Virgin Seeks Bad Boy (Bliss River 3)

Nick seems to chew on that for a moment before he says in a husky voice, “Where do you want it?”

“On my left side,” I say, pointing at a spot just beneath my ribs. “From here, down over my hip.”

He bites his bottom lip. “That’s exactly where I’ve been imagining it.”

“You’ve imagined me tattooed?” I ask, arching a brow.

“Naked and tattooed, and yes…” he confesses, the look in his eyes making me tingle all over. “All the time.”

“Oh…” I sigh and smile. “Good.”

“Damn, you’re sexy,” he says, breath rushing out as he adds, “And the tattoo will be perfect there, but it’ll need to be at least seven inches long to look right and get all the detail in. That’s big for your first tattoo.”

“I don’t care.” I lift my chin. “That’s what I want.”

“And it hurts,” he warns. “Not as bad as a bee sting, but it goes on for a lot longer.”

“I burn myself on a pot or pan every other week,” I counter with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I can handle a little needle. I’m tougher than I look, man.”

“Don’t I know it,” he says, laughing as he reaches for the passenger’s door again and pulls it open. “Then get in, hot stuff, and let’s do this.”

I blink. “Right now?”

“Right now.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you’re having second thoughts.”

“I’m not having second thoughts, but I did have two beers.”

Nick shrugs. “That was over an hour ago, and they were light beers. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t drink anything else.”

“But…but I thought we were going to go for a drink.” I sink into the passenger’s seat, my stomach lurching. “And set a date for you-know-what.”

“Change of plans.” He shuts the door and circles around the front of the car. “Which reminds me—I have a condition to add to your conditions.”

“What’s that?” I ask as he fishes the keys from his pocket and slides into the driver’s seat.

“No you-know-what until we’re engaged.” He leans across to kiss my cheek, whispering his next words into my ear, “I don’t want to make love to you until I know I’m the first and the last man who’s ever going to be inside you.”

I shiver, my mouth going dry as my mind’s eye puts forth some very vivid mental pictures featuring Nick and me and zero clothes.

“So you’re blackmailing me by withholding sex until I commit?” I ask, the realization so funny I can’t help but laugh as Nick starts the car.

“Maybe.” His smug grin makes me laugh even harder.

“You’re such a girl,” I say, slapping him on the arm. “I can’t believe what a girl you are. I’m going to tell John and all your friends. Your reputation will be ruined.”

“Good,” he says. “I’d rather have you than a reputation any day.”

I sigh. “You’re sweet.”

“No, I just…love you,” he says with an honesty that’s humbling.

I feel a chunk of my resistance melt away, like a glacier breaking off and floating into the ocean, never to be seen again. And just like that, imagining myself engaged to the man smiling at me like I’m a sunbeam in a world full of clouds becomes a little easier.

At this rate, he’ll have me worn down in a week.

“Ready to get inked?” he asks, taking my hand as he brings the other to the wheel.

“Let’s do it.” I squeeze his fingers, wondering if this will be one of the stories we’ll tell our kids someday, about the night Mom convinced Dad to give her a phoenix tattoo.

The thought is as crazy as Nick suggesting we get engaged—crazier, maybe—but it still feels right.

But that’s how things always feel with Nick. Totally right.

Until the moment when they unexpectedly go wrong…

Chapter 20

Nick

We get to the shop just after nine o’clock. John’s finishing up with a client, so Melody and I slip quietly into the back and make ourselves comfortable.

I already have the phoenix sketched up—I’ve done the tattoo several times before—but I want to customize it specifically for Melody.

I don’t want anyone else in the world to have her tattoo; it has to be as unique as she is.

I sit down at my desk to modify the sketch while Melody makes tea, tidies up the supply cabinet, and picks out a playlist to listen to while I work. Every so often, she swings by the table where I’m sketching and leans over my shoulder, making sounds of approval before dropping a kiss to my head or my cheek and drifting away again, transforming the work into something almost…homey feeling.

But she carries that with her for me. Wherever I am, as long as Melody is there, it feels like home.

Better than home, honestly.

Growing up, I was always the Geary who didn’t quite fit in. I was still a little boy when it became obvious my imagination was going to lead me in different, alternative directions. I felt loved by my family, but not always understood, and seldom completely accepted.