Full Contact (Redemption #3)(9)
He pushes up the left sleeve of his T-shirt and holds out his arm. “Sounds to me like you’re saying yes. And it can’t be worse than this.”
My lips quiver with a repressed smile, and I trace my finger over the chubby orange smiley fish on his bicep. “I noticed it when you were fighting, but I was never close enough to see what it was.”
“Otto the fish from a children’s picture book. Got f*cking drunk one night and must have mentioned it was my favorite book when I was a kid. A coupla my buddies dragged me to a tattoo studio, and I woke up the next day with Otto.”
Laughter erupts from my throat and I pat tiny Otto’s head. “I like Otto. And he was actually done by a master artist. Look how his scales glow and shimmer, and the way he ripples when you move your arm. It would be a shame to ink over him.”
Ray slides a finger under my chin and tilts my head up, forcing me to meet his searing gaze. “You got a pretty smile. It lights up your face, chases away the shadows. And you got a lot of shadows.”
My cheeks flame at his insight, and I look away. “Shadows” doesn’t even begin to describe the baggage I’ve been carrying around—baggage that means I usually stay away from alpha males like Ray. “So how did you want to cover Otto?”
“You like the fish?” Ray says quietly.
“Yeah, I like the fish.”
“I’ll keep the fish.”
My head jerks up, and I can’t help but snort a laugh. “You can’t keep a tat you hate just because I like it. You don’t even know me. And it doesn’t really go with your Predator image in the ring.”
He captures me with his gaze, deep, dark, and delicious. “What would you cover it with?”
Without thinking, I stroke the tat on his bicep. I always get my best ideas through touch. So hard. So warm. So smooth. His muscle flexes under my fingers, rippling beneath the skin. But that is Ray. Hidden depths. Wild. Untamed.
“Sia?” His deep voice rumbles through me, and my hand vibrates against his arm. Instantly, I know how I would ink him. Grabbing my notebook and pencil, I sketch out a design, partially abstract, partially tribal, merging lines and patterns until they form the rough outline of a wolf.
“This.” I hold up the notepad. “This is what I would do. This is what I see every time I watch you fight.”
He takes the notebook and studies it for a moment longer than is comfortable. My pulse kicks up a notch and disappointment clenches my gut. He doesn’t like it.
His gaze locks on mine, heated and heavy. “You see this?”
“It’s the great wolf, Fenrir, from Norse legend.” I shrug and grab the notepad from his hand. “Fenrir was a bit of a troublemaker so the gods decided to put him in shackles. However, Fenrir was so strong that there was no chain that could hold him. The gods asked the dwarves to create a magical ribbon that even Fenrir couldn’t escape. But Fenrir said he would only allow himself to be tied if one of the gods was willing to make a sacrifice and stick a hand in Fenrir’s mouth. And when one of them did, Fenrir bit it off.”
Silence.
I cringe under his unwavering gaze and sit heavily on my artist’s chair, which brings my eyes level with his strong chin. Damn. “I can come up with something else…”
“Did the ribbon have big hazel eyes and long, silky dark hair, awesome tats, and the sweetest f*cking smile on the West Coast?”
An inferno rages in my cheeks. “Actually, it was a just an ordinary red ribbon.”
“Like the scarf you wore the other night.”
He remembers my scarf.
Ray pulls up his T-shirt to reveal his rippled six-pack and then points to a long, jagged scar running across his left pec. “Think you can do it here?”
My training kicks in at the sight of his scar. Taking a deep breath, I gently run a finger along the edges. Five years old, maybe six from the way it healed, and deep. His skin is smooth, warm over the hard ripple of muscle beneath.
“Yeah. I would have to modify it, make it bigger, but I could stretch it to cover the scar and then extend it and blend it in with the rest of your shoulder tat, but it would be quite painful. Scar tissue is more sensitive than skin, and you have a lot of it.”
Ray draws in a ragged breath. “Not afraid of pain. Getting that scar was more pain than the needle would be.”
My mouth waters at the thought of inking Ray’s skin. “If you want to talk to Rose, she can set you up—”
“Now.”
“Now?” My heart pounds in my chest. Now means freehand, which I’m not allowed to do. And I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for my fantasies to become real. I don’t want to find out Ray isn’t all I imagined he would be.
Finding my tongue, I look up at Ray. “For a piece that size, you should really let me do a couple of designs and then a stencil, so you can be sure it’s what you want. Everyone will see it when you’re fighting. I want it to be perfect for you. Tattoos are forever.”
A curious expression crosses his face, part longing, part disappointment, all sensual promise. “I’ve gotta go outta town for a coupla days, but I’ll be training at Redemption tomorrow afternoon before I leave. You got time to bring me your designs?”
My throat tightens, burns. Tag forbade me from going to Redemption after Amanda, the club’s attorney, was attacked in an alley a few blocks away from the gym. Even though I know most of the fighters, and would never walk around Ghost Town alone, Tag still added it to his “no-go” list. Of course, if I always listened to Tag, there would be few places in the Bay Area I would be able to go, and even fewer places I would get a chance to see Ray.