Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

Oh. My face warmed. I’d been so nervous about the tattooing process, I’d forgotten to really think about the after. I was so stupid. “No, I’m sorry, I do care.”

Between the nerves and Silas putting me off balance, my brain was a mess. Why did he have to be so good looking? I bit down on the inside of my cheek.

“Look, I’m not really excited about needles,” I admitted, lacing my fingers together to stop my hands from making wild, anxious gestures. “I’ve been focused on that.”

“You don’t like needles, and the artwork’s not important. You sure you want a tattoo?”

“Yeah, I do.” It seemed pointless to dance around the reason, but it was still tough to say. “I’m hoping to cover a bad memory.”

“Cover a bad memory?” His curious gaze passed over me, head to toe. His demeanor shifted and softened. “Like a scar?”

“Yeah, exactly like that. Is it doable?”

“Maybe,” he said. “It’ll hurt more on scar tissue, and the ink can shift. Lines will look blurry. Where is it?”

I tapped two fingers to the spot on my left shoulder, just below my collarbone. Silas stepped forward, invading my safe zone, and my breathing ratcheted up.

“I’ll need to see it.”

“Why?” I didn’t want to sound defensive, but it was unavoidable.

He didn’t react to my sharp tone. “I need to see how the skin looks, like if it’s puckered or raised. Surgical scar?”

“No.”

He waited patiently for me to move or say something. He peered down, and under his intense stare, I felt jagged and exposed.

“You know I can’t tattoo you through your shirt, yeah?”

Without breaking his gaze, my fingers crept up, hooked under the neck of my top, and tugged it down off my shoulder. My throat closed. As Silas took in the pink, circular scar, he inhaled deeply and the question had to be on his lips, but he didn’t ask. All he did was evaluate.

Everything was so thick around us, it made my reaction time slow and I didn’t stop him. His large, calloused hand was set on the bare skin of my shoulder, slipping my bra strap to the side so he could better look at the scar.

I’d gone too long without sex.

His gentle, innocent touch seared across my nerves and turned my knees to rubber. I dragged air through my parted lips as his fingers trace the healed, uneven skin, and his action set me on fire. Desire wove between my legs and worked its way up.

“Jesus,” he said in a low voice. “What’s the story here?”

“It’s one I don’t like to repeat.” I attempted to yank the strap back in place, but his fingers wouldn’t allow it. They skimmed over the rise of my shoulder, venturing onto the other side, making me shudder.

“Let me see that one.”

I flinched. “No.”

“I’m not tattooing the exit wound?” His gaze sought mine and trapped it.

I dry swallowed, unable to find words, so I shook my head.

The bullet that tumbled through my bod

y had left a significant wound, but a much larger one which wasn’t visible. Roughened fingers grazed my skin as he gently grasped my shoulder. Goddamnit, couldn’t he see what his touch was doing to me?

“Okay, Regan.” Hearing my name in his deep voice made my situation dire. Unwelcomed lust poured in my veins. “Any ideas on what you’d like me to cover your bad memory with?”

His fingers twitched, and I jumped as if shocked. Once again, I could only muster a headshake. This cowering, timid woman had to go, but I couldn’t evict her while connected to him. His hand lingered on my skin, sparking waves of electricity downward, and goosebumps raised on my flesh.

“What do you say we cover it with a good one?” The icy blue eyes blinked slowly. “What’s one of your favorite memories?”