Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2) (17 page)

Chapter
Fifteen

“Ivan, we need more pouches for the autoclave.” Tamsin
joined him in the storage room.

Ivan continued stocking the piercing supplies and pointed to
the shelf. “I ordered them and they were delivered yesterday.”

“You did?” She walked to the shelf and opened the box. “You
did. How did you know?”

“Emily and I took inventory and we ordered what was low.” He
completed one last count of the nose rings and noted it on the box Emily had
highlighted for him.

“What a concept.” She gave him a punch in the arm. “Also—”

Before she continued he held up his hand. “I ran the monthly
check on the autoclave and Emily and I restocked the bathroom. I know you don’t
do flash, but a walk-in came in wanting some traditional art, so I told them to
come back later after Emily and I checked your schedule.” He crossed his arms
and waited for her response. The only thing he didn’t have under control was
his investigation on the case. He would have to break down and talk to Billy.

“Um…”

“Oh, here’s the phone number in case you need to talk to
her.” He pulled the message out of his pocket.

“Thank you?” She took the paper. “It’s legible.”

“Anything else?” He gave her a smile as he passed by.

“You know what Harlow? You’re really getting the hang of
running the shop. Let’s see if you can fill the last of Shane’s shoes.” She
punctuated his compliment with one last sock in the arm. “Break a leg.”

“Thank you.” Not sure if he winced due to the throb in his
arm or her mention of his media debut, he no sooner stepped over the threshold
when his personal agent spotted him.

With her hands behind her back, Emily tiptoed toward him.
“Can I get you ready for the spotlight, Mr. Harlow?”

Before he flat out refused any of her so-called help, he
considered his situation. Jake from
Inked Skin
was on his way; therefore
backing out of his media appearance was not an option. The glow bouncing off
Emily’s skin told him she radiated health. Earlier when they ate a huge
breakfast, she stole a slice of his toast. She was even well hydrated after he
plied her with iced tea. Even if it meant a personal sacrifice and humiliation,
he could not do anything to jeopardize her state of good health.

Of course, Emily’s glow also indicated he would benefit
later if he played nice, and he sat down at his station. “You may get me ready
for my close-up, Miss Elliott.”

Her smile outshined her glow. As she approached, she
revealed her makeup tote from behind her.

“What’cha doing?”

Without answering, she reached into her bag of tricks and
put her various pouches of elixirs on the counter, finishing by bending over
and picking up the black case. In her defense, she did try to hide it like a
doctor hid a hypodermic needle.

“Em?” His heart took off on a full-speed gallop and he
gripped the edge of his seat. “I’ll wear the guy-liner if you don’t use what’s
in the case.”

Worse than when horror movie music amplified and alerted the
viewers to impending doom, the silence around him prepared him to be hacked.

Still, when Emily turned with the scissors in her hand he
jumped, though he tried to keep a strong front.

“Emily, please.” He held his breath as she came forward.

Comb in one hand, weapon in the other, she inched toward
him.

In defeat he closed his eyes. Only the warmth radiating off
her body and the scent of her soap and perfume told him she had reached her
goal.

His hair.

“I just need to fix something.” The way she gently ran her
fingers through his pride and joy was merely a decoy to get him to relax.

“Remember how you told me how my hair turns you on.” He
spoke through his teeth.

“Then remember I am the only person who has cut your hair
since you were nineteen.” She laughed.

Fine, he always forgot that minor fact. “But…” He opened his
eyes to something that made him forget his hair…her boobs.

“But what?” She leaned closer, her cleavage now less than an
inch away from his nose.

Yes, the snipping of the scissors echoed in ears, but her
cleavage was in his eyes. “I don’t know.” He straightened to get a look down
there.

“Go ahead it will take your mind off the trim.” She gave her
shirt a little tug to give him a better view.

“Do you want me tattooing you on camera with a hard-on?” He
surveyed the rest of the shop in the mirror. Everyone continued their work as
if having Emily and her boobs all over him was nothing to gawk at.

“Yes, I do.” She continued her work.

“Really?” Permission granted from all parties, he stared
into the wonderland and the erection he predicted appeared. As he gawked,
something sparkled inside, beckoning him and he hooked his finger in the neck
of her shirt. “I don’t recognize this bra.”

“You know my bras?” Finished with her styling, she peered
inside with him.

He paused, the images of her bras flashing through his mind.
The red, the black, the pink, the plain beige one, not his favorite. Of course
there was the polka dot, the one with the hearts, the lace one, and the one
with the pink ribbons. His boner might insist on taking center stage if he
focused on the transparent one that showed off her nipples. Her collection did
not include a black satin one with sparkles.

“You do know my bras.” She put her hand under his chin and
forced his face up.

“It’s like the wrapping on a birthday present. Are you
trying to give me something?” He raised his eyebrows. “Em-Lee?”

“Not now.”

“I think it will relax me.” He stared into her eyes.

With the guy-liner, her hand headed toward his eye. “We
don’t want to be a mess.”

“I’ll be neat.” While he didn’t know what being neat
entailed, at least it sounded as if he was trying to comply with her wishes.

Apparently she didn’t understand either. She scowled and
applied his makeup.

“Em.” Muscle memory from years of having Emily apply makeup
to him took over and he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Ivan.” She moved to his other eye.

“Aren’t we at the point where we can just do it whenever?”
Okay, he was whining, but he owned it.

She held the eyeliner back. “Are we?” Her expression, mouth
partially open, eyes wide and skin paling told him her question was one of
those tests, a pop quiz where he better come up with the right answer or be
held back, literally.

In the past he’d failed each and every time. “I think we
are.” He held his breath waiting for the verdict.

The glow returned. She licked her lips and stared into his
eyes. “I want to make that eyeliner smear down your cheeks. I don’t care if we
make a mess.”

“I want to inspect your new bra.” Flooded with arousal, he
sprang out of the chair and considered their exit strategy.

“I wore it special for your show.” Without warning she took
her shirt off.

“Emily!” He held his hands out in a vane attempt to shield
her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s a Mark Markson original.” She jutted her chest out.
“It’s not only underwear. It will be perfect on film.”

His mind wanted to collapse under the weight of the data it
needed to process. Her boobs overflowed out of a perfectly fit designer bra
that another man gave her. That was the way the whole world would see her
chest. He didn’t want the world to see her boobs. “You will not display your
chest region to the entire world wide web.”

“I’ll be on my side. I have the matching bottoms on.” She
turned in a circle, hooked her fingers in the waistband of pants, and pulled
one side down over her hip, revealing a piece of black string. “I need to
provide the right canvas for your art. You are the star.”

His art. Since the day he made art a career, he got to stand
two steps behind Shane, only edging into the limelight when needed.

His art, his girl, and for the time being, his shop. The
heat of power surged though him only to be instantly extinguished by a dousing
of reality. Nothing in front of him had been the same since the day he walked
in as a sad substitute for Shane.

The bell at the front rang.

Emily grabbed his arm as Jake and two other men entered the
shop with their camera equipment. “This is it.” She gave him a squeeze.

No, nothing was the same. Now he had way too much to lose.

~~*~~

“Lookin’ good, Emily.” Jake from
Inked Skin
sat down
and motioned for the cameraman to come in closer.

Ivan finished setting up his station and unclenched his jaw.
He didn’t need Jake or anyone else to tell Emily how she looked.

“Thank you. As we discussed, there is no need to shoot my
face.” She rested her knee on a pillow, and rounded out her hip and her ass.

“There’s the shot,” the cameraman mumbled.

“We don’t need any footage of your face.” Jake tilted her
head and even Billy stopped his trek across the shop.

Part of Ivan wanted to stand up and punch each one of these
men in the eye they used to gawk at her. The other part wanted to elbow the
other guys and tell them that he got to hold on to those hips every night, and
sometimes during the day.

“Stay focused on the tattoo.” Emily kicked her foot out and
caught Jake on the shoulder.

“That’s like telling someone not to blink.” He laughed.

“Listen to the lady,” Ivan said. Emily grew up around mostly
men, and it had its benefits. She could take Jake in a second, but it was all
part of her allure. With the looks of a modern day pin up girl and the
toughness to match any tattoo artist, at the end of the day she was all woman.
She never had a problem getting guys, but she wanted him.

“Let’s take a look at the ink.” Jake cleared his throat and
leaned over. “In this case maybe I should say paint. You did the art all by
hand, no stencils?”

The camera light glared, indicating the filming started.

What would Shane say? A simple yes would never leave his
mouth. Instead Shane would have a story, a quip, something more than a single
word. He swallowed and stared down at the tattoo. The violet, the rose, the
daisy, the tulip, the sunflower and the pansy all intertwined in the vines he’d
created. Each flower possessed its own meaning between the two of them. He only
needed to add the final touch. “Yes.” Damn it.

“Most tattoo artists use a combination of stencils and hand
drawing. Do you ever use stencils?”

Don’t just say yes. He picked up his marking pen. “Turn over
a bit.” Great, rather than answering the question, he ignored it entirely.

Emily put the pillow behind her, got into position and stared
right at him, in her unique way giving him every bit of her support.

“Do you ever use stencils?” Jake repeated.

Once more he took her all in. She always gave him her all,
never one ounce less. More than Shane, she had never left his side. “Yes, I use
stencils.” He pulled the cap off the pen and bent over his magnificent canvas.
“There has to be a special relationship between the artist and the client if
you do everything by hand. Trust is key. There is no way to predict what the
finished product will look like. You really have to believe in your artist.”

“That’s true.” Her eyes glistened and she gave him another
long look before leaning back to allow him to do his work.

Silence overtook the room as he completed his drawing and
soon the only sound was the hum of the tattoo machine.

“I have seen many tattoos done, but that was truly
incredible.” Jake studied the piece. “What’s the secret?”

“Tattooing is an art…the only difference is the medium you
decide to work with.” He assessed the completed piece.

“Excellent.” Jake nodded and made a note. “It seems as if
you all have a specialty here. Is that what you have to do to get a job at
Permanent?”

“First you have to be an excellent tattooist.” He peeked
over at Emily. From the second he began drawing she’d kept her arm over her
eyes. “We do like artists who stand out in their own area.”

“With Shane out with his wife, give me a brief rundown of
who’s here to hold down the fort.”

“We have Tamsin Webb who is an expert in traditional style
tattooing.” Ivan gathered the items for his dressing and took a breath. “Billy
Booker is our resident expert in portraits.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Billy tilt his head in
silent acknowledgement.

“Okay, I’m going to send my crew to get a few shots with the
new stars.” Jake made a cutting motion across his throat. “Let’s chat a
second.”

The crew went to Tamsin first.

Ivan applied ointment to the tattoo and prepared to put a
piece of gauze over the art. “What’s up?”

“Doesn’t she want to see?” Jake held his hand out, stopping
him.

“She’ll see later.” He covered the piece. “It’s our
tradition.”

“Really.” Jake shrigged. “But she knows what it is already.”

Both he and Emily shook their heads.

“That sounds like its own story.” Jake crossed his arms.
“But right now I need to talk to you about another story.”

“Emily, why don’t you make sure the camera crew gets all the
right shots?” Ivan helped her sit up and put her shirt in her lap. There was no
doubt as to the topic Jake wanted to discuss, and the last thing he needed was
her getting sick again.

“I’d rather stay.” She put her shirt on and took hold of his
arm. “We can handle it together. We’re a team.”

Her trembling betrayed her words, and not caring who or what
ended up plastered all over the Internet, he stood and took his place next to
Emily. “You said you would delay any story.”

“You know how I feel about all of you, especially Shane.
Hell, it was Lindsay who fixed my money matters, but I’m getting heat about the
other story. That’s part of the reason I came here today. The tattoo story can
help blunt the other.”