Tyler (Inked Brotherhood 2)

My pulse roars in my ears as he props a hand on the hood of the car and bends until we are face to face, so close I can smell him on the crisp, cold air. His warmth wafts into the car, carrying his scent of pinewood and male musk.

“Hey,” he says, and shivers run down my spine at the low, rumbling sound. “Waiting for someone?”

For you, I think. I’ve waited all this time for you, and now I’m not even sure I know you, with your secrets, and your unknown scars.

“Just drove Tessa here to meet with the guys,” I say, “because her Jeep broke down, but now it looks like Asher isn’t here, so I don’t know if they’re going out or not. I was just waiting for her to tell me…”

He straightens, his face hardening. I guess reminding him that his brother didn’t appear, probably because of him, is a sore point. And God, I have to stop blabbing! His mere presence turns my brain off.

Dylan and Tessa are walking toward Dylan’s motorbike, and Zane watches them go, a frown on his face. Then he shrugs and pulls a cigarette from behind his ear.

“I’m gonna go back inside.” Tyler turns toward the shop. “My shift doesn’t finish until ten.”

“Tyler…” I climb out and hurry after him as he heads back toward Damage. Zane’s words echo inside my head, and I decide to do as he suggested. “Why did you come back?”

“What?” He stops dead in his tracks, and I almost plow into his back. “My dad died. My brother almost died, too. You don’t know?”

“I do. I…” I was expecting something more. Something having to do with me. How foolish. “Never mind.”

I turn to go, and a hand like a vise grips my wrist. “Wait, Erin.”

“Yeah?” My voice sounds choked and I hate how it makes me look weak. I’m over him. I really am. Have to be.

His throat works. “Come inside. I’ll take a break when the customers go. Then we can talk some more.”

Like we did last time? The question hovers on the tip of my tongue, and the memory sends flames licking my body and need unfurling in my stomach, but I swallow it all back down and follow him into Damage.

***

Inside Damage, it’s warm enough that I take off my jacket and sweater, remaining in my soft, cream-colored blouse.

From my perch on one of the orange armchairs, I have a good view of the whole shop. Tyler is at the desk, taking appointments by phone and receiving customers who want to look around and see the tattoo catalogs. Zane comes out of his booth at some point, some ink smudged on his cheek. He nods at me before heading out for a cigarette.

He’s smoking much more than he used to. I think about following him, dragging answers out of him—but then he might turn around and do the same to me. We’ve been treading on a tightrope, maintaining a delicate balance where we avoid stepping on each other’s toes.

Doesn’t stop me from worrying, though.

Then Tyler distracts me again when he stretches. Holy crap, this boy has a body like an Olympic swimmer, shoulders big and padded, arms muscular and defined. His shirt rides up and exposes a stomach you can iron clothes on. That stomach, that chest—they should come with danger warnings. He shouldn’t be allowed to stretch like a cat, putting all that mouth-watering, muscled flesh on display.

Okay, what is wrong with me? Haven’t I decided that all I want from Tyler is an explanation and closure? That what happened last time we met won’t happen again? That I’ll guard my heart—and my body—with all I have?

Then he glances at me sideways, and my skin feels too hot, too tight wrapped around my bones. I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly aware of my long, ratty skirt, my unflattering blouse and muddy boots.

How sexy, Erin.

You shouldn’t care how you look around him, Erin.

Great, now the voices in my head are having arguments. Awesome. Irritably I push my bangs out of my eyes and stand. What am I doing? Letting myself fall for him all over again.

He glances up from the computer, blue light reflecting on his pale face, and he d

oes look haggard, Zane’s right. My heart does a backward flip in my chest, and I know I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. Not when his dark eyes fill with such light when he looks at me.

I approach the desk. He comes around and takes my hand. I stare at our hands, our entangled fingers, as if in a dream.

What’s happening?

He leads me to the back of the shop—not the bathroom this time, but the office. A big desk stacked high with papers stands on one side and an armchair on the other. His hand tight around mine, he leads me inside and locks the door behind us.