Page 4 of Nights at Seaside
“Yes, but I didn’t order. My brother did—as he checked you out, of course.”
“Really? Well, if he’s as hot as you are pretty, maybe I’ll have to look for him next time.” She laughed. “Thank you so much for fitting me in for the tattoo. My name’s Cree, by the way. Well, it’s Lucretia, but everyone calls me Cree. I’ll definitely be back.” She followed Sky to the register. “Can I throw this in your trash?”
“Sure. I’m Sky, by the way.”
“Sky, as in Inky Skies. Love it.”
She handed Sky the paper that had the tattoo written on it. Sky set it in a basket, where she’d been keeping the tattoos that had spoken to her since she started working for the previous owner. She kept passages written on slips of papers, receipts, and napkins. She’d begun thinking of whoever had written them as theP-town poet. Shouldn’t a poet be more careful with his or her poems? Was the poet some type of bohemian whomeantto leave a few lines around town? They weren’t ever full poems, just snippets found in odd places like restaurants, bars, and in one case, in the sand.
“That’s seventy even,” she said to Cree.
Sky moved her poetry book to the other side of the register as Lizzie popped her head in the front door, looking cute in a pink miniskirt and white tank top. Her hair was pinned up in a high ponytail. “Hey, Sky. Lunch?”
Sky looked up from the register. “Can’t, sorry. I have some painting to do, and I want to organize the back room.”
“Okay, no worries.” Lizzie waved as Sky gave Cree her change.
After Cree left, Sky went to clean up her workstation, thinking about the grand opening celebration. She still had several weeks before the celebration, but she had a list of people to talk to about it. She envisioned music and balloons, a festive event.
“Excuse me?”
A shiver ran down her back at the sound of the familiar deep voice she’d heard in her dreams last night. She turned and found Sawyer Bass standing just inside the front door, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt and looking even more striking—rugged, manly—than he had last night. She tried to fit Hunter’s description—rough—to the man, but he had a warm and friendly smile that reached his dark eyes and softened all those hard elements. No wonder his eyes had caught her interest. They were deep-set, with lashes so lush they looked lined and mysterious, and held the shiny darkness of obsidian rock. He closed the distance between them while Sky tried to find her voice.
“Hi,” he said casually. Then his gorgeous eyes widened with surprise. “I saw you at Governor Bradford’s last night, right? With your boyfriend? You were reading.”
Sky set down the towel she was using to wipe the table, trying to quiet the thoughts running through her mind.You’re even hotter in the daylight. Look at those abs pressing against your shirt. Wait. What did you ask me? Governor Bradford’s, right.
“Yes. No. I mean, I was there, but I wasn’t with my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend.”Ramble much?Her brain refused to fire properly, which was stupid, because she saw good-looking people every day in the shop. This guy shouldn’t throw her off her game like this. Why did he make her feel like she had a mouth full of nails? He fidgeted with something in his hand, appearing slightly nervous himself, which made her feel a little better.
Which was also stupid.
“My mistake. The way you were sitting, I just assumed…” He glanced around the shop.
“The bane of my existence. Being overprotected.” Maybe Blue and Hunter did block her after all.
“I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.” He held her stare, and there was no mistaking the spark of interest in his eyes. “I’d like to get a tattoo.”
“Sure. Come on back. What did you have in mind?” She led him to her workstation, hoping he wanted a tattoo on his forearm, because if he wanted it on any other part of his body, it would be way too hard for her to concentrate.
His eyes slid over the back of the shop. Inky Skies was small and still a little gritty while the renovations were being done. Sky had tried to liven it up, covering the scuffs in the walls with scarves and pictures, and she’d put up folding screens in the back of the room to mask the unfinished shelves that ran across the back wall. She had even draped a few of her colorful scarves over the black panels of the screens, giving the area the look of a makeshift dressing room, like they had in the Himalayan shop around the corner. She liked the comfortable look of it, even if it wasn’t yet ideal.
Sawyer’s gaze returned to Sky, and her pulse quickened. He handed her a slip of paper, then reached over his back and pulled his shirt off. Sky’s mouth went dry at the sight of his muscular pecs, ripped abs, and those incredibly sexy muscles that made a perfect vee and disappeared down the front of his pants. She loved creating tattoos, but the idea of putting anything other than her hands or mouth on his gorgeous body made her almost as weak in the knees as the idea of putting her hands or mouth on him did.
“This is what I’d like.” He pointed his thumb at the chair behind him. “Is that where I should sit?”
She blinked away her stupor. “Yes. Where do you want the tattoo?”
“On my back. Anywhere you can fit it is fine.”
Sky dropped her eyes as she unfolded the paper to look at the design. It wasn’t a design at all, but words.Liquid to dust, shattered not broken.What was it about this place that brought all of these random phrases into her shop? She heard him sitting in the chair and lifted her eyes. He was straddling the chair, leaning on his arms, which were crossed over the back of it. His back was covered with words, from the ridge of his shoulders to the waist of his jeans. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen—such passion inked into the sculpted contours of his smooth skin. Words arched across his scapula and stretched over his flanks. Sky had tattooed all sorts of body parts, and she’d seen tattoos that ran the gamut from sweet to gruesome. To each his own had always been her motto. But this…The mixture of harsh and tender words on such a powerful man momentarily stole her ability to function.
Without any forethought, she reached out and touched his skin. It was hot and smooth. Flawless, save for the inked words. Her eyes slid slowly over the words:Fluid like the wind, hard as stone. Unconditional. Stolen. Transparent.What did these words mean to him? Down his spine words were strung together like a ladder, the taller letters touching the ones above, tying them together.Lies, rage, tenderness, alone, forever, fragile—
He looked over his shoulder, his eyes heavy, as if he were tired, and a smile on his lips, softening the sharp edge of his darkly whiskered jaw.
“Wherever you can fit it in. I’m not picky.”
She looked down at the paper he’d given her and read the words again. “Where did you get this?” She had to know if he was the one leaving things like this all over Provincetown.
