Anticipation (14 page)

“That sounds pretty tempting, Cleo, but I’ve got a lot going on right now,” Eddie said, trotting out the same line he’d been using a lot lately.

“You don’t even know what I want yet,” Cleo said.

He could practically see her pouting. She was one of the few women he’d met who could actually get away with it, too.

“It’s probably not going to make much difference, to be honest with you,” Eddie said.

“Really? I can’t tempt you with an invitation to the Birdcage on Melbourne Cup day, followed by an A-list party? Hugh Jackman’s going to be there, and maybe Nicole Kidman.”

Her tone was supremely confident, but Eddie didn’t hesitate.

“Sorry, Cleo. You look after yourself, though, okay?”

“Well, damn, Eddie. That is
disappointing
. I was relying on you to come through for me.” Definitely she was pouting now.

“Sorry about that, but I’m sure you’ll find a taker. Have a good night, Cleo,” Eddie said before ending the call.

He’d been knocking back a lot of invitations lately, all from women like Cleo, women he’d slept with once or twice and who wanted a return engagement. In the past, he would have been happy to oblige in most cases, and an afternoon in the Birdcage — the members-only rooms at Flemington Race Course — on Melbourne Cup day surrounded by Australian Hollywood royalty was not an invitation to be sneezed at.

And yet he didn’t feel so much as a twinge of regret. Not even close.

He’d started turning down invitations out of guilt in the weeks after Blue left his house, determined to focus on her, even though she hadn’t been around. Somehow, that impulse had turned into nearly two months of celibacy. Blue had given him crap at her welcome home party, joking about parts of him atrophying due to lack of use, but it didn’t feel as though he was missing out. At all. If anything, the situation had forced him to be more conscious about the way he lived his life, to really think about what he wanted for perhaps the first time in his thirty-one years. And he was finding he didn’t mind the clarity this small time-out from adult activities had given him. In fact, he kind of liked it.

He pulled on a clean T-shirt, then slipped his phone into his back pocket, ready to rejoin Blue. He was on the way out of the room when he spotted the sketchpad lying open on his bedside table. He snagged it, figuring he’d take advantage of the fact that Raf and Maggie still hadn’t arrived to talk to Blue about the ideas he’d been working on the past few weeks.

Blue wasn’t in the living room when he entered, and he checked the kitchen before spotting her on the deck, chilling on the outdoor lounge with a beer in hand.

“Check it out, practically odor free,” he said as he joined her, holding his arms out from his sides.

“That’s what you think,” Blue said. Her gaze went to the sketch pad. “What’s wrong? You need me to come to the rescue and fix your art again?”

He smiled faintly. He, Raf, and Blue often consulted with each other over tattoo designs and techniques, a habit they’d developed early in their careers. He didn’t have a problem admitting that she’d helped him create some of his best designs, and vice versa.

“I was thinking this is more about me coming to your rescue,” he said, sitting beside her and opening the book to the sketch he’d been working on.

Blue went very still beside him as she looked at the stylized script intertwined with jungle foliage and bright flowers. He’d blacked in half the letters, so the other half were still in outline only, but the words from Corinthians 13: 4-7 were clearly legible.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres
.

Eddie slanted a look at Blue’s face, but she was focused on the page, her expression neutral to the point of blankness.

“What do you think?” Eddie asked. “I figure this solves the style issue you were worried about.”

Two years ago, he’d started work on a tattoo featuring the Corinthians verse designed to fill her entire back. He’d gotten as far as inking in the first letter of the text in the style of an illuminated manuscript when Blue had called a halt, claiming a change of heart. At the time, he’d been surprised — doubt of any kind was rare for Blue — but after a number of discussions trying to solve the issue and being unable to do so, he’d let it go, figuring she’d bring it up again when she was ready.

It had been on his mind lately, though, probably because Blue had been occupying so much real estate in his head, and he’d spent some of his spare time toying with possible solutions.

She reached out to shift the sketch pad so it faced her more fully, but she still didn’t say a word.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, feeling suddenly, unaccountably nervous. It had been a long time since he’d second-guessed his own skill and the feeling was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“This is a good idea.” Her finger traced the vine he’d woven through the words. “I like the way it ties into my fairies.”

That had been her major objections at the time she’d called a halt — that she didn’t want her body to look like Side A and Side B, with two very disparate styles of artwork.

“We can work on it more, keep finessing things,” he said.

She nodded, but he wasn’t getting the vibe that she was genuinely engaged.

“If you don’t love it, that’s cool, too,” he said.

She was silent for a moment, then she took a deep breath. “I’m just not sure I’m into this idea anymore, you know?” she said.

“Hey, it’s your back,” he said lightly. “We can work up something else, incorporate or repurpose that L into a new design. Whatever you want.”

They’d both done plenty of tattoo cover-ups over the years, inking a new design over an older, unwanted image.

“Let me think about it for a bit. See if anything comes to me,” Blue said. She slid the sketchbook toward him and gave him a little punch on the bicep. “Thanks for thinking of me, though. This would have been an awesome solution if I was still into it.”

He was disappointed. Surprisingly so. He’d really wanted to do this for her, but he forced a smile and stood.

“Better start on the food or you’ll be hassling me soon,” he said.

“I live to hassle you. You know that. It’s my calling in life.”

He risked another punch by ruffling her hair, giving in to the urge to touch her.

“Never mess with my hair, Oliveira,” she said, and he had to dodge as she tried to cuff his shoulder.

“Too slow, Sullivan. Way too slow.”

He shook off his disappointment as he headed for the kitchen. He would have plenty of opportunities to give Blue something beautiful she’d have forever. There was no urgency, no need for him to feel rebuffed.

No reason at all.

Five weeks later, Blue finished shading the last line of the tattoo she’d been working on all day and wiped the excess ink from her client’s shoulder. A truck driver by trade, Billy had requested a steampunk tattoo that gave the illusion that the flesh on his shoulder and upper arm had been stripped back to reveal bio-mechanical underpinnings.

“Okay. We’re done,” she said, and his body relaxed beneath her hand.

No matter how big and strong a guy was — and Billy was both those things — no one liked having a needle jabbed into his skin up to three thousand times per minute. She patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“You did great.”

“Can I see?”

“There’s a mirror on the wall,” she said. “Sit up slowly.”

Guys in particular didn’t like to admit when they felt a little woozy after a long session. Blue backed up a couple of steps and rolled her shoulders as Billy crossed to the mirror to inspect his new body art.

“Dude. That is freaking awesome,” he said, the tentative smile on his face quickly turning into an outright grin.

Blue loved seeing that look on her clients’ faces. It meant she’d done her job, and then some.

“Okay. Wound care,” she said. “I’m going to put some antiseptic cream on it and a dressing…”

Blue talked him through his post-tattoo wound care as she covered his shoulder with a surgical dressing, making sure Billy was paying attention and not simply nodding along. Then she escorted him to reception, where the first thing she registered was Eddie talking to a client at one of the display cases, the two of them pouring over a series of sketches Eddie had made.

She allowed herself one look at his lean, muscular body clad in dark denim and a black tank top before handing Billy over to Hans and heading to the staff room to recharge before going home. The image of Eddie’s hard ass outlined in indigo denim stayed with her every step of the way.

She’d been on strict Eddie rations ever since the afternoon of the soccer game. Every time she thought about that day, she got a little freaked out about how easily, how effortlessly she’d crossed a line she’d always held sacred. At the time, it hadn’t felt as though there was any other option than to take the edge off the burning need she’d felt for him — and that scared the crap out of her. Which was why she’d kept a very tight leash on herself for the past month.

If Eddie was in the room, she kept her eyes to herself. If she could avoid touching him, she did. Somehow, though, keeping such a tight rein on her desires only seemed to amplify them. A wonderful, torturous irony. She figured it was a bit like telling herself not to think about something — naturally, the first thing she did was think about the taboo subject or object.

Or person.

Policing her behavior where Eddie was concerned meant she was constantly thinking about him. Would he be in the staff room during her break, and therefore should she go in there? Was it smart to accept his invitation to hit the gym after work? Should she say yes to going to the movies with him, Raf, and Maggie? Before the accident, she wouldn’t have thought twice about the answer to any of those questions. Spending time with Eddie had made her happy, therefore she’d done it.

These days, everything felt a lot more complicated, and her life had become an obstacle course, a snakes and ladders game of self-control and self-indulgence that inevitably left her feeling both thwarted and guilty.

Renarto and Corey were hanging in the staff room when she entered, and Blue helped herself to a can of Red Bull from the fridge before sitting at the kitchen table with the other guys.

“How’d your sleeve go?” Corey asked, running a hand over his buzz-cut black hair.

In his mid-twenties, he was a relative newcomer to the Ink family in that he’d been on board only three months.

“Client is happy, therefore I am happy,” she said before taking a big swig of Red Bull.

“How many hours in the chair?” Renarto asked.

“Seven.”

“Oh, man,” Renarto said, rubbing the back of his neck in sympathy.

“Yeah. Got to admit, I’m feeling it,” Blue said.

She would never have admitted as much if Eddie had been in the room — he was too damned solicitous as it was — but she was amongst friends here.

“I had a guy last week who would have kept going if I hadn’t cramped up,” Corey said. “Took my girlfriend an hour to get the knot out of my shoulder.”

Blue gave a low groan as she imagined how good it would be to have someone working on the knots in her shoulders right at this moment.

“You’re a bastard, Corey,” she said.

He laughed. “Sorry. Perks of co-habitation, man. You should try it some time.”

“But I don’t want to live with you,” Blue said, poker-faced.

“Hey, the invitation is open, any time,” Corey said, a cheeky grin on his face. “My girlfriend thinks you’re hot.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Blue swigged the last of the Red Bull and crushed the can. “It’s a tempting offer. But I couldn’t possibly take you up on it without sampling the wares first.” She rolled her shoulders suggestively. “I’m pretty sure ten minutes of solid massage would do the trick.”

Corey’s laugh boomed out in the room. Renarto shook his head.

“You have no shame,” he said.

“Shame is for pussies.” She gave Corey her best lost-puppy-dog eyes. “I would totally return the favor the next time you were crippled with pain.”

“Sure you would,” Corey said.

“How’s this — I’ll buy you lunch on Monday in exchange for five minutes on just my left shoulder,” Blue said.

Corey was about to respond when she felt the warm weight of someone’s hands land on her shoulders. She didn’t need to look to know it was Eddie — her body went from zero to a hundred in the space between one heartbeat and the next, every inch of her skin coming to life.

This was what she got for sitting with her back to the door.

“You’re a massage mooch, you know that?” Eddie said, amusement rich in his voice.

“It’s not mooching if it’s part of a barter,” she said.

His thumbs pressed into her trapezius muscles, digging into the taut flesh. She had to bite her lip to hold back a groan of pure pleasure. The combination of Eddie’s touch and the release of tension was nothing short of climax-inducing.