting back on the dating apps?” I ask, referring to her other issue. “Or just go alone? It’s twenty-twenty, you don’t need a date for your brother’s wedding.”
“But who will I dance with?”
“Any single guys that attend. Me. I sure won’t have a date.” Not that I have any intention of going. I accepted the invitation months ago, but knowing what I do now, I need to figure a way to get out of it. I might have to come down with some incredibly contagious disease the day before or something.
“I just want it to be perfect.”
“Stop putting so much pressure on yourself. You’ll find him when you least expect it.”
“I know. It’ll just be such a romantic day, and I want someone to go back to my hotel room with after.”
“Who says you won’t?” I wink and she laughs.
“We can only hope.”
Before I know it, it’s Thursday afternoon and it’s time to head to work. A huge ball of dread sits heavy in my stomach. At least I’ve got Saturday night off for Summer’s hen do, whatever that might entail, seeing as Danni still refuses to tell me what she’s planned.
I turn up to the studio to find Titch, Spike and D hanging out on the sofas with coffees.
“Biff, here’s one for you,” Spike says when he looks up and finds me pushing the door closed. I take the coffee handed to me and take a sip.
“Thank you. I need this.” I was up early again this morning working and I’ve barely stopped. “Just the three of you tonight?”
“It seems that way. Zach cancelled all his appointments this week and fucked off up to Manchester to check on the studio there at the last minute.”
“Oh. Does he do that often?” Titch eyes me curiously. Clearly I’m not the only one wondering if I have something to do with his disappearance.
Despite not knowing if I had anything to do with it, I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m not going to have to deal with him tonight. It’s not going to last forever though, so I need to make the most of the peace.
I enjoy the relief for about two hours. By that time, all the guys’ clients are in with them and I’m sitting alone with my work and struggling to focus. I hate to admit it but crazy thoughts of being the reason he’s disappeared consume me.
I pick up my phone multiple times to call him with some bullshit question just so I can talk to him and put my mind to rest that this isn’t all my fault.
It’s just gone eight o’clock when the bell above the front door rings, forcing my eyes up from the computer screen.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I ask politely as the woman walks towards me. She’s so tall, slim and beautiful that I could easily believe she’s a model. Her long, dark hair hangs around her shoulders like silk and her cheekbones and jawline are the things girls dream about.
“Oh, hi.” Her eyes flick over my face as if she’s sizing me up just as much as I am her. I’m not sure what it is, but something about her has me on edge. “Is Zach here? It’s just I left something in his apartment when I visited the other night.”
My mouth drops open as realisation slams into me. He’s not left because of me. Why was I even stupid enough to even think it for a second? It’s a total coincidence that something in Manchester has called him away.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not actually in today. He’s been called to another of his studios.”
“Oh… um…” She chews on one of her perfectly manicured nails with her sparkling white teeth. Jesus, could she be any more perfect? “Is there any way of getting upstairs? It’s my best friend’s birthday and I left her gift up there.”
“Let me see what I can do.” Pushing my chair out behind me, I walk through to where the guys’ rooms are. I hesitate for a second as to which one to go for but in the end, I stop at the first one and knock.
“Come in,” a deep voice calls.
Pushing the door open, I poke my head around and find D working on his client.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, looking at the client. “There’s a woman here saying she’s left something up in Zach’s flat and wants to know if she can get up there to collect it.”
“What is it? Her virginity?” D and his client laugh while my stomach turns like I’m about to puke on his floor.
“Probably,” I mutter. But having looked at her, I would say that she wasn’t that innocent. There’s something in her dark eyes that tells me she knows exactly how to get a man to do what she wants. “It’s her friend’s birthday present or something.” I roll my eyes, wondering what it was that could have possibly distracted her enough to forget it in the first place.
“The spare keys are in the top drawer in his room. Take her up there, make sure she only gets what she left and escort her out.”
“Sure thing.”
Stepping inside Zach’s room, the first thing I look at is his tattoo bed, which is currently up in a sitting position. Memories from Sunday night slam into me. Urges that I hoped I’d be able to banish by now take me by surprise. My temperature spikes and my stomach clenches.
Damn him and his talented tongue.
Putting it all to the back of my mind, I move toward the drawer D said and pull it open. The first thing that catches my attention is my sketch. It’s sitting on top of everything else.
He kept it. Why?
My hand twitches at my side as I debate what to do. In the end, I snatch it up and shove it into the back pocket of my skirt. I drew it, therefore it belongs to me. Rummaging through the random contents of what seems to be a junk drawer, I eventually find a keyring with a couple of keys on it.
Wrapping my fingers around the cold metal, I find the woman exactly where I left her.
“Follow me.”
She falls into step behind me, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. I’ve not yet opened the door that leads to the flat upstairs, and to be honest, I never thought I would. Being alone with Zach down here is dangerous enough, let alone venturing up here. I guess it’s safe with him miles away.
Typically, the key that opens the front door is the last one I try. The second I open it to reveal the open plan living space beyond, my movements falter. A smell that is purely Zach hits me. I almost stumble back, thinking that I’m about to come face to face with the man himself.
“Do you know where it might be?” I bark.
“I left it by the sofa, I think.” She pushes past me and goes to look but comes up empty.
Grumbling, she heads off down the hallway. I don’t want to, but knowing that I can’t leave her alone unsupervised in his private space, I follow her. From the second she walked in, I believed her little story, but now we’re up here I realise that it could all be a master plan to do something she shouldn’t be.
She turns into a room and I come to a stop in the doorway of what appears to be Zach’s bedroom. The walls are white, just like the rest of the flat, but everything else in here is black. Pretty much what I was expecting from the tattooed bad boy himself.
“Ah, there it is.” She picks up a Selfridge’s carrier bag from the side and hooks it over her wrist. “Ha, would you look at that. It seems we didn’t use the whole box,” she says with a shrug, putting something back down on the side that I didn’t see her pick up.
My eyes lock on the box of condoms beside her.
My lips purse at the thought of him bringing her up here and doing what I didn’t allow him to get from me.
“Are you done?”
She takes a step towards me, her eyes dropping down my body. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, sweetheart. I suggest you get over yourself. He’d never want you.” With that said, she marches past me, ensuring our shoulders collide as she leaves the flat. Her footsteps down the stairs sound out, but I’m frozen to the spot.
I had no idea how I was feeling was written over my face, but it seems that I really need to do something about my feelings for my boss. Absolutely nothing good can come of them for many, many reasons.
After a final look around the mostly tidy room, I make my way back to the front door to lock up.
Numb, I head back to my desk and fall down on the chair, staring at my now black computer screen. The woman is nowhere to be seen, so I can only assume she left.
“Is everything okay?” D asks when he comes out of his room sometime later. His deep voice startles me and I turn, my eyes wide.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just zoned out there for a minute.” In reality I was back on Zach’s bed with his head between my legs, something I keep telling myself I need to stop thinking about, but it seems it’s impossible. That fucker’s got himself in my head, and I can’t push him out no matter what I try.
He nods, accepting my answer before leaving me to it while he waits for his next client to arrive.
The whole evening is busy as it usually is, but the time doesn’t fly by like I’m becoming used to. I hate that it’s his fault. I’m usually sitting here on edge, waiting to discover what he’s going to do or say when he appears, but with that not being a worry tonight the time drags.
It’s ten minutes before closing when the phone on my desk rings.
“Good evening, Rebel Ink. How may I help you?”
There’s silence on the other end, but I don’t miss the mistakable sound of increased breathing. My skin prickles with awareness and I chastise myself for being affected when he’s not even spoken.
“Is D in? He’s not answering his phone.” I release a breath I had no idea I was holding when he finally speaks. The timbre of his rumbling voice vibrates through me as if he says the words against my skin.
“Oh,” I breathe. It sounds needy even to my own ears, and I straighten my spine before I allow myself to say anything else. “He is and his last client just left. Would you like me to take the phone to him?”
“No, how about you…” he pauses, whatever sarcastic comment he was going to say dying on his lips. “Yeah, that would be great.”
Pushing the chair out behind me, I make the short journey to D’s room with Zach breathing in my ear. Goosebumps race across my skin as if I can actually feel it.
I hand the phone over and get out of the room as soon as possible to start closing up for the night. I need to get out of here. He might not be in the building, but his presence is here no matter what, and it’s driving me to insanity.
