The Scottish Bride (The Brides of Holland Springs Book 5)(11)

“Do you ken what you’d like?” he asked, his voice coming out raspy. He knew what he would like. He’d liked to strip her out of her clothes and—

Stop it. She’s not yours, not after what you said to her.

But she used to be. In every way that mattered.

Cadence shook her head. “I had something in mind from the pictures out front, but now that you’ll be the one inking me... I want an original.”

Cadence knew Maddox was an artist. That his second love, after rugby, had always been art—sketching, designing, and painting. Before he had become a utility player for the Blues, he’d apprenticed and even considered opening his own shop. But the prospect of money and fame, coupled with his love for the sport he’d played since he was a child, had won out.

He gestured to his desk. “I was working on a piece this morning, but I think it would be better to start again—to start with something new.”

Her mouth flattened, but then she breezed past him and picked up the sketch. Her beautiful eyes scanned over the doves. “This is perfect. Why throw away something when there’s nothing wrong with it?”

“Because I wasn’t serious. I was only messing around,” he said. As soon as he did, he wished the words back into his mouth.

Hurt bloomed in her eyes. “I see.” Tilting her head to one side, she took a breath. “I think the design is worth a second chance.” She held it out to him. “It’s worth being permanently inked on me—my shoulder, that is.”

The cameras faded away. There was no one in the room but Cadence and him. And months of hurt. Of confusion. Of rejection.

Yet, she wasn’t here to exact revenge.

“As you wish. Take off your shirt and lie down on the table,” he instructed, slipping into business mode.

He hoped to God he had the strength to do this, and then to leave Cadence once it was over.

***

Cadence hesitated, but it wasn’t over his casual order to take off her shirt. It was over his utter indifference to her presence. She was just a client, just another skin to draw on, while her entire body vibrated. Cadence wanted to scream at him, kiss him... ask him a million questions. Why had he left her? Why hadn’t he called? Did he think she was so weak, that their love was so insubstantial, that it couldn’t handle the worse part of for better or worse? Had their vows in that small chapel at Wintersea meant nothing to him? Or had she dreamed it all?

“All right, my love?” he asked, and she startled at the term.

She frowned. Why would he call her that? Maddox had never been careless with endearments. He was never careless with words, period. The man who was treating her no different from any other customer had always been careful. Intentional. Deliberate. Especially when they made love.

“I can’t strip in front of the cameras,” she finally said.

“If you want to be inked, you will,” came Maddox’s reply, but she didn’t miss the flash of irritation. It wasn’t directed at her, but at himself. He shot the cameraman a look. “You can bloody well turn around until I say otherwise.”

Cadence wanted to celebrate that show of possessiveness, but she couldn’t. Maddox had been raised as a gentleman, and not just in the southern sense of the word. His father was a Scottish duke who believed in comportment and boarding schools, while Maddox’s mother had tempered that by not allowing their children to be sent away until they were teenagers. Since the duke loved his duchess—and his children—he’d agreed. And since Cadence’s parents had been rather unconventional with their childrearing as well, the Stewart and Romanov children were almost always together for holidays and trips around the world.

The production assistant smiled. “We’ll edit out anything you don’t approve.”

Yeah, sure they would. She pursed her lips. “Can I at least leave my tank top on?”

“As long as it’s out of my way.” He bent over the desk, adding ink to the sketch.

With a sigh, she took off her shirt, tossed it on an empty chair in the corner, and climbed on his table. Lying on her stomach, she turned her head to one side to watch him.

Maddox pivoted, his face achingly familiar even after so many months of not seeing it, and approached the table.

“Why did you leave me?” she whispered, but he didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she closed her eyes, jumping a little when he began to clean the area where he would mark her.

“There is obviously water under the bridge for you two,” the production assistant prodded. “Care to share?”

Maddox stopped rubbing the cleaning solution on her, his palm flattening on her shoulder in an almost protective way. “She’s here to remember something, not give you dirty details about the Romanov and Stewart families.”

Cadence’s eyes popped open. Turning her head, she gave the harried PA an apologetic smile. “I’m happy to share why I want to get this tattoo. It’s in honor of... that story where boy meets girl. They fall in love, and everything is perfect... until the worst comes to pass. The boy forgets his vows and leaves the girl wondering what she did to deserve his indifference.”

“Perhaps the girl mistakes indifference for embarrassment,” Maddox said, smoothing the template onto her skin before skillfully removing the transfer paper.

Cadence turned her attention to him. “Perhaps the boy should have told her that in the first place.”