Tagged Steel (Men of Steel #6) - MJ Fields Page 0,5
is a printout of something that she found on the internet—a flower, a ladybug, something every girl wants. But this one, well, I clearly want to give it to her … deeper.
“Not how I work.” I walk past her and out the door, putting space between us.
“Wait. What?” She gasps, and I know she’s following me.
I reach in my pocket and pull out a smoke. Then I lean back against the brick and take a long drag as I watch her watching me. I exhale slowly while breathing it back through my nose.
She’s watching me intently, eyes still liquid, face still flush.
“Your concept, my art.”
She holds up her paper. “So, you don’t want my work?”
I look away, not wanting to see it. I get a sort of high when a client looks at my work on them for the first time, the emotions it produces when I nail their idea, and I always nail it. “Nope.”
“You being serious?”
“Dead serious.” I look back at her as she rakes her lip between her teeth. “And you keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna give you what you want then tag you with my art.”
“Like what?” She feigns innocent when I can already tell better.
“Like you’ve never had a man like me between your legs and you desperately want it to happen.”
“I’m only looking at you like that because you’re looking at me like that.”
Fuuuuck, I think as she rolls her eyes slightly and mumbles something under her breath.
“You’re a beautiful young woman; of course I’d like to fuck you. You just need to decide what comes first.”
“Meaning?”
“You want me to decorate you or make you messy first?”
“How about you do your best, and if I like what you do, I’ll—”
“Say it, sweets,” I cut her off because, if she says what I know she’s thinking, I’m going to get arrested when I lay her out on the street. “I dare you.”
I flick my smoke into the gutter, reach over, and then open the door, cutting her off again, “Ladies first.”
She nods once, her eyes still dancing between mine, then turns and walks in.
I shut the door behind me and lock it. When I turn around to see if maybe that freaked her out a little, I see her walking behind the frosted glass.
Apparently not.
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right with you,” I say before walking into the bathroom to wash my hands and brush my teeth so I don’t smell like smoke.
When I come out, she’s standing by the tray of sterile equipment in a tee-shirt and white, lacey boy shorts. Her back stiffens, but she doesn’t turn around.
“I’m aware you don’t want to see my drawing, but—”
“More interested in the concept.” And your ass, I think as I stare at its perfection.
She turns around, looking down at her work, hair covering her face. “It’s to honor the women who made me who I am.”
“Living or deceased?” I ask as I grab a sketchpad.
“Both,” she says, looking up at me.
“Tell me about—”
“Are you really going to just ignore what was said out there?”
I lean against the counter and cross my arms.
“I mean, that was pretty … you know.” She shrugs.
“Honest?”
She looks up, trying not to smile as she shakes her head. “Crude?”
“I thought so, too. I mean, the way you were eyeballing me made me a little uncomfortable. Made me feel like a piece of meat.”
She laughs. “What?”
“I accept your apology. Now—”
“You’re an ass.” She shakes her head.
“Oh, sweets, that’s just the tip”—I pause—“of the proverbial iceberg that is me.”
She blushes while shaking her head again. “You really can’t talk to people like that in today’s political climate.”
“I didn’t talk to people. I talked to you, and your thoughts were screaming at me.”
“So, this isn’t like a normal thing for you?” After she asks the question, she looks like she regrets it.
I take a step toward her and hold out my hand. She hesitates.
“You walked into this studio with me, walked back here, lost your little sweater, dropped your skirt after all those words out there were exchanged, and now you hesitate? Stop it.” I push my hand out farther, and she takes it. Then I turn her toward the mirror and stand behind her.
“Truth.” I begin, and she looks up at my reflection, a little shaken, “I don’t work here. It’s my buddy’s studio. In two days, I’m going away from anywhere between six to nine months.” Her eyes widen, and I laugh.
“Not jail.” Not this time, I