The Sinister Silhouette

??You did good,” he compliments. “You want to do the next one by yourself?”

“Umm… you really trust me not to mess it up?”

One corner of his mouth tips up. “There’s not really much you can do to mess it up, Jules. Do what you just did. Move slow and stay along the line that’s already there.”

I purse my lips to the side, both anxious and excited to do it without his aid.

“Okay.”

The area that needs to be touched up is more on his shoulder than his arm. Luca scoots his chair closer, and my breath hitches when my legs are pushed open more to accommodate him. His chest is only inches away from being pressed against my center, and his face is eye level with my breasts. I notice his gaze on them before he looks away. His other forearm lies against my other thigh, his hand resting on the chair beside me.

“You need more ink,” he says hoarsely.

It takes me a moment to register what he said, then I dig the tip of the needle in the ink and he presses the pedal. Having him so close is definitely not helping my nerves, but I force the jitters away and bring the machine to the spot at the bottom of the angel wing. The machine turns on and I press it against his skin, concentrating on keeping my hand steady.

Once I’m done, I move the machine away and he releases the pedal. He takes the machine from my hand and lays it back on the tool box, then grabs the napkin and wipes away the extra ink. A sense of pride hits me when I look down and see I did a good job of keeping the line straight.

“Not bad for your first time,” Luca says, looking down at the line himself.

I look at his bent head. He has the longer hair pulled back into a band to keep it from falling in his face while he works. I have a sudden urge to pull the band out of his hair and run my fingers through it to feel how soft it is.

As if feeling my eyes and thoughts on him, he lifts his head. I don’t know what he finds in my expression, but his eyes turn intense. I’ve seen desire on men’s faces before, and what I see on Luca’s couldn’t be construed as anything other than that. It has my thighs clenching against his sides. His arm curls around my waist until his hand touches my side and his fingers dig into the flesh there. He puts his other hand on my butt and slides me forward until I’m flush against him. I suck in a sharp breath at the intimate contact and my hands fly to his broad shoulders. Not to push him away, but to hold on so I don’t fall over at the powerful rush of need I feel.

He gazes up at me, his eyes filled with profound need and fierce yearning. His voice is a tortured whisper when he speaks.

“I know I’ll probably go to hell for this, but goddamn, Jules, I want you so fucking much. I ache every time I’m around you, and I’m fucking miserable when I’m not.”

My heart constricts with his admission. It’s so wrong of me, but I feel the same way. Even after the first time I saw him when I woke up from my coma and I freaked out, he’s been on my mind. I don’t know what it is about him, but he intrigues me. There’s just been… something about him that draws me in and hasn’t let me go. I want to know him. All of him.

“Luca….”

His eyes flare and his hands constrict on me when I whisper his name. My own fingers grip his shoulders tighter. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs and the muscles in his jaw twitch. He’s struggling just as hard as I am with these unfamiliar feelings.

I gasp when his head falls to my lap, his forehead landing just below my private area. Hot breath fans through my jeans as he takes several deep breaths. I’m embarrassed when I think of him being so close to my pussy, because I know I’m wet and I wonder if he can smell it. The gravelly groan that leaves his lips makes me think he can.

Of their own accord, my hands move from his shoulders to his back. He feels hard beneath my fingers, and it only makes me want to lift his shirt and explore his bare flesh. His groan deepens and his head presses further into my lap. I barely suppress my moan when his nose pushes against my jeans, right over the wet spot I know my panties carry.

My gaze once again lands on the band in his hair. Feeling bold, I carefully pull his hair loose then sift my fingers through the soft strands.

He lifts his head and his arms loosen around me, but his hands slide under the bottom of my shirt, touching my bare flesh. His eyes look wild and so damn beautiful as he stares up at me.

“This is wrong.” His voice is low and rough.

“I know,” I say, just as quietly.

“I shouldn’t want you.”

Although his words hurt a part of me, I know why he feels the way he does. I’m his brother’s wife and we barely know each other. I’m surprised when the thought of our past doesn’t even cross my mind.

I nod.

His fingers bite into my flesh. Not painfully, but erotically.

“I should be put down for the things I want to do to you.”

At that, I shake my head and tighten my fingers in his hair. It may be wrong of us to share these feelings, but they aren’t there because we want them to be. We can’t help the way we feel.

“No,” I tell him and slide my hands from his hair to his neck. “Because I feel the same way.”