Surrender of a Tattooist: Obsessive Dark Romance Alpha Bad Boy (Tattooist Series Book 2) (3 page)

His finger tilted her chin and face toward him so that her eyes were right on his. “I take it you weren’t very happy there.”

She sighed. This was one conversation she hated having, and always tried to avoid it. With Cliff, she suddenly just wanted to tell him and then forget about it. “No. My childhood was disgustingly normal. My parents weren’t unkind to me, even if they didn’t get me. They just weren’t people I could comprehend. I couldn’t understand their mindset and how they could be so normal, or why how they think is even normal. I also couldn’t figure out how I could be so abnormal.”

“How did you wind up in L.A.?”

She smiled. His fingers were still on her chin. She liked the feel of his flesh against hers, even if it was in just a small way. “I went to college and met Joy. I didn’t really have any plans. I wanted to teach, but I didn’t know what to do about that either because none of the positions that were open where I’m from suited me.”

“Joy, eh?”

“Joy suggested I come out here. So I did. She already had a condo and all, you know, because she’s filthy rich. Not that she acts like she’s wealthy, though. And now… I live there still. Her condo, I mean. At least, most of the time.”

The peacocks uttered their low and slightly rude cries. Cliff took her hand and led her onward. They went in to look at the smaller hawks, some of which were obviously dejected. “Why do they look so down?”

Cliff shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s sad. Maybe it’s because they can’t make it out there.”

She watched the beautiful birds a few moments. “Maybe you should turn them loose anyway. Maybe they would rather die trying than live in here.”

He waved a finger at her face. “Don’t you even think about it. I already heard about you and that truckload of pigs and the cattle hauler. Besides, come look at this.”

They moved on and she gasped as she saw a stunning owl sitting on a nest with its chicks. Cliff said, “Their father’s teaching them to fly. So are we. Their father is allowed to fly free; see that window up there? He can come right through it and he does. He feeds the chicks and her.”

Pixie stared in wonder. “Why, if he can hunt and fly, is he still here?”

Cliff sighed. “Because she is. She can’t fly anymore. Her wings were broken. They’ve never healed properly. Her mate is free; he flies wherever and whenever he wants to. He doesn’t have to stay, but he does. He roosts here at night and he feeds her. Randy feeds her when he knows hunting is bad. That way the father can eat too. He always brings his kills to her first. Randy feeds her while the male’s hunting, so when he comes back she has the carcass and he can have his meal. Even though she’s eaten, he still offers her the choicest morsels before he eats.”

Tears came to her eyes. “That’s beautiful.”

Cliff smiled. “That’s true love. No matter how hard it is, no matter what, they’re together.”

Just then the male came flying down through the open window on the roof. He landed on the nest and immediately went to his mate and their chicks. Cliff slipped his arm around Pixie’s waist. “That’s our cue.”

Pixie looked up at the male and winked. “It is. We’re leaving, mister. Love your family. They’re beautiful. So are you.”

Cliff’s hand met her back again. The gesture was sexy and courtly, and it hit her just how hard she could fall for him.

And that was utterly dangerous.

Pixie finally managed to speak after they walked through the bird sanctuary and rescue buildings. “That was the best thing I’ve gotten to see in years.”

Cliff smiled down at her as they headed to the car. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I loved it!” Her feet danced along the grass and hard-packed earth, and she clapped her hands together. “Thank you so much, so very much!” Her face was alight with her joy and her spirits were higher than they had been in a very long time. Cliff had given her something nobody else ever had and she was ecstatic over it. She was giddy with excitement and didn’t care. This high was better than any alcohol binge or probably any drug could ever give. She wouldn’t know, as she’d never tried one.

They climbed into the car and started back down the mountain. She turned in her seat so she could watch him drive. The sunlight drifted through the trees, haloing his face, and his slender, capable hands rested on the gearshift and steering wheel; she flushed as she wondered what those hands would feel like on her body.

She drew breath. She’d avoided dating for a long time, choosing to try to work out the baggage left behind by her ex before trying to make something work with someone else, and she knew she had not yet recovered much of the self-esteem she’d lost in that relationship.

It was pretty ironic, her avoiding dating, especially given that she had all but thrown Joy at Hawk and insisted that Joy needed to get back out there.

But Joy’s breakup, while hurtful, had been vastly different from the one she had gone through.

James had shattered her ever-fragile confidence to a degree she had never known it could be. With his actions and words, he had reduced her to the plain geeky girl who was the target of schoolyard bullies, and she’d had to fight really hard to get herself back together after that.

Cliff spoke, bringing her back to the present, “So tell me about you, Pixie.”

She blinked, “What’s there to tell? I work as a vet assistant sometimes and at a nail salon sometimes. I get fired a lot.”

He chuckled and said, “Do tell. Why do you get fired a lot?”

She shrugged. “Well, it depends. I got fired from a waitressing job a few weeks ago because this guy came in, and first he ordered a rib plate and fries…”

“You didn’t tell him how pigs are killed for food, did you?”

She shook her head. “No. But I should have. Basically I took him his plate, and he ate the ribs then said they were tough and wanted a different rack. I took them back to the kitchen, and got cussed out by the cooks who said I should have brought it back quicker. Never mind he didn’t complain quicker. I got his new plate and took it back, then he said the fries were cold and he sent them back. Now, mind you, he had eaten about half of them before he complained about the ribs, again.”

“Oh shit,” Cliff said, “I know that type. We used to get them into the store back when we still had the lunch counter. They just want free food.”

Pixie was grateful he got it. “Exactly. Only at that place, if the food keeps going back, the server and the cook get docked. So when he told me about the fries, I went to the manager, who cursed me out for taking the plate with the fries on it instead of just bringing out new ribs.”

“That’s not very fair.”

It wasn’t, and it had been that injustice that had fueled her next move. “Exactly. So I went back to his table. He’d eaten all the fries by then, and most of the new ribs. I told him he wasn’t getting anything else. He started yelling, and so I sort of lost my temper and told him he was probably going to die from eating so much pork and that pork’s known to have parasites…and then the couple next to him freaked out because they thought I said the pork at the restaurant had parasites and…well… you can figure out the rest.”

Cliff grinned, “It’s not funny. Sort of. Just don’t feel bad. I once put a pork skin in a guy’s soup because he kept sending it back.”

Pixie’s brows shot up. “You didn’t!”

He grinned evilly. “I did.”

“That’s terrible!”

Cliff started laughing, “He said it was the best soup he’d ever had and asked where we got the ‘crunchy stuff’ on top. My dad was like, what crunchy stuff? So I said it was some crushed fake pork topping and Pops knew we didn’t have any of that around in the place, so he waited until he left, took me outside, and chewed me up one side and down the other. Said I could have killed the dude.”

“Death by pork skin,” Pixie snickered.

“Imagine reading that one in the papers.”

She smiled shyly as she admitted, “I used to love pork skins.”

“You did?” He shook his head and laughed. “I still do! Especially with hot sauce. The big puffy ones are best. I don’t like the really crunchy ones anymore.”

Amused and fighting back laughter, Pixie waved her hand. “Get thee behind me, Satan. Pork skins are just death in a bag, literally. Not just for the pigs either. Humans die from ‘em.”

“Then I’ll die. I can think of worse ways to go.” Cliff piloted the car around a set of tricky turns and added, “I mean, we live in L.A. Smog is a killer. There’s crime everywhere. You could die in traffic. I’ll take my chances with the pork skins.”

“You have a good point.” She looked down at his hands again. They stayed steady on the wheel, and again she wondered what they would feel like on her skin. She shivered as an unbidden image rose up: the two of them in bed, his beautifully inked and sleek skin, his magnificent body nude and shimmering…

She blinked that tempting image away just as he asked, “So what’s next?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what happens with you next? Obviously waitressing isn’t your strong suit, and it doesn’t sound like you’re all that happy doing nails either; if you were you would do it all the time.”

He was far more astute than she had considered. She squirmed in her seat and said, “I’d like to do something but…maybe I should have rethought the hair and tats before I went to college.”

A small frown creased his brow. “What do you mean?”

She sighed and stared out the window. “My major was in education and my minor was in literature. I love to read, and I love to read older works. I’m really hooked on Dickens, Millay, Poe, and a few others. I wanted to teach when I graduated, but one thing led to another and I wound up here instead of back home, which is where I thought I would end up. Then I realized the field was packed with people trying to get a job and I found myself a little left out of the races.” She sighed again. “Then I started doing other stuff and I just sort of let it fall to the wayside.” She hadn’t meant to open up to him that way. She didn’t know him well enough to open up to him like that. She fell silent, her shoulders tensing as she waited for him to speak, to tell her she was being ridiculous and it was high time she grew up and did something productive with her life.

He didn’t say that. Instead he said, “People should do something they love and are passionate about. Maybe you just haven’t found that yet.”

“I haven’t.” It was true. She just didn’t know how to go about figuring out what she was passionate about. She knew she cared about animals, and social justice, and making the world a better place. She just didn’t see how any of those things would translate into earning a living. She’d briefly considered becoming a veterinarian, but she didn’t want to go back to college and, what was more, she couldn’t really afford to either. So she changed the subject, “I guess I have to count this as a real date now.”

He winked at her. “I am.”

“Are you always so determined?”

“No.”

She lifted an eyebrow, “No?”

“No, you just make me want to be determined.”

“I see. You know there’s a mental illness attached to that sort of statement.”

Cliff’s lips twitched. “I know, but I promise you I’m not nuts. I like you, that’s all. I like you more now. Is that crazy?”

She said, “If it is, I must be crazy too, because I was really prepared to hate going out with you.”

“Then why did you?”

She gave him her sweetest smile. “You kept asking.”

“I see.”

She smirked. “Maybe persistence really does pay off.”

“We’ll see. You haven’t said yes to a second date yet.”

Pixie settled back into her seat. Damn, he was irresistible. “Are you going to ask me out on a second date?”

Cliff pretended to think about it. “I was thinking I’d wait until we were back at the shop. That way you couldn’t cry off on the grounds you had to say yes because you were stuck in my car.”

Damn, he was funny. She hadn’t expected that. “Good plan. I’ll be saying yes.”

He asked, “Do you want me to take you back to the shop, or would you like to see my house?”

It was loaded question and she knew it. He wanted her, and she knew it. She wanted him too, though—and badly. Every cell in her body craved him.

“I’d love to see your house,” she whispered in a husky voice.

* *

Cliff lived in a small and quiet neighborhood. His house was an older ranch-style home, rambling and long. The yard was neatly cut and the driveways of the nearby houses were filled with cars that looked like his.

Pixie relaxed. Cliff’s neighborhood was solidly middle-class, a place she could feel at home in. Despite her love for Joy and her gratitude at Joy always opening the condo to her, Pixie always felt out of place there.

Beverly Hills, even the flats, made her feel like an imposter. She wanted to be successful—at some point—but money was not how she measured success.

“Nice place,” she said as they got out of the car.

Cliff said, “It’s just a lease but it works for me. I had a roommate at one time, but once I started working for Hawk I didn’t need one as much anymore.”

“Oh?” She was nervous, and at a loss as to what to say.

Cliff waited for her to walk toward him and then his hand met hers. He led her up the small strip of concrete that led to the plain front door as he said, “Well, yeah. Before I worked for Hawk I worked in a bunch of shops, but none of the dudes who ran them were as fair with money as he is. And they didn’t get nearly the amount of business either.”

He opened the door and they stepped into a short foyer. The living room was undeniably masculine, with leather club chairs scattered around and a low sofa pushed against one wall. A massive television took up most of one wall, and the kitchen, visible thanks to the open concept plan, was neat and tidy.

The house was nice, but she couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Would you like some wine?”

She nodded. It wasn’t like her to be at such a loss. She knew part of it was the desire pulsing through her body, but the other part was that voice up in her head screaming at her to be careful, very very careful, because this man could hurt her so badly she might never recover.

He went to get them a glass of wine. “Red or white? I’ve got a Shiraz-Merlot and a Pinot Grigio.”

“The white, please.” She looked around the room. There were a few personal things; photographs and old football trophies.

Cliff came back out and handed her the wine. They settled down on the sofa and she sipped her wine, trying to think of something interesting to say but came up empty. The steady stream of passion running through her was overwhelming her. She just wanted to rip his clothes off, screw politeness.

She set her glass down and turned her head, meaning to ask him when he bought the house, but never got the words out. Cliff’s mouth came down on hers. His lips were firm and warm, but soft. His tongue slid across her lower lip and she gasped, her lips parting. His tongue plunged into her mouth and her hands went to his shoulders, squeezing tightly.

His muscles rippled below her questing hands. She slid her fingers lower to the hem of his tee shirt. It came up and went over his head, exposing his broad chest and flat belly. The tattoos he had covered his chest, and she ran her fingers across them; a lovely cross, and a few mystical-looking runes formed an intricate pattern.

His hands found her clothes and soon they were disrobing each other, leaving her only in her bra and panties and him in his boxers.

He laid her back on the sofa, his hands leisurely exploring her body. His tongue moved across her shoulders and his lips trailed tiny kisses across her skin. Her body arched toward his as he let his fingers wander over the tight span of her waist and then lower. His mouth followed his fingers and she let hers go to his hair as he tugged her panties down. His hair was as crisp and springy as she had imagined it would be.

His fingers traced a low tattoo and then slid between her thighs. A low moan broke from her throat as his fingers slid lower, pressing against her wetness.

His tongue moved lower as well. Her cry grew louder as his tongue slid across her clit, making the erect flesh shiver and rise even higher.

His fingers thrust inside her tight walls, making her back arch. Her toes curled and her heels dug into the cushions as his tongue moved across her clit again.

His hair was bunched in her fingers and she tugged hard. Her hips bucked upward and fell as he thrust his fingers into her again, and followed with a quick circle of his tongue around her center. He knew exactly what he was doing. There was no arguing there.