Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2), page 10
He practically skidded to a stop in the parking lot behind a small strip mall, tore off his helmet and twisted around to face her.
She removed her helmet. Her breasts heaved with her inhales and exhales, her cheeks full of color that only an exceptional ride could give her. “Oh, God.”
He couldn’t resist. He curled his arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss. Not wanting to wait to be satiated, he instantly opened his mouth and searched out her tongue with his own.
She gasped, but managed to keep up with him.
He tangled her hand in her hair and connected theirs mouths again, but she put her fingers to his lips. “Em?” If he had his way he would bend her over his bike and take care both their desires, that’s how they rolled, they filled that need in one another.
“That ride was incredible.”
Incredible? If he smoked he would have needed a cigarette. “Yeah.” Again his phone vibrated, but he ignored it. Nothing would ruin the high for him, for them. Their life should be arousal and satisfaction, not burdens and lawsuits.
“Do you feel better?” She pushed his hair away from his eyes, touched his earring and her fingers worked their way down his jaw line.
“Do you want to take a walk?”
“Yeah, it’s not that often we get to come to the valley.” Rather than taking his hand, she balanced on his shoulder, got off the bike and instantly went to scratch her side.
“We can’t have you wrecking my art.” He pulled her hand away from the healing tattoo and intertwined his fingers with hers. Since she’d kissed him after her date with another man, his thoughts seemed to focus on Emily, beyond the fact that he’d lost his bedmate. He wanted to shield her from all the crap. “Come on let’s go see what Ventura Boulevard has to offer.”
While Hollywood, Sunset, and Rodeo personified Hollywood and Beverly Hills, the San Fernando Valley boasted Ventura Boulevard with its little shops and malls. They strolled down the block in the Studio City area, an arty, ritzy little town named after its closeness to the studios.
“It’s funny to think that only a few miles away is Hollywood.” Emily kept her hand loose in his and stopped to peek in the window of a small dress shop. She shook her head and they went to the next store featuring old vacuums and sewing machines. With a shrug they visited the next window. The shop was empty except for a ‘For Sale’ sign.
Emily continued to stare inside.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?” He laughed.
“Do you ever think anyone finds what they’re looking for?” She pressed her palm to the glass.
Still keeping hold of her hand, he moved up behind her. “The other night you said you did.”
Without speaking, she leaned into the window, cupping her hand around her eyes.
“What did you find?” Ivan wanted to know.
At last she turned to him. “What are you looking for?”
He stared into the empty store. At one point he would have said he’d found everything. Then he looked back to her. Since the first time they slept together, he hadn’t given another woman a second glance. Who was he kidding? It was long before that. He wanted things between them back to the way they were before everything imploded. Maybe at the end of the day, he simply wanted her. “I don’t know…let me give it the same test you did.” He pulled her over, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her. Rather than allowing his urges to guide him, he focused on the kiss.
Over the last year he’d kissed her too many times to keep track. There was something to be said for kissing the same person over and over again. But not every girl. Once upon a time, his goal was not to kiss the same person for more than one night. Emily’s kisses possessed familiarity, but the excitement never left.
In the middle of the block on Ventura Boulevard, the charge didn’t come from kissing her in public. It came right from her. The way she resisted but gave in, how she opened her mouth first and held on by hooking her fingers in his belt loops.
Every time they kissed her taste woke up his appetite, and she left him insatiable. With Emily, he always had the thrill, that one-of-a-kind ache right in his center. It told him he had to have her for more than a fast romp in the sheets when they needed it.
She broke the kiss and pushed him back, her dark pink lips matching the flush on her cheeks.
Couple his craving with the way he felt compelled to never leave her side, and he knew he’d landed in a deep, dark pool of trouble. She was the same girl who he snuck into a PG-13 movie when she wasn’t yet thirteen.
With a slight shake of her head, she returned to gazing through the window.
“Emily?”
“I guess it’s my turn to ask if you got the answer to your question.”
“I think it gave me more questions.” He tried to inhale, but he couldn’t get a full breath. And his phone went off again.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“The only person I want to talk to is with me.”
She put her hand to her chest. “What if it’s James?”
“I didn’t think of that. It’s gone off a bunch.” He scrambled to get the phone out of his pocket and dropped it.
“Ivan!” As she yelled his name, her phone went off. With breakneck speed, she retrieved it out of her purse and answered. “Shane? Is everyone okay?”
Damn him for not taking responsibility. He hit the sidewalk before standing and putting his arm around her. Why hadn’t he at least checked caller I.D.?
She leaned into him. Twice in one day she looked to him for support. No matter her age, she always held her own, but the mention of the lawsuit, and apparently anything bad that might have happened with her brother, pushed her a bit too far.
“Do you swear everything’s okay?” she whispered.
The baby. No wonder. For maybe a second, he waited for her to respond before joining her in losing it. “Emily, the baby?”
“Learn to spit it out!” She thrust the phone at him. “The baby’s fine.”
“What’s up?” He leaned against the building and wrapped his arm around her. In an instant she buried his face in his chest. While he needed to ride it out, she needed to let it out.
“I’m the one alone with the pregnant woman, what’s with all the emotion?” Shane asked.
“Dude, you are a like a time bomb.” He shut his eyes. “No offense.”
“No offense taken. I guess I should start each conversation with I’m fine, Lindsay’s fine the baby’s fine.”
“I don’t care about you, but good news on the little one and Linds would be appreciated.” He ran his hand over Emily’s hair.
“When you didn’t answer, I called the shop, they said you took Emily out. Thank you for taking care of my little sis, by the way. There’s no one I trust more.”
“No problem.” He shook his head and did his best to play it cool. Shane possessed psychic superpowers, and he’d detect any hanky-panky if he made a false move.
“Hey, I’ll let you guys do your thing, but I wanted to know how things were going.”
Every muscle tightened in an effort to hold back how things were really going. “They’re great, the shop runs itself.” He hit his head against the concrete wall.
“Cool, call me later when you can talk. Tell Emily sorry.”
“Later.” He hung up.
Neither of them moved for several seconds, but at last Emily lifted her head. Her eyes red rimmed, and her makeup smeared.
“Yeah, everything’s great.” He gently moved her away and paced in front of that damn empty store. “Everything is wonderful! Look how great we’re doing!”
“Ivan?”
He ignored her, turning up to the sky and holding his arms out. “For a woman who could beat the crap out of most guys, you’re crying. The lawsuit keeps getting worse. I think I’m going to have to go to the doctor to get rid of the burning in my stomach, and we can’t even take a simple ride without it turning into an emotional construction site.”
“Ivan?”
“What!” He faced her.
“Did James or anyone call?” A lone black tear traveled down her cheek. “I feel like I’m sitting in a room full of explosives.”
“Damn it!” No wonder she broke down, every call, every message, everything they heard held bad news. He lifted his own phone and scrolled through the missed calls. “No, only Shane.”
She nodded.
“I’ll tell you what I want to do. I want to drive back to the shop, kick the shit out of Billy, James, and that guy who’s trying to wreck us. Everyone.” He slammed a fist into his own palm.
“No.” She ran over to him and took his arm. “No, Ivan.”
He forced his focus on her.
“We can’t do that. I never want anyone thinking we’re the bad guys or the thugs. You and my brothers, you’re artists, never forget that.”
“You think we’re artists?”
“You are.”
“Well, remember you’re a girl.” He wiped his forehead.
“I may be a girl, but I’m not your litter sister.” She squared her jaw.
Point taken. He nodded. “What drew you to this empty store?”
She pursed her lips and swallowed. “I don’t know. The shop is so busy that at one point I thought it would be cool to open a second one, now…it doesn’t matter.”
“You are the dreamer.” He didn’t really mean to speak aloud, but Emily had dreams, goals, and needs. She wanted more. Her brothers and her parents taught her to never settle.
“It’s stupid,” She said and shrugged.
Yes, always the dreamer. He’d disappointed her time and again with his reality of what he thought of them and their situation.
“I guess we’re not going to get an answer on the mediation any time soon.” She turned to the empty storefront window.
“I wish I could fix this.” He wanted to do something for her, not Shane, the shop, or even himself. Just Emily.
“We probably need to get back to the shop.”
“Yeah. I need to call Jake at Inked Skin first, and see when he can come do some publicity for the shop.” He took out his phone and scrolled through the numbers.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her smile. He went on a ride to clear his mind and only ended up with more questions and one answer. No longer was Emily his mascot. Ivan wanted her, but he didn’t know if he could have her. Above all else, he didn’t want to disappoint her. And he had no clue about what his next move should be.
Chapter Eight
“I’m good, and I’m not thinking about Permanent or Ivan.” As Emily rode up the elevator to Mark Markson’s studio in Beverly Hills, she repeated that mantra over and over. Though she didn’t believe a word of it, it felt productive to say them.
No. No thoughts of Ivan and the way he asked her, five times, where she was going. No focusing on Permanent and the fact they still hadn’t heard from James about the mediation. Maybe she sabotaged her date with him by having those thoughts of Ivan. So what. She needed to concentrate on her career. In a bold move, she turned her phone to silent. Since Lindsay’s bed rest announcement, it had not been completely disconnected once.
At the eleventh floor the elevator doors parted. Setting her repetitive loop of anxiety about Ivan and Permanent on pause, a fashion heaven opened up in front of her.
Rarely did something match how it was pictured. Usually photo enhanced images always ended in real life disappointment, but Mark Markson’s studio did not.
Decorated in all white, the studio allowed the true stars of the show, the clothes, to stand out. Rock music thrummed in the background, giving the place its heartbeat. A few scattered people dressed in all black, lay in wait until one of the amazing garments would grace their bodies. Emily said a silent word of thanks for going with her instinct and dressing in all black.
With her makeup case rolling behind her, she stepped out of the elevator and assessed the lay of the land before making her presence known.
“So I take it you like my playground?” Mark came around a curved wall and headed toward her.
Not wanting to come of as some gawker, she tilted her head. Along with his so-called playground, Mark also fit the perfect image of an L.A. designer. Tall, with dark buzzed hair, a bit of scruff on his round face, wearing a loose black hoodie and jeans as if he didn’t have a care at all about what he wore. Yet she knew his look was as deliberate as hers.
He stared down at her, studying her face. “You played up your own features to a tee.”
She stayed perfectly still, but slowly exhaled at having past the first test.
“In fact,” he crossed his arms and stepped back. “If I could stretch you five inches taller, you could be a model yourself.”
With the focus of all the other women in the studio on her, she straightened on her four-inch heels and did her best strut toward one of the racks of clothes. “Trust me, those inches don’t make a difference.” Something told her she needed to make sure she’d played tough, and she completed a perfect turn. Growing up with brothers and their models of perfection plastered to their walls taught her a thing or three. She might not have the height or the a-cup to be a model, but she could play one with the best of them.
A full smile took over his face. “My instinct is you have what it takes to play in my sandbox.” He guided her through the studio and over to a makeup and dressing area lined with mirrors. “Let’s see what you can do with my line.”
A door opened and as if they’d rehearsed, three models entered; a brunette, a redhead, and a blonde, the full triple-scoop. Truth be told, they put her walk to shame. Not to be distracted, she studied the clothes, and the similarities and differences between the beautiful women.
All three wore slicked back hair tied in a long ponytail. Obviously Mark preferred his models long and tall with a lot of angles.
In a throwback to aviation gear, the brunette stopped in front of her and posed. She wore fitted pants, leather, knee-high boots, and dark colors. Emily wanted to fly away in that ensemble and her mouth watered.
The model gave her a quick wink and took her place in the first chair.
Model number two came forward. Her outfit, a butter-colored leather evening dress swirled with her as she made her turn. Her red hair played off the dress and though similar to the sleek brunette, she was more willowy and soft. She even gave Emily a sweet smile.
Like a camera, her mind clicked running snapshots of the makeup possibilities. The brunette needed something dramatic, edgy, but the red head was more ethereal and other-worldly.
In what could only be a wedding dress, the blonde took center stage. White shredded tulle floated around her and a studded bodice outlined her whisper of a waist. Her face…something rang familiar about her face. Her expression was stoic and serious. She was the type of woman the guys would describe as gorgeous, but bored.
Emily bit the inside of her mouth trying to place her, and then the model narrowed her eyes in a glare.
Carson. Oh, her man-whore brother. The woman wanted her brother and her silent sibling gave in and took her out a couple of times, dumping her because—
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring any of the other cockroaches with you. Don’t you all travel in a pack?” Little Miss bridal dress lifted her chin and turned to take her spot.
Yes. Carson dumped her like bad bologna because she was a bitch. “Nice to see you again, Sissy.” She ached to call her the other name, but in a business setting she needed to keep it civil. Unlike the shop, she had no clout here.
Mark came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “What do you think?”
“I think they all need makeup.” Though her insides fluttered, if she’d learned one thing from her brothers, it was to never show fear. Of course, she also learned to be on the offensive, but there was no way she’d be offensive there. She’d warned all the males in her life about that time and again. All the males included Ivan, and in an instant he took over her thoughts again. Over and over he asked where she was off to, and she repeatedly avoided the question. Too often she’d talked when she was on the verge of something wonderful, only to have it fall flat.
“Then let’s get to it.” Mark motioned toward the models.
“Turn up the music,” Emily requested. She needed to concentrate and block out the voices in her head.
“Consider it done.” With a final pat on her back, he walked away.
Once more she assessed the three women. The sour snarl across Sissy’s face grew even more bitter. While she would have loved to do her makeup first and get it over with, her mind went blank, blocked on what to do other than give the model a clown nose and a sad face.
Instead, she rolled her case to the brunette. The music rose, and she opened her first drawer to her familiar friends, palates of color, brushes, and glamour. While tattoos told an intimate story about the owner, makeup could transform anyone into someone else entirely.
“How long have you been doing makeup?” The brunette lifted her chin and closed her eyes.
“Since I was fourteen.” Emily studied her complexion and used two foundations to blend the perfect match for the already pristine skin. Acne was her personal enemy in her teen years and she’d discovered she could mask the blemishes better with dramatic makeup.
“Oh, cool.” The woman lifted only one corner of her mouth in a smile.
“Where did you go to school?” Sissy spun the chair toward her.
She sucked in her cheeks. School could be added to the long line of items she didn’t complete. Her stint at makeup school lasted two classes where she knew more than the instructor. Refusing to let the school inhibit her creativity, she quit and flitted between jobs. Of course, Shane and Ivan finished their apprenticeships and Dillon went to college. Even Carson spent some time at the community college.
“I’m self-taught.”
Sissy let out a chuckle. “That’s another word for amateur.”
Too many people throughout her life called her that or worse. One of them her own big brother when he found out she’d abandoned the formal training he’d set up. After that, he disappeared, and Shane swept in to save her with a hug and a job.
