Full Contact (Redemption #3)(8)

His eyes narrow. “Changeable plans?”

“Personal plans,” I say, trying to hide my desperate need to get him out of my chair before I throw myself on him in a frenzy of lust or, worse, actually agree to do his ink. “And really, it would be better if you come back tomorrow, when I have time to discuss what you need and draw up a few designs. I don’t want to do a half-assed job.”

“Hot date?” Ray carefully places my portfolio back on the cart and folds his arms across his delectable chest.

I suck in a sharp breath. “I didn’t say I had a date.”

He gives me a smug look. “You didn’t have to. You have a very expressive face and your body language says you’re trying to hide something.” He taps my folded arms. “The likely explanation is a date, and you don’t want me to know about it.” His lips curl into a sensual smile. “Why don’t you want me to know about your date?”

Damn. Caught out. Me and my expressive face. This is exactly why I always got Tag to steal the cookies when we were growing up. I twist my ring around my finger and press my lips together as my temper starts to rise. “Maybe I’m planning to rob a bank or steal a car and go joyriding. Maybe I’m working a pole at a local strip joint. Or maybe I’m just meeting my bestie for a burger. There are hundreds of things I could be doing tonight.”

“Definitely a date then. What’s his name?”

“I don’t think his name is any of your business.”

Ray doesn’t take the hint. “Ah. So it is a date.” He winks and I am hard pressed not to smile. “First date? Second?”

My skin prickles with a flush of heat. What’s with all the questions? He can’t possibly be interested. He’s the Predator. He has the body of a demigod. Beautiful women throw themselves at him after his fights. They are his for the taking. Which makes him perversely safe for an ordinary girl like me. Why order regular coffee when you can have a triple-shot espresso with cream?

“First date.”

He gives a disapproving grunt. “You got a picture? Gimme a visual.”

“I’ve never met him.”

His face softens with a smile. “Good to know.”

“I can’t imagine why.” But I can fantasize, and my imagination goes off the deep end. He wants me so bad, he came here tonight pretending he wanted a tattoo. He wants to f*ck me, make me come in every dirty way I’ve read about and have been too afraid to try.

“Men like to know the lay of the land.” He shifts in the chair, drawing my attention to the breadth of his shoulders, the thick biceps protruding from the tight sleeves of his T-shirt, his lightly tanned forearms covered in soft, downy hair. I have never been so sexually attracted to anyone in my entire life, and the feeling of not being in control of my responses is unsettling.

“I thought you came to get a tat, not to discuss my personal life, which I can guarantee will bore you in three seconds flat. You’re almost as bad as Tag with all the questions. I already have a bossy, overprotective man in my life. I don’t need another.”

“Man’s overprotective, he usually has a reason.”

My blood runs cold. Would Tag have told him our secret? No. Never. We made a pact that night, and I trust him never to break it. “No particular reason. That’s just who he is.” Hopefully, my expressive face won’t show Ray that I’m lying through my teeth.

A crease forms along Ray’s brow. “He know you’re going on this date?”

I heave a sigh and his gaze drops to my boobs. Christos was partially right. With the padded bra, I do have assets. “FYI, I don’t report every detail of my life to Tag, but just in case you get any ideas”—I poke him gently in the chest, more to cop a feel than out of real annoyance—“it’s none of your business, just like it’s none of his.” I emphasize each word and lean toward him in what I hope is a menacing way.

“Fuck, you’re cute. Did you know your eyes go green when you’re scared?”

Hmmm. Not really the look I was going for. I would have preferred sultry, sophisticated, or even badass. Who calls a woman pierced, dyed, leathered, and tatted cute? “First, my eyes are hazel, not green. And second, you won’t think I’m cute if you say anything to Tag.”

He stares, his gaze at once amused and intense. “Maybe not if you give me your ink.”

“Seriously?” My voice rises in pitch. “You’re blackmailing me?”

Ray slides back in my chair with the smug look of a man who knows he’s about to get what he wants. “You want to ink me. You didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would already be out that door. Question is whether you want it more than what you got going on tonight.”

The last of my inhibitions flutters away like a tattoo artist pursued by a street gang. “I don’t.”

“You do.” His eyes glitter, and he licks his beautiful, sensual lips, as if daring me to make a move. And I almost do. I want him. I’ve wanted him for a year. And now he’s here. In my chair. Making me think he wants me too. I could almost forgive his insufferable arrogance.

“Okay, I do. Covers are a specialty of mine. But are you sure you want to irritate a woman who’ll be wielding a tattoo machine that could do some permanent damage to your skin, or worse, give you a tattoo that will embarrass you for life?”