Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)(4)

The clock on my dash clicked over to three o’clock, and I climbed out of the car and locked it. Twenty-seven steps to the steel door. I knocked hesitantly and waited.

And waited.

Finally, a plate in the center slid open.

“What you want?”

Jesus H. Christ. It was like a speakeasy. Was there a password I was supposed to know?

Before I could gather my wits enough to say something, I heard a familiar voice. “It’s cool, Reggie. She’s with me.”

“You had your tail come here?”

“She ain’t tail; she’s here to help,” Con countered.

“Whatever, man. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

I was still processing their conversation about tail when the door creaked open to reveal a well-lit hallway with black and white checkered tile. And Con.

He lifted his chin in greeting.

“You came.”

“Did I have a choice?” I asked.

“You’ve always got a choice, princess.”

I glanced down at my jersey knit skirt and pink Fleurty Girl NOLA T-shirt. “Then it looks like I made mine.”

He examined my attire. “Don’t you own jeans?”

I looked pointedly at his basketball shorts. “I think even you can agree that it’s too damn hot to wear jeans this time of year. Besides, for all I know, I’ll be outside scrubbing sidewalks.”

“Fair enough.” He tossed a glance toward my car. “You probably want to park around back. That ride might not be here long, otherwise.”

I bit my lip. “Can you explain exactly where ‘around back’ is? Because I was lucky to even find this place.”

Con’s grim expression fell away, and he grinned. In that moment I was struck by how intensely gorgeous he was. Not that I wasn’t already keenly aware of that fact, but his smile brought it to the forefront of my mind. Unruly dark blond hair, dark blue eyes, over six feet of tattooed, muscled man. His jaw was covered in a few days’ worth of stubble, but that just made him even more ridiculously attractive. My panties were indeed a lost cause. “I’ll do you one better—I’ll show you.”

What the heck is he talking about? I’d completely checked out from the conversation we were having.

My eyebrows lifted as he plucked the keys from my limp fingers and strode toward my car.

“What are you are doing?”

“Showing you where to park. And since I don’t let chicks drive me around, you’re going to have to suck it up and get in the passenger seat.”

I followed him, my flip-flops making it easier to keep up than my normal pumps would have.

“Is that your version of asking for permission?” I felt like the token protest was necessary to preserve the rapidly deteriorating buffer zone between us.

Con stopped at the passenger door, opening it for me. The courtesy was surprising, but I didn’t get a chance to linger on it before he replied, “Honey, I’m not sure where you got the impression that I’m the kind of guy who asks for permission. I would’ve thought I’d made that clear two years ago.” He waited until I dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Or have you managed to block that night out?”

And the buffer zone just disintegrated completely.

My mouth went dry, and I tried frantically to come up with some sort of response. I didn’t think saying ‘no, I remember that night altogether too well for comfort, and those memories have given me more than a few dozen orgasms over the last two years’ was appropriate.

“Umm…”

His grin spread wider and took on a stupidly attractive smug quality. “Girls like you always like it better when I don’t ask for permission. When I just take what I want.”

I froze as the memories battered me. Heat licked along my insides at the same time goose bumps prickled along my skin. I needed to shut this conversation down. Now. Before I sacrificed any more of my dignity at the altar of Con Leahy. So I went with the most obvious lie. “That night barely registered on my radar, and I surely don’t remember any details.”

I squared my shoulders, tamped down my inconvenient libido, slipped past him, and got in the car.

A few moments later, Con was in the driver’s seat, and we were circling the block until we came up to a sketchy alley—the kind of alley you didn’t go down in New Orleans if you wanted to come out alive. Any wayward thoughts were eradicated from my mind.

“Are you sure…?”

He didn’t bother to answer, just drove down the narrow brick passageway into a small enclosed parking lot, and pulled into a spot next to a wicked-looking black Harley.

“Is that yours?” I asked, nodding toward the motorcycle.

He jerked his chin in what I assumed was a response and hopped out of the car without offering anything further.

I hurried after him, not wanting to look like I was waiting for him to open my door. Because I wasn’t. I surveyed the back of the warehouse. It didn’t look any more reputable than the front. Con tossed me my keys with orders to lock the car.

Con unlocked the heavy steel door before pulling it open and gesturing for me to enter.

“After you, princess.”

I stopped on the threshold. “Could you not call me that?”

One side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Why? That’s how I’ve always thought of you. Vanessa Frost, the perfect princess.”