Beyond Control(25)

He sighed as she settled onto the leather. "Now you're looking at me like I'm the big bad wolf. You don't have to worry about me, and neither does your city boy. I don't play that dirty."

It stung, but only because it was so far from the truth. "I'm not arrogant or vain enough to think you can't keep your hands off me."

"It wasn't an insult." He slid into place in front of her, scooting his stool between her legs. "No man with a working dick wouldn't be tempted, angel. Trust me."

"Why should I?" Rhetorical enough to be safe...and earnest enough to be dangerous.

Ace stared up at her in silence for a moment--long enough to remind her that he was mere inches away and her shirt was wrapped around her waist. If he bent his head, just a little, he could have his mouth on her bare skin, her breasts, and something about the tightness in his eyes and the sudden unsteadiness of his breathing made it seem like a possibility.

But when he leaned in, it was only to reach past her for a mirror.

Jesus, she was a mess. Her skin was flushed, from her cheeks down under the sketch he'd inked between her breasts, and even her hair was disheveled.

She looked like he'd f*cked her already.

Ace held the mirror steady and dipped his head to catch her eyes. There was something profoundly gentle in the way he smiled at her, not wicked or teasing, and all the more dangerous because of that tenderness. "Does the sketch look all right?"

"It's fine," she murmured breathlessly.

"Good." Once the mirror was back on the table, Ace returned with the tattoo gun and brushed a stray lock of Rachel's hair out of the way. "This is bigger than your last one, but it's simpler. Just the black. I'll go easy, but if it hurts or you need a second, you ask, all right?"

"Okay." She clenched her fists as he poured out the ink caps and turned on the machine.

Pain came with the first touch of the needle. Not much at first, just the initial shock that almost vanished in the next moment. Then it bloomed into a burning ache, a low-level irritation that couldn't quite distract her from the hand he placed above the spot he was working on, his fingertips brushing her throat and his thumb riding the curve of her breast.

He'd said something to her months ago, when she'd first mentioned the tattoo. That laying ink over sensitive skin and bone could be excruciating. This was sharp and dull, throbbing through her slowly at first and then swelling into a prickling wave.

She almost begged him to stop, had to dig her teeth into her tongue to hold back the plea. Then the edge of pain subsided, a wave flowing back out to sea only to be replaced with the crash of something else, hot and blurry.

"Stay with me, angel." A gloved finger touched her cheek, tilting her head. "I need to know what kind of fuzzy you're getting."

She rubbed the back of her head against the chair and tried to bring the room back into focus. "Ace."

"Still good?"

No, not good, but somehow she knew it could be. "So easy," she whispered.

Concern furrowed his brow, and the buzzing of the machine cut off. Ace filled her vision, patted her cheek. "Look at me, Rachel."

She couldn't. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back. "Just finish. Please."

The buzz resumed a moment later, followed by the brain-scrambling, blissful pain. "I'll take care of you, Rachel. Doesn't matter what's between us or why. Or who. I've always got your back. You hear me, girl?"

"Yes." But it didn't mean anything. The real problem was why she couldn't seem to let go.

"If you want me to keep going, you're going to have to talk to me. Prove you're not about to pass the hell out." He wiped at her skin, then moved his hand down, cupping the outer curve of her breast. "I don't care if you sing or recite the alphabet, just talk."

"I can't." She tried to drag in a breath, but it sounded more like a sob. "I don't ever know what to say to you."

He made a soothing noise as the pain spread along her shoulder. "Then I'll talk."

He did, of random things like Noelle's dancing and the bar and what was happening in Sector Three. About the latest gossip out of the border whorehouses and who was favored to win the next round of cage fights.

Nothing too heavy, nothing personal. Nothing real.

Cruz talked to her, told her about the pain of his past and his hopes for the future. He was honest in a way she wasn't sure Ace knew how to be for longer than a few stolen moments at a time. Cruz was good, decent--

And only the worst kind of woman would be sitting there right now, wishing Ace would kiss her, just once.

A tear seeped out of the corner of Rachel's eye, and she let it track down into her hair as she breathed deep and focused on the pain instead of letting it fuzz away into the dark corners of her mind.

She deserved to feel every single sting.





Chapter Nine



By the time the elaborate grandfather clock in the corner of Cerys's meeting room chimed to announce an hour of Dallas's life wasted, he was starting to think longingly of those assassination attempts he'd joked about.

The ridiculous clock aside, the room where the sector leaders met to plan--and argue--was probably the starkest in Sector Two. It was dominated by a solid table, ten feet square. Just enough room for suspicious men to spread out, two on each side, but not enough to really keep them safe from one another. And they all knew it.

They were arranged by sector, by unspoken agreement. Or maybe the original agreement had been spoken before Dallas's time, when the first group had tentatively gathered, mistrustful leaders of the strongest factions, the ones who were smart enough to realize the truth that kept the sectors alive. Too much organization, and the men who controlled Eden would sweep out from the city, use their superior technology to wipe away the threat that unified sectors could represent. Too much chaos, and Eden would be forced to exert a different but equally destructive kind of control.

Everything depended on balance. Balance between the sectors and Eden, balance between the leaders of each sector. Seated next to the empty chair that Trent had occupied during their last meeting, Dallas could feel their carefully won balance tipping.

Not that they were talking about Three. No, they'd blown the last hour listening to Timothy Scott and Richard Colby argue over the new wind farms going up in Seven. Both ruled their sectors like petty kings straight from a goddamn fairy tale, relying on greedy retainers to suck the land and the people dry while they lounged in modern-day palaces, and both seemed perpetually convinced the other was conspiring with the city.

Dallas glanced at Cerys, who had humored them thus far but was obviously running low on patience. She rose and held her hands wide. "Gentlemen, your concerns about Eden's new construction are valid, but hardly actionable. Not here."

"The lady has a point." Jim Jernigan, hard-ass leader of Sector Eight, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How about we discuss something that affects us all?"

"The empty chair," Gideon agreed from his seat beside Cerys. He met Dallas's gaze with a small smile of apology before continuing. "Wilson Trent made a stupid move out of greed. Dallas was well within reason to put him down for it, but it leaves us with a mess to clean up."

A pretty little speech, but not without a chiding edge. Or maybe Dallas was still irritated with Mad's cousin. He couldn't forget the moment between Gideon and Lex the previous night, that awkward, halting conversation that had implied the two shared secrets.

Secrets were intimacy, and God knew he was jealous as f*ck of Lex's intimacy. It lent his voice unreasonable bite as he drawled his response. "If I'd set about cleaning up that mess, you'd all assume I was aiming to expand operations."

"Someone will have to," Cerys observed. "Leaving a power void in that sector could hurt all of us."

"You most of all, eh, Cerys?" Fleming noted idly. "After all the effort you and the other ladies have gone to, buffing and shining Two until it's as pristine as Eden itself. You've got leaderless barbarians on your doorstep now."

"And I don't like it. I like order, just as you do."

Scott barked out a laugh. "Fleming likes money, not order."

"Money comes from order," Colby intoned piously, unable to pass up the chance to land a jab on his enemy, even a ridiculous one. Dallas had seen Colby's sector, and Seven was damn near as chaotic as Three.

Scott opened his mouth to retort, and Dallas cut them off before they could start another fight. "We all like money, and we all like not having our sectors firebombed. Or have you two forgotten how Three got so damned f*cked up to start with? The * before Trent let his ego get ahead of him, and Eden blew up all his pretty factories."

"Which is why I'll gladly let someone else take on the risk of developing Three." Jernigan leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "The place is a pit. It's not worth losing my manufacturing capabilities over."