“Oh, they’ll be back ASAFP, I promise you that.” His voice was warm and smooth as a caress, refueling the mini-fantasy she’d indulged as she’d been lying on that table. If her blush had receded at all, it resurged full force. He’d stripped off his black gloves and she couldn’t resist staring at his long, tapered fingers resting on his arm. Now if he touched her, it would be nothing but flesh against flesh…hers soft and yielding, his hard and demanding…

She had to stop this. Now. Taking a breath, she reached for her purse and withdrew her wallet. “Um, how much do I owe you?”

He shook his head. “Happy birthday, sunshine.”

“Brian, no. I came barging in here and dragged you out and probably made you late, so there’s no way I’m not—”

He held a finger in front of his lips. “Shhh. No arguing. Would you throw a gift back in my face? Nope. So there you go.”

“But…” She fumbled around with logic and finally gave up. “Oh, all right. I guess if you insist.”

“I do.”

She put her wallet back in her purse. They were silent for a moment, awkwardness like a third party in the room. She wanted to hug him, ask him if she could do anything for him. Maybe make him dinner one night or…something. Would that be too much like asking him out? Crap. It would.

“So, um…thanks again.”

He pushed himself away from the counter, blinking as if some spell over him had been broken. “Hey, sure thing. Let me walk you out.”

They emerged to a roomful of laughter, where Brian’s employees and their clients were fully engaged in a very loud, very boisterous conversation about funny names for sexual positions. Incredibly, Macy was laughing along with them from her spot in the waiting area as she fiddled with her iPhone.

“…then there’s the Dutch Rudder, like the dude was talking about in Zack and Miri Make a Porno.”

“That movie was friggin’ hilarious.”

“Haven’t seen it. What’s the Dutch Rudder?”

“Aw, man, it’s when someone else holds your arm and moves it for you while you’re—”

“Hey,” Brian interrupted. “Ladies on the floor. Last thing I need is f**king sexual harassment issues.”

“Nobody’s getting harassed in here, boss.” The bald, goateed guy, who was now in such a jovial mood, looked at Candace. “Are you harassed?”

She laughed. “Not me.”

He looked at a cute girl with a blue pixie cut Candace hadn’t seen before. She was perched at the computer behind the counter. “Are you harassed, Janelle?”

“Disgustedly intrigued, maybe, but not harassed,” she said with a grin, not taking her eyes off the flat screen monitor.

“Yeah, well, offended is enough to get my ass in hot water, and my brother’s a lawyer, so don’t argue with that. You guys save it for the bedroom.” Brian gave Candace’s shoulder a squeeze as he moved out from behind her, and she swore the warmth of his touch lingered as surely as the burning low down on her abdomen from her new tattoo. She missed his presence immediately.

“Or not,” Janelle said in horror as he joined her behind the counter. “You should have heard some of the stuff they were saying.”

“I can imagine.” He glanced at Candace and motioned her over. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Janelle was sizing her up a bit as she approached. Brian plucked a business card from the holder and scribbled something on the back of it before sliding it across the countertop to her. “That’s my cell number. I’m sure you won’t have any problems, but if you do, hit me up if I’m not here.”

“Oh, thanks.” She’d guard that little rectangle with her life. Giving in to a wild impulse, she picked up the pen he’d just laid down and scribbled her own number on the flap of an open envelope lying between them. Hopefully it wasn’t anything important. “And, um, there’s mine, just…um, just ’cause.”

Without daring to look at him, she dropped the pen on the table and all but ran over to the waiting area. Crap. What had she done?

Macy stood, shouldering the strap of her purse. “So? How was it?” she murmured.

“It was…awesome.”

A frown marred her friend’s features as she seemed to study Candace from her hairline to her toes. “You did only get a tattoo, right? Nothing else you need to share with me?”

“Oh, please. Come on.”

The argument over what constituted “offensive” continued to rage as Candace glanced over at Brian again, finding that his gaze was following her despite whatever he was currently saying. She’d somehow known it was, but the confirmation caused her heart to freefall into the pit of her stomach. It decided to stay there and rattle around weakly at the sight of him holding a white slip of paper in his hand, torn from the envelope she’d scribbled her number on in a fit of insanity. He smiled at her as he pulled out his wallet and stuck it in there.

No shoving it in his pocket to be lost in the wash, she thought. He’s protecting it.

Along with a dozen others, probably. Stupid girl.

Mr. Goatee wouldn’t give it up. “I’m just sayin’, man. ‘Offensive’ is a relative term. For instance, I get more offended watching Skinemax than I do watching a  p**n  star get plowed. That softcore shit is utterly offensive to me.”

As they were stepping out the door, she heard Brian’s deep, rich voice one last time, speaking to his employee. “Shut up before I make you perform the Angry Cobra.” The door swung shut on the howls of laughter that followed.

“Those guys are sick,” Macy observed.

“I think they’re hilarious.”

“Then you’re sick too.”

Chapter Three

Brian needed a cigarette in the worst way.

It was habit: he walked out of the parlor after work, he reached in his pocket, he pulled out his smokes, and he lit up on the way to his truck. That’s the way it was supposed to go when all was right with the world. Now all his questing fingers found in his pocket was a flattened pack of Doublemint.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, confronted with the thought of facing the family unit with no nicotine. He unwrapped a piece and popped it in his mouth, chomping in aggravation. Normally he chewed gum only when he was slinging ink. Mellowed him out, helped him concentrate, because he was usually fiendin’ for his next smoke. But now he needed it all the damn time. He could break down and go for the Nicorette, but if he couldn’t lay down the nicotine by sheer power of will alone, then to hell with it. He would smoke.

This time, though, he was determined. Thirty would be knocking on his door soon. He didn’t want to meet fifty on a respirator.

Waving goodnight to another one of his artists who was leaving, he hopped in his truck and plucked his cell phone from the cup holder. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see he had six missed calls, but he grumbled all the same. One number he didn’t recognize, and his heart gave a little kick. Candace? Already? He pushed himself up so he could dig his wallet out of his back pocket and check the number. Nope. Damn. He took a minute to enter her into his contacts.

Until that moment, he hadn’t fully realized how eager he was to hear from her. It made him feel a bit like a dirty bastard. But it also set his blood racing, especially after having his hands all over her flawless, tan flesh just a half-hour ago…giving her something she would carry with her for the rest of her life.