The Tattoo Artist's Mate

“No sister and she’s mine, all mine.” Josh roared with laughter as G

aspar mock-scowled. “Go get yourself someone like her and ye’ll be in clover.’

Gaspar rolled his eyes. “One of a kind.” He stood up and stretched to get the kinks out of his body. The aching sort of kinks, sadly. Fuck and bugger. When was the last time he’d let his Dom persona out and take over? So fucking long he couldn’t remember.

Josh walked to the till and took his wallet out. “What’s the dama—holy shit.”

The door to the shop blew open with a bang that rattled the windows nearby as a sudden gust of wind blew through the aperture and lifted a sheaf of drawings from the desk. They fluttered around like overlarge confetti and landed in a haphazard heap on the floor.

“Dammit, I should have shut that back door earlier,” Gaspar said with a growl that would put the fear of God into anyone who wasn’t on his side. “Sodding through draft. The back alley’s like a wind tunnel today. You could test a jumbo jet in there and—what the fuck.”

Gaspar couldn’t have stopped the animalistic growl that rumbled out from his chest if his life depended on it, and he wasn’t sure he hadn’t grown a few inches, too, because the scent on that breeze….

It couldn’t be, yet his bear responded to the call in the wind with another deep, menacing growl, which shook the floorboards and made the bell above his shop door go into spasms.

It was her. It had to be. The woman he’d been with in her sleep. Oh, he hadn’t seen her face, wasn’t told her name, just that when he met her, he would know. And he did. That hair… Her. Mine. The woman he yearned for, had wet dreams about, and knew was his. She’d come to him.

The gorgeous, fuckable, female human with carroty hair and big, expressive eyes who stood in the doorway jumped, took a step back, and bit her lip. As he watched, she squared her shoulders and stared at him. Was he the only one who saw the effort it cost her? How could Josh be unaware? Or was he being tactful?

Josh whistled through his teeth and laid a wad of cash on the counter, as he looked between Gaspar and the young woman now standing hesitantly in the doorway.

“Right, okay well, I say, I’ll best be off then. Er, take care and thanks. I’ll let you know if we need another one. See you around, Gaspar. Miss. Here ye go. He doesnae bite…” He held the door open for the redhead who seemed to be as mesmerized with Gaspar as his bear and him were in her, and ushered her in. “Well not unless he’s provoked or…”

Not tactful then. Bastard.

“Josh, zip it.”

Josh laughed. “Aye, right oh. He’s okay miss, honestly. An awkward bugger, but a fine one. You’ve nowt to fear from him.” He turned back to Gaspar, winked and mouthed “good luck”. Gaspar was certain the sod said something along the lines of “he’ll fuck you senseless given half a chance”.

Which was true, but only with her consent and her knowledge of what it would mean. His bear was very much aware of her and if they mated—not just screwed or fucked, but made love—she’d have no chance to leave without one hell of a dust up. Mated meant for life and that was that.

Whatever she was.

Gaspar ignored Josh, the fucker, and sniffed the air again. Human? Seemed like it.

His heat sank. That made life twice as hard.

“I’m away.” Josh raised his hand in farewell, and Gaspar grunted. No doubt Josh would tell Bella all about the carrot-top with the big eyes and gorgeous figure, and Bella would come around demanding the gen, but that was for later. Now every fiber of his being was focused on the redhead. Who looked as if she didn’t know whether to throw up or do a runner.

Josh meanwhile laid one large hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Do come in, lassie. I know he looks mean, but he’s the best. We’re friends from way back, and there’s no one I’d trust more to ink me.” He waved his inked sleeve at her. “You’re in good hands.”

Gaspar flipped Josh the finger, which elicited a cock-hardening gasp from the woman staring at him. Wide, deep, moss-colored eyes a man could drown in, full lips, which simply invited him to taste, to devour. Curves in all the right places and breasts… He nigh on salivated. Breasts to fill his hands and more. Breasts to suckle, nip, and lave.

He let his gaze move higher and was mesmerized. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her slender throat at the base of which a pulse beat a rapid staccato in tune to his, and his bear grumbled anew.

Know it, take hold of it. Mine. His. Fuck a duck. As he thought, he was committed to a human? Mine, all mine, and sod the human bit. I’ll sort it somehow. She is the woman I’ve dreamed about.

As thought processes went these were as caveman-like as they came. Bloody alien to him as well. What the fuck? However, there again, it wasn’t every day that the one woman destined to be with you walked in your shop like an offering from the gods above. She might not know it, but he as sure as hell did. She was his mate. From then on and forever. All he had to do was show her, persuade her and… His brain didn’t process anything beyond that.

His mate’s eyes widened further, and she took an involuntary step—toward him, he noticed, not away—which had no doubt been her intention, if the confused look in her expressive eyes was any indication. A trembling hand pushed her long mane of riotous red curls away from her face, and now Gaspar had the devil of a job to keep his eyes off the impressive cleavage straining against the sensible blouse she wore tucked into her jeans. There wasn’t an ounce of artifice about his mate, not a speck of make-up on her face. Just vibrant, delicious woman, with lush curves to die for and the sweetest scent, which made his bear damn near itch to burst through his skin. To claim, to devour, to mark.

Mine.

He did neither, of course. That would send her screaming. Now. So he simply inhaled deeply, satisfied to not scent any specific attachment to another male. Not that it would have mattered to his bear. His beast was all but ready to tear the throat out of any man, or animal, who dared brush up against his mate, and make no mistake about it, this woman would be his. She just didn’t know it yet.

Boy was she in for a surprise. Hell, he hoped it would be a good one.

Mindful of the fact that he must look like a complete asshole, Gaspar forced a smile on his face, scrubbed his hand over his beard and somehow got his vocal cords to work.