Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (12 page)

Event decorations sometimes needed an extra zap of bling, and Blair wasn’t being catty. She was serious. The fact that she realized she was serious made her eyes widen. She snickered again, but at the dubious expression on Debbie’s face, Blair pressed her hands to her cheeks and rubbed them.

“Where’s your coat?” Debbie repeated.

“Sorry, my mind is wandering a bit. I left my coat at home this morning. Supposed to be seventy degrees later. How are you, Debbie?”

Debbie shook her head, sending the eyeglasses chain swaying. “Ya need a coat. And I’m fine, doll, but not sure you are. Joe came in a few minutes ago and told me about that raccoon nest. Good
Lord
.”

At the reminder, all giggles were gone and Blair shuddered, picturing the maniacal mamma protecting her nest. “It was…awful. Woke me up for sure.”

“So will a doughnut on the house.” Debbie opened the door wider and waved Blair in. “Come on.”

“Thanks.” Blair followed her into the steamy, sugar-scented air and as she did, at least a dozen white-and-gray heads swiveled in her direction. “Good morning.” She nodded at the Sunnyside Retirement Village posse. They murmured a greeting and one woman with piercing green eyes and painted lips shoved herself to her feet and grabbed a walker. She thumped over to Blair.

“Are you Lola Whitaker’s niece?” she asked in an accusing tone.

Her smile fading, Blair stared down at the old lady, who stared right back, tapping her bright red fingernails on the walker in a menacing gesture. “I am,” Blair answered.

“Thought as fucking much,” the woman said with a sigh. She whipped around with surprising agility and thumped back to her chair. “You have her hair. Or she used to have
your
hair, because I saw her two days ago and her roots are starting to show.”

Self-consciously, Blair reached up and smoothed wisps back from her face. It probably looked messier than the raccoon nest had. “And you are?” She had a pretty good idea, but it was better to make sure.

“That’s Colleen Callahan,” offered a squat man who overflowed his chair like Jabba the Hutt. “Don’t pay her no mind.”

“Oh go stuff it, Vern,” Colleen snapped. She glared up at Blair. “I won’t judge you based on your family, so don’t worry.”

“I won’t.” Blair raised her chin. “I’ve got better things to worry about.”

Silence filled the room for a moment, and then Colleen let out a cackle. “Good. Like what?”

Like what? Everything. A list a mile long full of everything possible and impossible. Blair held back a sigh. “Like planning the upcoming events in town. Why don’t you all tell me about last year’s May Day event?” She pulled out a bistro chair and plunked down next to Vern.

“It sucked,” Colleen said. “That dumbass planner before you didn’t do anything but get a kid to climb a ladder and tape some crepe-paper streamers to the top of the flagpole. The wind broke them off before the kids could even get to them. And the refreshments?” She shook her head.

“Pathetic,” chimed in Vern. “Little Dixie cups of lemonade from a mix. You’re gonna do better, right, sweetie?” He looked Blair up and down with bulging eyes.

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Of course.” It wouldn’t be hard to top fake lemonade and paper streamers.

An unbelievably tiny old woman wearing a beret cleared her throat. “But we have to have lemonade. There’s always lemonade, and I like the powder kind.” Her voice was squeaky.

“No, we don’t,” Colleen said. “That shit is terrible, and I’m not drinking it.”

“You’re not the only person in the world, Colleen, you old cranky crank.” Little red beret lady took a healthy bite of doughnut.

“Oh stuff a May Day pole up your butt, Mabel! You sound more and more like your daughter every day.”

Mabel wiped a paper napkin across her lips and then folded it. “Leave Alberta out of this,” she said in a tiny, but steely voice.

“Fine.” Colleen turned her laser-green glare back on Blair. “Here’s my advice. Whatever you do, don’t try to do it alone.” She ran her tongue across her dentures. “You remind me of my granddaughter, who seems to think she can single-handedly save the town.”

“Ivy’s a good mayor,” Vern protested.

“Damn straight she is. Didn’t say she wasn’t,” Colleen said. “But another thing…” She trailed off when something outside caught her glance. Leaning forward, she peered out the window. “Well. Now my morning has gone to complete shit.”

Blair followed her gaze and saw a thin old man wearing an old-fashioned suit and tie standing in front of an old minivan. He held a piece of cloth and polished one of the headlights, then stepped back and surveyed it. Nodding, he folded the cloth and put it in a pocket before sweeping a hand over the fluff on top of his mostly bald head. His face was long and angular, but he looked nice. Gentlemanly.

Blair smiled as he replaced an old-fashioned fedora on his head, stepped up on the sidewalk, and walked toward the doughnut shop. It looked like Bill Benson. But she wanted to make sure—the only time she’d seen him was in a grainy newspaper photo. “Who’s that?”

“What do you mean, who’s that?” Colleen snapped. “It’s Bill Benson, your aunt’s fiancé.”

Oh.
Ohhh.
Shit. She’d forgotten that he’d dumped Colleen in favor of Lola.

Blair gave Colleen a smile that she hoped wasn’t patronizing and rose as Bill walked in the shop and took his hat off. She stuck out a hand. “I know we’re not supposed to meet until tomorrow, but I’m Blair,” she said.

He took her hand in his, which was thin but warm and somehow reassuring. He squeezed gently. “Bill Benson, and I’m so pleased to meet you.”

His eyes were kind, and Blair was struck by how much he really did resemble Jimmy Stewart. He even sounded like him a little bit. Lola
loved
Jimmy Stewart, so it was no wonder that she’d fought Colleen to get Bill—and won. “Likewise,” she said. “Care for a cup of coffee? My treat.”

Debbie piped up from behind the glass case. “I’ll make it to go. He never takes time to sit down. You work too hard, Bill.” She plunked a chocolate doughnut on a paper plate and pushed it across the counter. “Here ya go, Blair.”

“Make hers to go, too, Deb,” Bill said. Blair looked at him questioningly. “I need to show Blair her new wheels.” With a smile, he donned his hat and offered Blair his arm. “We’ll be outside.”

Blair took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the sidewalk. “My new wheels?”

“Yes. Now I know it’s not much, but I’m happy to give you this loaner until you get on your feet.” Bill gestured at the minivan and Blair blinked at it. It was a mom wagon. And it had been washed, waxed, and polished to a shine.

Suddenly, she thought she might cry.

“I…I’m not sure what to say,” she managed. “You’re very kind.”

He took her hand and pressed keys into it. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Got this thing in trade last week and I’d wholesale it anyway. Better for you to use it first.” He gave her a brief wink and stepped back. “See you tomorrow night,” he said and ambled off down the sidewalk, his hands in his suit pockets.

“Your coffee,” Blair called out after him.

He smiled over his shoulder. “Enjoy it.”

Blair nodded, her throat thick. Why did everyone have to be so
nice
? Well, Colleen Callahan was a force to be reckoned with, but Blair suspected that even she had the best of intentions at heart. Celebration had a lot to celebrate, despite the cracked sidewalks, modest little shops, and rickety park benches.

And it was Blair’s job to help lead the celebration. She’d lead it—and let
it
lead her, right back out of town. A pang of guilt shot through her, but she shook it off. When she won the contest, the town would win fifty grand. That was something, wasn’t it?

Nodding again, she squeezed the keys and leaned against the hulk of a van. She hoped she would be able to focus enough to do the town justice before she left, because no matter what she did, Ben was always on her mind.

Glancing up, she located the long windows above his shop, which she now knew looked out from his living room. He stood there, motionless, his hand flat against the glass. When her eyes met his, he gave her a huge grin, took a step back, and was out of view.

Oh, God. He could see right through her, couldn’t he? Her little declaration that she didn’t want to sleep with him hadn’t even made a dent. Now it was going to take every ounce of her concentration to keep her hands off him. At least for now.
No.
She needed to stop herself where he was concerned, period.

A loud laugh echoed down the sidewalk, and Blair jerked her gaze from the window. Jesus. It was the accounting girls, arms linked and probably hell bent on doughnut-shop gossip. Well, Blair was not going to get involved with that today. She’d probably say something to Sheila that couldn’t be taken back.

Quick as a rabbit, she popped back into Debbie’s, grabbed the to-go bag and coffee, and beat a hasty retreat out the back door and into the alley. The trailer loomed down the block like a rectangular beacon of despair. She stopped in her tracks and stared at it, all of her ambition suddenly deflated. What difference would it make if she walked around the block, hopped into that van, and went back to Lola’s to work on plans in her aunt’s clean and critter-free kitchen?

None. Absolutely none. The trailer would still be there on Monday. And so would Ben. Maybe a weekend away from him would give her some perspective, anyway. She could fool herself for forty-eight hours…and maybe after that, her head would be screwed on straight.

Chapter Eleven

On Monday morning, Blair was still so anxious, she felt like her head might pop right off her body. Sitting at one of the only red lights in Celebration, she drummed her fingers on the worn steering wheel of the minivan and tried to breathe evenly. But, damn. What a weekend.

She’d spent most of Saturday in a horrible trifecta of worry—Ink Fest. The parade contest. Her uncontrollable attraction to Ben. She’d made no decisions about any of it, and she’d barely been able to help her aunt cook. The dinner with Bill had been wonderful, though, and Blair loved seeing Lola so carefree and truly happy.

Then she’d spent Sunday afternoon ensconced on the sofa with Lola and Kaley, howling with laughter at a zombie movie. It had been wonderful, too, but as the day wore on, Blair almost wished for more excitement, because the quiet evening had given her too much time to think again. Way too much time, and Blair had finally acknowledged the one thing she wanted, the thing that seemed to completely fly in the face of truth and consequence.

She wanted Ben.

Jesus.

But she barely knew him. It was his laugh. His smile. His
scent
. It was animal lust, pure and simple.

With a groan, Blair steered the van down the alley and parked next to the trailer, pausing a moment to rest her head on the steering wheel. What the hell was wrong with her? She was in control of herself and always had been. Her future was a lot more important than giving in to lust. “Stop. Thinking. About. Him.” She lifted her head and steeled her resolve before opening the door.

When she slid out and hopped onto the ground, she noticed that someone had replaced the cinder-block steps with wooden ones.

“Huh,” she said and flicked her long braid over her shoulder. She’d come dressed to kill again today—as in kill the mess in the nightmare of her so-called office. Another pair of old jeans, a T-shirt, and her sturdy boots. And tried as she had to squelch it, she’d also come with a bucketful of resentment, because,
really
. She’d been handed a pile of shit and was expected to turn it into a pile of sparkly fun, including a May Day event by the end of the week.

Had Ivy forgotten about her, or maybe even regretted the hasty decision to hire her? Maybe not. The steps were a welcome surprise. Maybe Ivy was really busy and had finally gotten around to giving Blair some support.

After all, Blair had only been on the job a week and she hadn’t
asked
for support. She never did. But in that week, she had managed to do nothing.
Nothing!
She’d never wasted a whole week before in her life. Maybe she ought to take a page from Ben’s book, though, and not rethink things. Taking a breath, she crammed her fists on her hips, trying to shake off the crushing guilt she was force-feeding herself. She could be casual. She could take things in stride.

But she knew that icky feeling of frustration would only be alleviated by hard work, starting this very moment. Her obsession with Ben would get crushed in the process. Hard work tended to beat the lust right out of a person.

Stomping up the new steps, she unlocked the door and pushed it open, bracing herself for the lingering smell of raccoon poop. It wasn’t there. In fact, the place smelled delicious, like lavender and vanilla. When she flipped the light on, her mouth dropped open at the neat-as-a-pin interior and all of her resolve about Ben melted away. He’d done this, hadn’t he? Of course he had—he’d told her he was going to. But still, how sweet.

To the right, the living room, which had been a jumble of cardboard boxes, was now lined with shelves holding labeled plastic bins. In the center of the room stood the old card table from the kitchen, one of its wobbly legs braced with packing tape. To the left, the kitchen was bare, except for the counter, cabinets, and a computer workstation in the corner. There was a printer and a wireless router plugged in and sitting on the desk, its lights blinking. Hallelujah! She dropped her purse on the clean counter and ran out to the van to get her laptop.

After plugging it in, she looked around some more. The crusty, old stove had been removed and in its place was a filing cabinet. Blair opened it and discovered all the catalogues and brochures that had been stuffed in the cabinets were now alphabetized in folders. She nearly moaned with delight. When she opened a cabinet door next to the sink, she found coffee and paper cups. Another cabinet revealed little plastic trays of pushpins, paperclips, and sticky notes. The top sticky note had writing on it and she pulled it out.

Hi, Blair.

Welcome to your office.

Enjoy.

Ben.

With a grin, she skirted around the computer desk and peeked into the hallway, her hands in front of her in case the raccoon had made a return appearance. She didn’t have to worry, because the hallway was completely empty, and a brand-new bathroom door hung where the warped old one had been.

Her grin bigger, she walked the few steps to the bedroom, which she had never seen before, thanks to the raccoon. It was surprisingly spacious, and covered in recently vacuumed shag carpeting. Two windows let in plenty of light and Blair took in a clean, round worktable that looked familiar. Several chairs were placed around it, and along one wall was a set of plastic see-through bins. They looked to contain art supplies.

With a delighted sigh, Blair let her head fall back on her shoulders and she looked up at the popcorn ceiling.
Yes
. It was a sign from above, or at least from the mayor, that nothing could stop Blair now. The May Day event was Saturday, and it wasn’t going to finish planning itself. She marched back into the kitchen and flipped open her laptop. Ten minutes later, she was halfway through creating a flyer for the event and about to get up and go check supplies for party favors when she heard a slow, rhythmic knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called, half rising from the desk.

The door opened, and Ben stepped into the trailer, a huge smile on his handsome face. Blair stood there, or really, kind of squatted there, watching him as he approached. One hand was in his jeans pocket and the other massaged the back of his neck. His T-shirt read “I’m in a Tattooed Kind of Mood.”

She gave a brief nod. Yeah, she was in a tattooed mood, too. Had been since the second he’d walked through the door. “Hi,” she said in a rush of breath.

“Hey. You like it?” He stepped into the kitchen and leaned backward, his elbows on the counter. He crossed his ankles and gave her a satisfied-looking smile.

“Blair?”

“Sorry.”
I was too busy looking at your chest and the bulge in front of your jeans and your long legs and the pirate ship wrapped around your biceps and…
“Uh, yeah. Yeah! I love it. It’s amazing that you did all this.” She sat back down in the chair, which rolled backward and bumped into the wall behind her. “Oops.”

“This place is set up
exactly
the way I want it. I’m happy,” Blair said. And she was. Especially since Ben stood a few feet away, making giddy waves roll through her stomach.

He came closer and walked around the desk, stopping next to her chair. He tugged on her braid. “If you’re happy, then so am I. What’s on the agenda today, boss?”

She stared down at his strong fingers wrapped gently around her hair. “Uh, well, why don’t we discuss a schedule? Like, in the morning on Monday and Wednesday you come help me for a few hours. Let’s say nine until noon. Then after you close up shop at eight, I can drive over a couple of nights a week and brief you on progress with the Ink Fest plans. How do Tuesday and Thursday evenings sound? Of course, we could adjust accordingly depending on your client schedule.”

Ben didn’t say anything, and she looked up at him. His jaw was moving and his eyes twinkled. A second later he burst into laughter and let her braid slip out of his fingers. “Sorry,” he said with a gasp. “I’m not laughing at you.” He snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I am.”

She glared up at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re so predictable. It’s adorable, don’t get me wrong. But it’s funny, too.”

“You think so?” She stood up, not caring that her breasts brushed his chest when she did. Shoving at that wall of chest, she pushed him back a couple of steps. “There’s nothing wrong with being organized.”

“You’re so right,” he said, pressing his firm lips together. He raised a hand and rubbed at his chest where her breasts had touched.

“I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously, but whatever.” She shrugged. “Do you agree to the plan?”

Suddenly he stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist. His breath fanned across her face. “Firefly. I’ll agree to almost anything where you’re concerned. But why don’t we leave the schedule open-ended, okay? Less pressure. Call when you need me, and I’ll do the same.”

She nodded, staring at him.
What if I need you right this instant?

He stared back. “Did you mean what you said at my apartment?”

“I…”

Of course she hadn’t. And he knew it. So why was he asking?

“Did you?” he repeated in a low voice.

She shook her head.

“Blair.” His voice was lower. “Let me…” He trailed off, staring into her eyes, and then his lips were on hers, searching. And finding. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hauled herself up, opening her mouth to his.

His tongue surged forward, hot and sweet. He tasted earthy, like coffee, but there was an almost metallic tinge to his kiss. It was sharp, electrifying, and breathtaking. His hands ran up her back and tugged on her braid, and she complied, letting her head tilt back with a rush of breath. His mouth trailed down her throat, his kisses surprisingly soft and tender. He placed one lingering kiss at the top of her breasts and then pulled away, gasping, head down.

“Ben,” she whispered. “Ben?”

He looked up then and she saw the restraint in his eyes. The longing, too, but there was a wall up. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.

She stared at him, knowing that lust was written all over her face. “I shouldn’t have told you that I didn’t want you,” she responded.

“Yes, you should have. I don’t want to be a complication in your life I…don’t want to hurt you.” He touched the side of her face with a fingertip and then backed up, resuming his ankles-crossed stance by the counter. Except this time, the bulge in his jeans was a lot bigger. She stared at it and then back up at him, frustration and annoyance beginning to seep in and wash over her desire.

“Hurt me?” She couldn’t help but ask, but hated the strident tone in her voice.

He nodded. Then he shook his head. “No. Of course not. I don’t want us to end up in a bad place. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” She sat back down at her desk and crossed her legs. “Good thinking. Good
rethinking
in fact.”

He winced. “Yeah. Let’s move on. Life happens, and if this—whatever this is we’re doing—isn’t the
best
part of life, I don’t know what is.” He looked at her again, his brown eyes regaining a sparkle. “If I say I’m sorry, could we move on?”

“To what?” She couldn’t help it, leading the conversation back to sex. But dammit, she couldn’t concentrate until she knew what was going to happen. Between them.

“To whatever comes naturally,” he answered, making a move forward, but then he leaned back again, folding his arms over his flat belly. “And if whatever’s natural moves slowly, then that’s okay with me.”

She gazed at him, noting the tenseness of his posture and the set of his jaw. And though what he’d just said should have filled her with relief, it only served to frustrate her more. He was right, though, so she nodded. “Then in the meantime, let’s work.”

He gazed back, not moving. “Could I have one more kiss before you cut me off?” he said, but then closed his eyes. “No, I shouldn’t have said
that
either. Damn.”

Cut
him
off? When her thighs were pressed together like a vise to stop the throbbing? When her breasts were on fire and her mouth was still humming from his kisses? She drew in a breath. Rising quickly from her chair, she ate up the space between them in four steps and grabbed him by the belt buckle, slamming her aching breasts against his chest.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, and he didn’t waste a second.

Ben hauled her off the ground, set her on the counter, and covered her mouth with his. His hand ran up inside her loose T-shirt and closed over the front of her lacy bra, his fingers pressing in possessively. She arched her back, wanting those fingers touching her skin, claiming her breasts. But with a groan, he tore away and stood gasping, his body between her legs and his hands splayed on the counter top on either side of her thighs. “We better stop,” he said.

No. She didn’t want to. He consumed her and it felt right. So right. “I know,” she answered. But he didn’t make a move, so she scooted forward, nestling herself against his rock-hard erection. Oh, Jesus. “I know,” she repeated. “But—”

“I’m not going to let our first time be on a kitchen counter in a trailer,” Ben said. “It wouldn’t be right. Yeah?” His voice was low and vibrated in his chest under her fingers. She pulled her hands away reluctantly.

“Well, since you put it that way,” she responded. Giggles rose in her throat. “But I wouldn’t get to say it, then.”

“Say what?” He raised an eyebrow.

She reached out again and grabbed his solid arms. “If the trailer’s rockin’…”

His face split into a grin, white teeth shining. “Don’t come a-knockin’.”

She snickered and snuggled closer to him, running her hands up his biceps to his shoulders. He groaned and pulled back. “You’re trying to seduce me anyway, aren’t you?”

“Nobody’s knocking,” she answered.

But then somebody did, and without warning, the trailer door creaked open.

“Hey, anybody in here?” Ivy stepped into the kitchen doorway. “Oh.” Her gaze darted from Blair’s face to Ben’s and then she looked at the ceiling, her lips twitching. “I can come back.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blair said as she gave Ben a push and jumped off the counter. “Hi, Ivy.”