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“You ever been to Vegas?” I can’t seem to stop myself from speaking after she starts on the outline. I want some sort of reaction from her. Anything to let me know she remembers me.
Her hand hovers above my bicep for a fraction of a second. “Lots of times.”
“Fun place,” I toss out. “I’ve had some wild experiences there…”
Her eyebrow winches up and her nostrils flair slightly, but she keeps her composure. “I’m sure.”
For the next couple hours, we fall into silence. The only sound is the buzz of the tattoo machine. I’m sure Jordan can feel my eyes on her, but she her keeps focus on my arm. Every fifteen minutes or so she asks how I’m doing and offers me water and snacks, which I turn down. As the session continues into the third hour, I’m lulled into an almost trancelike state.
I love the feel of a tattoo needle, even on the sensitive parts of my arm.
Sweet, sweet relief.
Throughout our session, Jordan gives no indication she has any idea who I am. None. She’s laser focused, barely blinking as she concentrates on the outline of my intricate design. When we finish for the day, she cleans me up and we stand examining her work in the mirror.
“Impressive.” I meet her eyes in the glass. “You’re worth the wait.”
Her cheeks pinken, the only indication I’ve affected her in any way. “Well, thank you. It’s always nice to hear.”
She wraps my arm, helps me into my sweater and spends a few minutes on aftercare instructions. The next thing I know, she’s handing me off to Merc. “I’ll see you in about two weeks. Make sure to get an appointment on the books. I keep openings on my calendar for follow-up appointments.”
“Look forward to it.” I wave, but she’s already gone without a backward glance.
Merc suppresses a grin and hands me Salty Siren specially formatted CBD soap. “You, sir, are a glutton for punishment.”
I’m not going to be baited into a discussion that’s none of his business. Instead, I pull out my phone to block my own calendar for our next session and leave with a lightly bruised ego and slightly sore arm.
It’s taken me a long time to connect with her. Too long. Jordan may be pretending not to know me, but her facade won’t last forever.
I won’t be deterred.
With twenty-two hours of unencumbered time ahead of us, there’s plenty of time to jog her memory.
By the time my tattoo's finished, Jordan Deveraux is going to be mine again.
Chapter four
Jordan
Four Hours Later
Peter Vander.
Huh.
Vegas guy has resurfaced after all this time. What are the odds? I show Merc my Tryst List one minute and poof! It’s like I manifested him out of thin air. Somehow, he’s my customer to boot.
Still as arrogant as I remember. Still as devastatingly handsome.
More professional, though. His blond hair is a bit darker and shorter, though it’s still long on top. He’s more ripped than I remember, the years have only made him hotter. His clothes and shoes are clearly designer, though not ostentatious. When he spoke, his low, growly voice sent trembles of desire racing through my body.
Instantly conjured up memories of him ordering me to get down on my knees and…
No!
No. No. No.
I’m not going down this path. Peter Vander may have been the best lay I’ve ever had but he left me high and dry in my Vegas hotel room after a night so fucking magical I was picturing our wedding. Which is stupid and immature, I know…but it hurt really fucking bad when he left. Just like it hurts today.
