Page 3 of Inked By the Mountain Man

"Then I'm drawing." I lift my pencil before going back to sketching.

"You're working." She keeps arguing the point, refusing to let it go.

"I own the shop," I say, just as stubborn as she is.

"Exactly. Work." Kira wanders toward the front. My sister is twenty-four and has worked beside me since I opened Temptation Ink six years ago. She's also the person who typically handles tattoos in intimate areas for female clients. It's easier that way—trust matters. I’ve never questioned the arrangement until the bell over the front door rings and I hear Kira's cheerful voice. Then another voice answers, bright, warm, and familiar.

I stop drawing. No, it can’t be. Then she laughs. I know that laugh. I’ve heard it at festivals. At the grocery store. Outside the winery during last year's harvest celebration. Liv Callahan.

I've noticed her for two years. I don't like admitting it, even to myself. "Noticed" sounds harmless. What I've really done is catalog small things without permission: the way she laughs with her whole body, the way she talks with her hands, the way she can walk into a crowded room and make it feel brighter. I've kept my distance because wanting something and acting on it are different. Distance has always been easier. That's a problem I've managed to ignore—until now.

I walk toward reception, and there she is—Liv, twenty-three, long hair spilling over her shoulders, wearing fitted jeans and a cream sweater, big eyes and an even bigger smile. She looks at me—her smile falters, then returns twice as bright.

"Hi."

My brain forgets every word I've ever learned. "Hi."

Kira looks between us—her eyebrows rise. Don't, my eyes silently tell her. But she ignores the warning in them. "I was just telling Liv that I usually handle female clients when they're getting tattoos in more sensitive spots."

Every muscle in my body locks—sensitive spots? Where is Liv planning to get the tattoo?

Liv's cheeks turn pink. "It's not that sensitive."

Kira smiles. "Where?"

Liv touches her hip, right above the waistband of her jeans. "There."

My entire body tightens. I have tattooed ribs, sternums, thighs, backs, and more awkward places than I care to remember. I have never once forgotten how to be professional. But the idea of putting my hands anywhere near Liv's hip has every disciplined thought in my head scattering like loose paper in a windstorm. That bothers me more than the attraction itself.

"No." The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

My gaze shifts from Liv to Kira, then back to Liv as they both blink at me.

Liv folds her arms over her beautiful chest. "No?"

"I mean," I clear my throat. "I can do it."

Kira's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, but I ignore her, something I’m very good at doing. “You can?"

"Yes," I say, never taking my eyes off Liv.

"But I usually," Kira starts to say, but I cut her off.

"I know." I give Kira a pleading look. For some reason, it means more to me that I understand why I have to be the one to do Liv’s tattoo.

Liv looks between us. "You two realize I'm standing here, right?"

"Yes," we answer at the same time, causing Liv to laugh, and damn it, I don’t want to hear that sound again.

.Kira slowly hands me the tablet. "Fine. Keanu can handle your consultation." She looks directly at me—her expression says I will make your life hell later.

Liv follows me into my station. I motion for her to take the spot opposite me before I sit. "What are you thinking?"

She reaches into her purse and unfolds a piece of paper. “I drew something." She slides it across the table—it's a tiny cluster of wildflowers surrounding a crescent moon.

I study the clean lines, yet delicate design. "It's good."

"You don't have to lie." She reaches for the piece of paper, but I pull it back.