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Ronan
Watching Iris be tattooed wasas fascinating as it was an exercise in willpower. Allowing her to hold my hand during the more painful parts was beyond the pale of professionalism, but it was difficult to see a woman in pain and not offer some measure of comfort...even if the crazy thing had brought it on herself.
“Oooh, that feels good, honey bunny.” Glassy-eyed, Iris rubbed her cheek against the padded bed. Her tattoo artist had moved to a different part of her back. A much less painful one from her reaction.
She’d given me my hand back during her last break, flashing me a sheepish look while she sipped her soda. I pretended it hadn’t happened. That would make everyone’s life easier.
“How much longer?” I asked in a low voice, not to bring Iris out of the trance she’d fallen into.
“We’re getting close to the end. Just have to shade a few more leaves,” Joaquin answered.
Bald, skinny, and covered in more tattoos than the walls themselves, I hadn’t thought much of Iris’s artist at first meeting. He’d been utterly professional the whole time, and from the glimpses I’d taken of the ink he was tattooing onto her skin, he was talented as well.
At least I could be assured she wouldn’t walk out of here trashed to bits with a hack job on her back. It would be a shame to ruin all that pretty flesh.
After a while, Joaquin laid down his gun and wiped her back with a squirt bottle and a paper towel. Iris stirred, shifting and moving her legs, but her gaze was still unfocused. She wasn’t quite back from whatever land she’d gone to to get through it.
“Iris.” I patted her arm. “He’s all done,meala.”
Her eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing her cheeks before they popped open and she moaned.
“Hey.” Her mouth split into a wide, sleepy grin. “How does it look?”
“I haven’t really looked at it.”
“Mmm…” She stretched like a cat, eyes heavy-lidded like she’d just woken up. “So respectful, Ronan. I’m laid out in front of you, topless, and you haven’t taken a peek?”
Not at your tattoo, I haven’t.
The curve of her breast pressing into the bed couldn’t be missed. I’d nearly memorized the arched line of her back and the way her tight jeans cupped her arse, the seam splitting her cheeks apart. Iris was a stunning woman, the very shape of her effortlessly sensual. Not looking at her wasn’t an option. But that was how it went with famous women. They became famous for a reason beyond talent. Iris was magnetic, drawing attention, wanted or not. The others I’d spent time with had craved that attention, just as Iris probably did.
Joaquin took her hand and helped her sit up. She swung her feet to the side of the bed and stood after taking a second to steady herself. Clutching her shirt over her tits, he gave her a mirror so she could see her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall.
She bounced on her toes, eyes flashing to mine. “Can you take a picture so I can see it better?”
“I can.” She spun around so her back was toward me, and I took out my phone, snapping a few pictures. “Good?” she asked over her shoulder.
I studied the screen, zooming in and out on the image. “Good,” I answered.
She snatched the phone from me, head bowed as she checked out the pictures. Her tattoo was more than good. It was a brilliant and beautiful piece of art. A tree grew from the center of her back, roots curling around her ribs. The leaves spanned her shoulder blades, divided into four sections to represent the seasons. Joaquin had worked on the fall leaves today, creating orange, yellow, and red ombre on each. The summer area had already been filled in with subtle greens and yellows. From what I’d seen, it was the only piece with color on her body.
Joaquin clapped my shoulder. “Just good?”
“I meant the pictures I took.” I jerked my chin toward Iris. “The work you did was brilliant. I’d like to see it when it’s complete.”
Iris whipped around. “You like it? You don’t think it’s a terrible choice I’ll regret until the day I die?”
“I don’t know about any of that, but it is beautiful.”
Those devilish lips pursed. “I thought you hated tattoos.”
“I don’t. Most of them just look like rubbish. Yours don’t, though.”
Joaquin cleared his throat, laughing. “Thanks, pal.”
I gave him a nod, and he shook his head, still grinning. I’d said how good her tattoos were twice. My compliments had run out, and I didn’t take the bait when others went fishing for them.
“It’s for my band, The Seasons Change.” Joaquin took her by the shoulders, rotating her, then slathered her back with some type of ointment and applied a loose bandage. She peeked back at me. “Clever, right?” He helped her pull her tank over her head, followed by her hoodie.
