He'd been paying attention. Watching. Biding his time, and that was the part that made her irrationally angry--because now it was too late. "I think I want my tattoo."
Ace sighed and rolled his stool back to the table that held his pens. "I can do a sketch on paper first if you want, but if you just want our logo..."
"That's all I want."
"Message received, angel." He rose and returned with a collection of blue markers clenched loosely in his fist. "Wiggle that top down. I need to see what I'm working with."
She glanced down. "It's not low enough?"
He didn't touch her, not with his fingers. Instead, he took the capped tip of the marker and set it against her skin, just beneath the hollow of her throat. "The logo's shaped kind of like an inverted triangle." He dragged the tip of the marker along her collarbone and down the inside curve of her breast. "The hilts of the daggers stick out a little, but for the most part it'll nestle nice and sweet, right between your tits."
He'd need room to work, and the way he traced the pen over her flesh made her realize something else--the shirt would pull at her skin, distorting the tattoo.
It had to go, and making a big deal out of that could reveal far more than her body.
Wordlessly, she tugged the fabric down, doubling it over the wide belt cinched around her waist.
"There we are." His gaze was tangible, a warmth that prickled over her skin as he studied her. It wasn't even all that lascivious--she'd seen Ace ogle women's breasts plenty of times. This was something else, something more. This was the deadly serious artist who lived beneath Ace's joking exterior, studying her like she was a masterpiece he intended to improve.
The intensity drew her attention to his hands. Strong, but capable of such tiny, intricate work. And skilled in other ways--ways she couldn't afford to remember just now.
Not that she could stop. The memory seized her, more sensation than recollection, of hot breath on the side of her neck as those hands roamed her body, eased under denim and lace to tease and then demand. She could still hear the music, feel the way he'd matched the rhythm beat for beat with slippery circles on her clit.
She'd danced with him exactly once, a harmless encounter that had turned into something else entirely, a grinding, pulsing need that had culminated in a single perfect orgasm--
--and had ended with him walking away as if it had never happened.
Rachel looked away again, fixing her stare on the corner of the table behind him. She had to break the silence, but safe topics of conversation were practically nonexistent. "How long will Dallas and the others be gone?"
"A few days, tops." He caught the cap of one marker between his teeth and pulled it off, his gaze still riveted to her chest. "No way will Dallas keep Lex in Two a minute longer than he has to."
"No, I guess not."
"Big, I think." He didn't offer a segue, just traced one fingertip beneath her collarbone, from one shoulder to the other. "Following all these pretty curves. Make a statement, eh?"
She hadn't thought this through. Ace was touchy-feely anyway, but when he was in the zone, he got downright pornographic. "Don't you have a stencil for it or something?"
"What, that fancy city shit?" He touched the cool tip of the marker to her skin and drew the first line, a swooping curve that must have been the top of the skull. "I save the tech for the ink, honey. You know that."
"Sure." If she shivered, he'd have to wipe away the lines and start over. The threat of it kept her still, silent, and she closed her eyes.
One large, warm hand folded over her shoulder, bracing her body as he leaned closer. His breath skated over her when he exhaled, tightening her nipples to aching points. "So tell me what gossip I've been missing lately. I hear you're showing Bren's wildcat around."
"Six." Rachel cleared her throat. "Her name is Six."
"I know." He edged the marker lower, dipping between her breasts. "Is she as snarly as she looks? I don't even dare smile at her. She looks like she'd gnaw my face off."
Six was scared, out of her element. Traumatized. "If you smile at her, she'll probably think you're about to eat her. Face it--she might seem