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CHARLEIGH
The soundof the lock clicking into place rang through the tension-slicked air, and my chest squeezed in a way that made it difficult to inhale.
I realized then that it was his aura I was breathing.
That fiery volatility that scraped up my lungs and left my throat raw as I struggled to draw in air as he stood staring at me.
The man was cut like a blade and carved like a shadow.
Eyes the color of pitch with hair to match. His face was slashed in harsh, beautiful angles. His skin was pale, and his lips were ridiculously full and pink.
“So we don’t have to worry about getting interrupted,” he explained as he let his hand drop from the lock.
I thought he maybe said it to give me some sort of comfort, but it still rolled through me like a threat.
My mouth went dry, and my heart battered violently at my ribs.
Clearly, I should run. Rip the door back open and get the hell out of here because there was something about this guy that left me unsettled.
I held back the scoff at myself.
Unsettled?
My knees were knocking, and I wasn’t quite sure why.
Maybe simply because the guy was terrifying. Terrifying in a completely hypnotic, spellbinding way.
He swept his tongue over his bottom lip as he took me in, his head cocked to the side as if I were prey and he was gauging the best way to attack. “How long have you been considering this? Don’t like being a part of the impulsive, especially when it’s your first.”
I could almost taste the danger that oozed from his being, though I didn’t miss the care in his rough voice, the man a stark contradiction.
“I’ve been trying to get the courage to come in here for the last four months.” The confession shook, but I figured there was no reason to try to hide the truth from him.
Those inky eyes toiled like a dark sea, softening as if he understood.
“All right then. Give me a minute to clean up and reset my station. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay,” I managed, and he gave me a jut of his chin as he turned and strode back across the lobby.
I couldn’t look away as I watched him go.
He was tall and his body was thick. Muscles bulged from beneath his black tee and fitted black jeans. Every inch of skin I could see was covered in tattoos, so many that I couldn’t make out the designs, except for the row of five tiny stars that followed the right side of his hairline at his temple.
He ducked into the little room where he’d been when I first came in. There were a row of them on that side of the tattoo shop, each with their lights out except for his that was closest to the window.
He started rustling around within it.
Once he was out of sight and it was possible to look somewhere other than at him, my attention swept the area. The studio was both industrial and posh. A plush black couch and two chairs sat beneath the window that overlooked the trendy main street of Moonlit Ridge, situated around a metal coffee table stacked with what I assumed were portfolios. The walls were covered in art, and in the middle of the lobby was a horseshoe display case.
I eased forward, peering down through the glass at the hundreds of different styles of body jewelry. I had to bite down on my bottom lip to keep the blush from spreading when I realized what some of them were for.
My nerves rattled, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt so out of place.
But I didn’t have aplace, and I was trying to find one, and being here was a little piece of that.
I jolted when I felt the overpowering intensity suddenly whip through the room again, and my gaze jumped to the doorway of his station. The man leaned there, blithe, though there wasn’t a single thing about him that seemed casual.
“You ready for me, or are you having second thoughts about me marking up that pretty skin?” It scraped the atmosphere like an omen, like maybe when he tattooed me, he was going to leave a piece of himself written in my skin, too.
