Beyond Control(24)

He curled a hand around her rib cage, spreading his fingers until his thumb brushed her breast. "You, too. And don't you try'n ditch Mad, either. If he loses sight of you outside this room, I'll beat his ass down."

"I wouldn't." Wandering around Sector Two with no backup appealed to her about as much as sticking her hand in a snake pit.

"Good. I don't like this place. Don't like letting you out of my sight." His sigh tickled her temple. "Not just for your benefit, either. I don't have a damn clue how I'll keep my temper tomorrow."

He'd do it, like so many other things, because he had to. She turned her face and kissed his jaw. "It'll be over soon."

"Yeah? Do I get a reward for getting through the day without stabbing anyone?"

She rubbed one bare leg over his. "I'll think of something creative."

His laughter was a low rumble that vibrated through her as he rolled her beneath him. "I like you like this," he murmured against her lips. "Sleepy and sweaty and disheveled. Sexiest f*cking thing in the world."

Any other time, she might have fought the pleasure that rose with his words. But here, now, the satisfaction seemed not only acceptable but necessary.

This was what it meant, the collar. The marks.

She didn't hold back the slow smile that curved her lips. "Don't you forget it."





Rachel



You can do this. Rachel wrapped her hand around the slightly crooked door handle and hesitated. She'd wanted this tattoo for too long to punk out now, just because Ace was the man for the job. She was an O'Kane, and he laid O'Kane ink.

Pure and simple.

The door creaked as she pushed it open. Ace stood next to a table, straightening his pens and markers. He didn't turn or even look up, but his voice washed over her, warm and wry. "Rachel."

"It's two o'clock." She dragged her gaze away from the muscled lines of shoulders, bare under his white wifebeater. "Are you ready for me?"

"Of course." He glanced back with one of those easy smiles she hadn't seen in too long. "Hop up on my table, angel, and tell me what your heart desires."

For a moment, all her heart did was shudder to a halt. She shook it off and climbed onto the table. "The tattoo we talked about--the O'Kane emblem across my chest."

His gaze settled on her chest, and his smile took on an edge of teasing. "How big are we talking?"

Her cheeks heated, and she cursed herself for wearing the sexy retro getup Trix had picked out for her. The capris were okay, and she'd worn the outfit specifically for the tight strapless top, since it meant she might not have to strip half-naked for her tattoo.

Right now, though, it just felt like she'd tried too hard.

She cleared her throat. "You're the artist. You know what would look good."

"Damn near anything." But he relented and dropped to his stool. "Hanging out with that city boy's bad for your constitution, angel. I haven't seen you blush that pink in years."

"Maybe you haven't been paying attention."

"You think not, huh?"

He'd been paying attention. Watching. Biding his time, and that was the part that made her irrationally angry--because now it was too late. "I think I want my tattoo."

Ace sighed and rolled his stool back to the table that held his pens. "I can do a sketch on paper first if you want, but if you just want our logo..."

"That's all I want."

"Message received, angel." He rose and returned with a collection of blue markers clenched loosely in his fist. "Wiggle that top down. I need to see what I'm working with."

She glanced down. "It's not low enough?"

He didn't touch her, not with his fingers. Instead, he took the capped tip of the marker and set it against her skin, just beneath the hollow of her throat. "The logo's shaped kind of like an inverted triangle." He dragged the tip of the marker along her collarbone and down the inside curve of her breast. "The hilts of the daggers stick out a little, but for the most part it'll nestle nice and sweet, right between your tits."

He'd need room to work, and the way he traced the pen over her flesh made her realize something else--the shirt would pull at her skin, distorting the tattoo.

It had to go, and making a big deal out of that could reveal far more than her body.

Wordlessly, she tugged the fabric down, doubling it over the wide belt cinched around her waist.

"There we are." His gaze was tangible, a warmth that prickled over her skin as he studied her. It wasn't even all that lascivious--she'd seen Ace ogle women's breasts plenty of times. This was something else, something more. This was the deadly serious artist who lived beneath Ace's joking exterior, studying her like she was a masterpiece he intended to improve.

The intensity drew her attention to his hands. Strong, but capable of such tiny, intricate work. And skilled in other ways--ways she couldn't afford to remember just now.

Not that she could stop. The memory seized her, more sensation than recollection, of hot breath on the side of her neck as those hands roamed her body, eased under denim and lace to tease and then demand. She could still hear the music, feel the way he'd matched the rhythm beat for beat with slippery circles on her clit.

She'd danced with him exactly once, a harmless encounter that had turned into something else entirely, a grinding, pulsing need that had culminated in a single perfect orgasm--

--and had ended with him walking away as if it had never happened.

Rachel looked away again, fixing her stare on the corner of the table behind him. She had to break the silence, but safe topics of conversation were practically nonexistent. "How long will Dallas and the others be gone?"

"A few days, tops." He caught the cap of one marker between his teeth and pulled it off, his gaze still riveted to her chest. "No way will Dallas keep Lex in Two a minute longer than he has to."

"No, I guess not."

"Big, I think." He didn't offer a segue, just traced one fingertip beneath her collarbone, from one shoulder to the other. "Following all these pretty curves. Make a statement, eh?"

She hadn't thought this through. Ace was touchy-feely anyway, but when he was in the zone, he got downright pornographic. "Don't you have a stencil for it or something?"

"What, that fancy city shit?" He touched the cool tip of the marker to her skin and drew the first line, a swooping curve that must have been the top of the skull. "I save the tech for the ink, honey. You know that."

"Sure." If she shivered, he'd have to wipe away the lines and start over. The threat of it kept her still, silent, and she closed her eyes.

One large, warm hand folded over her shoulder, bracing her body as he leaned closer. His breath skated over her when he exhaled, tightening her nipples to aching points. "So tell me what gossip I've been missing lately. I hear you're showing Bren's wildcat around."

"Six." Rachel cleared her throat. "Her name is Six."

"I know." He edged the marker lower, dipping between her breasts. "Is she as snarly as she looks? I don't even dare smile at her. She looks like she'd gnaw my face off."

Six was scared, out of her element. Traumatized. "If you smile at her, she'll probably think you're about to eat her. Face it--she might seem snarly, but you're the big, bad wolf."

"Me? Never." He peeked up with a teasing grin. "I'm bad, and sure, I'm big...but I'm harmless as a kitten."

Rachel grimaced. "Everything's a dick joke to you, isn't it? You couldn't hold a serious conversation if I put it in a f*cking bucket for you."

That wiped away his smile. "I didn't think you were serious. Shit, Rachel. That girl beat Wilson Trent to death with her bare f*cking hands. I'm a little scared of her."

God, she didn't want to talk to him, to get wrapped up in trying to figure him out again. "It's complicated. Don't give her a hard time, all right?"

"All right, angel." He settled back into sketching, working in silence beyond the rasp of the marker and the slow, even sound of his breaths. Every once in a while he switched to a different pen, laying thick lines around the edges and going back with a fine-point pen to tease out details.

He finished the guide sketch quickly and turned back toward the low table, and Rachel took advantage of his distraction to rub the goose bumps off her arms. "Can I lie down? The needles make me woozy."

Ace tilted his head toward the chair. "Why don't you sit there? It'll make it easier to move around, if I need a better angle."

A casual request, but everyone knew what kind of shit went down in Ace's tattoo chair. She swallowed hard, pushed away the mental images, and slid off the table. "Fine."