The Tattoo Artist's Mate

Never mind the tattoo change, if there were no other shops she thought acceptable, she’d live with it and wear socks or wellies.

Isla grabbed hold of her handbag and maneuvered herself off the sofa and onto her feet. Boy she bet she looked about as elegant as an elephant doing the tango. Did elephants dance? Maybe she meant a chimpanzee or … a bear or … godallmightystop it. The man’s nearness was sending her crazy. She gave herself a stern talking to and him a frosty smile. The one that most men, when they saw it, took a step back, babbled some sort of apology or whatever, and got the hell out of Dodge.

Not Gaspar MacDonald. Oh no, he, the bugger, gave a very unusual grin, stood up in one fluid movement she envied and took a step forward. Typical nose in MacDonald. She was the one who moved away.

Forward, back, it’s like a bloody dance. Next, we’ll be do-si-do-ing or bowing before we do a two-step. Bring back today, please. Enough already. If she hadn’t been so unsettled it could have been amusing.

“Don’t come near me.” Lordy, was that shrill squeak really her? It was pathetic. Isla cleared her throat

. “If you do, I’ll have to take drastic measures,” she said firmly, pleased her voice didn’t break, she didn’t stutter and actually did sound as if she meant what she said. “Scream, kick, sue or something.”

“Definitely scream or something, baby,” he said in an amused, gravelly voice that did strange things to her insides and oh fuck made her panties damp.

“That’s my promise and my oath,” he finished and pinched her cheek.

God, who the hell did he think he was? “You know what? You’re screwy. Baby for fuck’s sake.” She shook her head. “Why not be really original? Honey boo, sweetie, sugar lump, pussycat, booty cakes… Argh. No, never, ever. It’s all touched in the head weird. Why the hell did anyone think this was the place to get a tattoo altered? I’ll use a permanent marker instead.” She headed for the door and pushed it open. “Sorry I’ve changed my mind.”

He smirked. “I thought you said you’d wear socks.”

Isla blinked as the door slammed shut and just missed her toes. She knew she hadn’t spoken that sentiment out loud. Ever since bloody Julian she’d been very careful about what she said and what she thought. That had been a thought.

“Why do you say that?’ She almost added “asshole”, but the expression on his face stopped her. He looked … like a proper Dom. “Si…” Oops, no, not Sir. Not ever again. “Seems daft to me,” she added hastily. “Socks indeed.”

“Ah, sweet Isla, you are so heading for a fall if you insist on lying to me.” He pinched her cheek, then pressed his lips to the spot.

Never mind tattoo, that touch seared her like nothing ever had. Talk about spooky.

“Pet, just try to trust me, eh? Take me as one who has your best interests at heart. To me, my pet means the one I care for most, the one who means most to me. My soul mate, my life. If it suits,” he lowered his voice to a sexy murmur. “My sub. What else would you say?”

All the names she’d read in her hot as hades stories filled her mind. So did the way reading them made her hot, wet, wanting, and bloody horny. The damp panties became wet, and goosebumps covered her body. So why was she thinking “no, not in a million years, proper, improper, impromptu or imposter, not gonna happen.”

Sodding Julian of course. How would she know what a proper Dom looked like any way? She’d thought she’d found one in Julian, and that was a big fat, not on your Nellie, damp squid if there ever was one. Great judge of character she obviously wasn’t. So what if this guy made her panties wet, her juices gather and her nipples so hard it was a wonder they hadn’t put holes in her blouse? So what if he tugged on every sense she possessed? So what if he made her want to renege on her vow of no more men? So what? How did she judge what was real and what was wishful thinking?

“I know more about you than you imagine, sweet Isla. Do you want to listen? Or.” He lowered his voice. “Are you gonna chicken out?”

“Cluck, de cluck.”

Gaspar chuckled. “Oh pet, we’re going to have so much fun.”

She shuddered. “Not pet. Please not pet.”

“Baby? Ma Belle?”

She sighed. “Baby makes me want to puke. Ma Belle? Unoriginal but if you have to. Pet reminds me of something nasty I’d rather forget.”

He scrutinized her for a long minute, until she was ready to squirm and then gave one decisive nod. “So wouldn’t it be better to give you happy, not nasty associations with it…” He paused and then said emphatically. “Pet.”

Isla thought about it for a second or two. What he said made sense but… “With the proviso if it icks me out you stop and swap?”

“I promise.”

“Then I’ll do my best not to baa, bark, or meow.”

He snorted.

“Now, pet. Behave. Let’s have fun. Oh, and I promise I can make you purr, pet.”

Okay, it wasn’t the time to decide what he meant by fun. Or why her heart was still missing the odd beat and she felt lightheaded. Now was “do I, don’t I, get this tattoo changed”? For a start anyway. Isla accepted her life was about to change, and for once she was sure it would be for the better.