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“Yeah,” I say, knowing there’s no way for them to guess what happened.
But I feel like they somehow might.
“I’ll send them after breakfast. I need to scan them first. And anyway, he might hate them all. He might decide to go with somebody else. He’s probably just doing it as a favor to you.”
It all rushes out, anything to get me as far from the truth as possible.
He’s doing it because he wants us to get closer.
He’s doing it because he can’t stop thinking about me, just like I can’t stop thinking about him.
“I doubt it,” Dad says. “And whatever the case, this is a good experience for you. It will boost your profile. You can tell people you did a tattoo for Silas Stone.”
I’d rather tell people I’mmarriedto Silas Stone, but I keep that to myself.
* * *
I send the designs before I can talk myself out of it.
I reason that I should send them now since I’ve told Dad I will because he might mention it to Silas. But even as I let this thought process run through me, I know it’s an excuse. It’s more like there’s this force inside of me, more than lust, pulling me closer.
I continue with my work, sitting at my desk window, working on a design for my first repeat client.
I’m so immersed in the drawing that I jolt out of a flow state when my cell phone buzzes loudly.
It’s a number I don’t recognize, but this is my business number for the time being, so I can’t afford to let it go to voicemail.
I get my professional voice ready…not that I have much of one. But I try.
“Hello.” His voice is husky, urgent the moment I answer. “Lauren?”
I savor the sound of him saying my name. I wonder if Silas’ voice is really husky, or just low, angry at me for contacting him.
But he didn’t have to call.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice as casual as I can.
“I got your designs. I’ve selected the third one.”
My body starts to tingle all over again, just like in the office, just like last night when I was trapped in memories of him, trapped in my fantasies. This is so much more intense than the crush ever could’ve been.
“You want to go ahead with the tattoo?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he says gruffly.
It never happened.
The words repeat in my mind in the same tough tone he said them in. It seems he really meant it.
We’re going to pretend that heat was just a dream.
I’m starting to believe it was.
“That design connects to the tribal quite intricately, so I think we’ll need more than one session.”
“I don’t mind the pain.”
He doesn’t say this as a bluff as other men might. It’s more of a cold statement of fact. He’s not trying to impress me.
