Page 58 of Inflict

Connor clapped his friend on the shoulder, squeezing a bit harder than he normally would. “Exactly, mate. Scram.”

The second he heard the front door close, Connor went back to retrieve the bags he’d dropped, leaving Evelyn sitting alone on the couch. He didn’t miss how she had dropped his gaze, and started picking at her fingernails before he left, though.

Back in the living room, he found Evelyn standing, the paper from earlier back in her grasp. She looked to him, turning the paper around to show him what was on it—a bushel of gardenias, drawn in charcoal, black and white, with the most intricate shading around each petal, giving the flowers a very life-like appearance.

“Your talent has greatly improved,” he admitted as he sat the bags down.

Evelyn eyed a particular piece of a city skyline above the television. “I imagine so has yours.”

Connor surveyed his own work. “Sure, but there’s a difference. Yours was something you just had, it was there, and it needed a bit of honing. Mine was learned. It’s a process of perfectly-done lines and different pressures with all sorts of mediums. I learned how to do this, and it took a long time. I’m not sure you ever had to learn, only get better.”

She pointed the paper his way again. “Will you do this?”

“Tattoo it on you, is that what you mean?”

“Yes, here.”

Evelyn tugged down the waistband on the gym shorts she wore, showcasing her bare thigh and the cream color of her skin dotted with freckles. She really did have those things everywhere. Connor was wondering if he might be able to play connect-the-dots someday, just to see where else he could find them on her body.

Aye, stop that, you arse.

He swore he could hear his own thoughts laughing at him as he shook his head. “It’s a nice spot, but so would your stomach and hip be, for the size. If you go for something that big on your thigh, it’s going to take up a large portion, whereas it’ll give more of a canvas on other spots.”

“Oh.”

Connor chuckled at her lack of enthusiasm about putting the pretty flowers elsewhere than where she wanted. “Then again, as your body grows and changes over the years, somewhere like the hip or stomach might not be a great place.”

Her brow puckered. “I don’t understand.”

“Pregnancy, things like that. Weight gains and losses. Tattoos will stretch with the skin, and then they don’t have the same appeal. It’s something to consider.”

Evelyn went quiet. He assumed she was probably thinking about his suggestion, so he went about depositing the bags of clothes he had picked up for her on the couch. The women in the shops had been nice enough to do the shopping once Connor had guessed the sizes, and since he was running late on time, they’d made it quick. Evelyn had basically nothing to wear that was her own, except for that feckin’ dress he’d found her in, and whatever she’d found in his closets.

Sure, he liked seeing her in his stuff. He wasn’t going to deny that, but he figured she might like her own things. Something pretty, maybe. Lace or satin underneath the pretty things.

Or maybe he’d partly done that for himself.

He was getting good at this internal torture thing.

Finally, Evelyn spoke again, and her words froze him in place. “I can’t have children.”

“What?” Connor spun on his heel to face her, but she wasn’t staring at him. Her gaze was firmly stuck on the floor. “You can’t, or you don’t want to, love?”

Because those were two very different things.

He wasn’t sure he wanted children. But he was damn sure he could make the wee buggers. It was why he kept a pack of condoms within arm’s reach at all times. He didn’t need any babies that he didn’t want.

Sean had taught him that, just by raising a child he didn’t want.

“Can’t,” Evelyn repeated, her tone dropping back to her previous weak softness. Lifting the hem of the sweater, her fingertip grazed over her naval. “There’s a scar here, but it’s been … a few years. One of the only times I was taken from the house. He was a nice doctor, and he was quick. I didn’t feel a thing. I can’t have children, so it doesn’t matter. I wanted it on my thigh, anyway.”

Connor’s mouth was dry, but somehow, he managed to say, “All right, your thigh it is.”

Whatever she wanted.

As long as she didn’t look so sad.

“You’re not going to ask more?” Evelyn asked.