The Tattoo Artist's Mate

Questions bombarded her, and she swallowed hard to make sure her nausea didn’t overwhelm her. She was not going to throw up.

“Baby?”

That dragged her attention back to him big time.

Baby? Oh no not a baby, never ever, nada, niet, nein, and bloody no. “Excuse me?” The frost in her voice made her wince. It didn’t seem to much please the big, hunky tattoo artist either. Tough, except … those glowing eyes flashed, and she could swear he growled.

Growled? Not just a deep baritone with gravelly undertones but a proper growl. Good grief, those late-night shifter movies were much too graphic and she watched way too many if that were the direction in which her mind headed.

Enough already.

“Baby?”

Sheesh that voice, impatient or not, made her pussy clench and her clit throb.

Automatic climax. Except.

No, not in a million years. Asshole. Isla let her temper free. Hadn’t she decided she was no longer a doormat? Well, nor was she anybody’s baby. Except her mum and dad’s and even they’d passed the stage of calling her that many years earlier.

“I, mate, am nobody’s baby.” She poked him in the chest, amazed at her temerity.

He narrowed his eyes and raised one eyebrow.

“I haven’t been for the last twenty-seven or so years,” Isla said firmly. Or she hoped she did. She wasn’t too sure there hadn’t been a wee tremor in her voice. “No goo, goo, ga, ga, fart, giggle, shit and pee over anyone. I can walk, talk, go to the loo unaided and hit the porcelain without wetting the floor. Oh, and guess what? I can add up my checkbook, well I would if we still had the darned things, am articulate and intelligent and able to stand up for myself.” Okay maybe that should be I am trying bloody damned hard. “Not a baby, get it? My name is Isla. Or Miss Campbell to you.”

To her relief his expression changed from thunderous to amused, and he chuckled as he shook his head.

“Feisty, eh? I see interesting times ahead.”

There was that damned glow in his eyes again. It made her want to fidget and look anywhere but at his face. The trouble was if she lowered her gaze not only did it bring an impressive bulge in his jeans to eye level, it reminded her of things she wanted to forget. Not the bulge but the lowered eyes stuff.

Bloody Julian. Is he going to ruin the rest of my life as well? To her utmost relief Isla got her mad back in spades. Sod it, I am not a coward. Isla stared at the tattoo guy and dared him to comment on her expression.

“Mate, that’s for sure. Campbell? That’s too bad.” He flicked her chin up. “But I’ll cut you a break. You can’t help your ancestors. No, don’t bristle, it’s true. As for the rest? No more poking. It irritates me. And, listen well, I’m not into scat or golden showers so you’ve nothing to worry about there. I want you in a much more sensual way.”

Scat? Gold… Heat rushed into her cheeks. What was he? She pulled herself up to her full five feet three. No mean feat when she was sitting, or more to the point, slumping, on a big squishy sofa with a hunk of a man so close she could feel his body heat, and sense his own personal scent. Arousing was an understatement. Why she had no idea. Sweaty men didn’t usually do anything for her. Now though?

Hold on. Was there a damp animal about? She could swear she could smell one. Maybe not politic to ask. She chose to reply to his last words instead.

“That is not the sort of thing I want to talk about.” Shit, what did she sound like? Talk about up herself. “It’s…” What was it? “Nothing to do with me.”

He did that bloody sniff thing again, nodded and smirked. “Fair enough if you think so. Up to me to show you different. Later. Now, shall we talk about everything else?”

“What?” There was nothing else, surely? Except how soon could she get off the sofa and be out of there. Tattoo be damned. There must be somewhere else she could clear off. This was all a bit much. “Nothing to talk about. I better go.”

He shook his head, and his hair flew around him like a tawny halo. “You better not. There’s plenty to talk about. Like why you’re here. Apart from changing a tattoo.”

“That’s all I’m here for.”

He grinned, and she blinked as he tapped her nose. A couple of his pearly whites didn’t seem innocent. More like…

Fangs? Oh, shut up now, Isla. Enough of the animal stuff. But the tap on the nose was like a tattoo in itself. A tap of possession. That wasn’t on.

“Do not touch me, you, you….” She stopped speaking as his eyes narrowed and his lips firmed. “I don’t like it or want it.”

“Tut-tut. Don’t lie, sweet Isla, or you’ll see punishment before pleasure and that’s a promise. We both know there’s more to it than that.”

It was definitely time she went. Punishment? In his dreams. She fingered the sock full of sand in her pocket. It would make a great cosh if need be, and had been recommended to her by her mum as a precaution. Mum meant in case Julian appeared, but Isla thought it just sensible for any scenario.