He captures me with his gaze, deep, dark, and delicious. “What would you cover it with?”

Without thinking, I stroke the tat on his bicep. I always get my best ideas through touch. So hard. So warm. So smooth. His muscle flexes under my fingers, rippling beneath the skin. But that is Ray. Hidden depths. Wild. Untamed.

“Sia?” His deep voice rumbles through me, and my hand vibrates against his arm. Instantly, I know how I would ink him. Grabbing my notebook and pencil, I sketch out a design, partially abstract, partially tribal, merging lines and patterns until they form the rough outline of a wolf.

“This.” I hold up the notepad. “This is what I would do. This is what I see every time I watch you fight.”

He takes the notebook and studies it for a moment longer than is comfortable. My pulse kicks up a notch and disappointment clenches my gut. He doesn’t like it.

His gaze locks on mine, heated and heavy. “You see this?”

“It’s the great wolf, Fenrir, from Norse legend.” I shrug and grab the notepad from his hand. “Fenrir was a bit of a troublemaker so the gods decided to put him in shackles. However, Fenrir was so strong that there was no chain that could hold him. The gods asked the dwarves to create a magical ribbon that even Fenrir couldn’t escape. But Fenrir said he would only allow himself to be tied if one of the gods was willing to make a sacrifice and stick a hand in Fenrir’s mouth. And when one of them did, Fenrir bit it off.”

Silence.

I cringe under his unwavering gaze and sit heavily on my artist’s chair, which brings my eyes level with his strong chin. Damn. “I can come up with something else…”

“Did the ribbon have big hazel eyes and long, silky dark hair, awesome tats, and the sweetest fucking smile on the West Coast?”

An inferno rages in my cheeks. “Actually, it was a just an ordinary red ribbon.”

“Like the scarf you wore the other night.”

He remembers my scarf.

Ray pulls up his T-shirt to reveal his rippled six-pack and then points to a long, jagged scar running across his left pec. “Think you can do it here?”

My training kicks in at the sight of his scar. Taking a deep breath, I gently run a finger along the edges. Five years old, maybe six from the way it healed, and deep. His skin is smooth, warm over the hard ripple of muscle beneath.

“Yeah. I would have to modify it, make it bigger, but I could stretch it to cover the scar and then extend it and blend it in with the rest of your shoulder tat, but it would be quite painful. Scar tissue is more sensitive than skin, and you have a lot of it.”

Ray draws in a ragged breath. “Not afraid of pain. Getting that scar was more pain than the needle would be.”

My mouth waters at the thought of inking Ray’s skin. “If you want to talk to Rose, she can set you up—”

“Now.”

“Now?” My heart pounds in my chest. Now means freehand, which I’m not allowed to do. And I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for my fantasies to become real. I don’t want to find out Ray isn’t all I imagined he would be.

Finding my tongue, I look up at Ray. “For a piece that size, you should really let me do a couple of designs and then a stencil, so you can be sure it’s what you want. Everyone will see it when you’re fighting. I want it to be perfect for you. Tattoos are forever.”

A curious expression crosses his face, part longing, part disappointment, all sensual promise. “I’ve gotta go outta town for a coupla days, but I’ll be training at Redemption tomorrow afternoon before I leave. You got time to bring me your designs?”

My throat tightens, burns. Tag forbade me from going to Redemption after Amanda, the club’s attorney, was attacked in an alley a few blocks away from the gym. Even though I know most of the fighters, and would never walk around Ghost Town alone, Tag still added it to his “no-go” list. Of course, if I always listened to Tag, there would be few places in the Bay Area I would be able to go, and even fewer places I would get a chance to see Ray.

“Sure.”

“Gimme your phone and we’ll trade numbers. My line of work is not very predictable. Shit always comes up.”

“What is your line of work?” I hand him my phone, and he does the number switch.

He hesitates for just a heartbeat and then shrugs. “Private investigator. But I got a bit on the side.”

“A bit on the side?”

“A bit on the side.”

“What does that mean? ‘A bit on the side’?”

Ray chuckles. “Means I’ll take on the odd job that might go outside the boundaries of professional ethics, so it doesn’t count as official PI work. Mostly catching bad guys. Lookin’ for one right now, but let it slide tonight so I could come here.”

“I thought it meant you were having an affair. Not that you’re the kind of person who would have an affair, or if you were, that you would tell me. I mean, it could be uncomfortable if you chose to share that information because I know Shayla, although—”

“Sia…”

Wound tight, I let my tension spill out in a nervous babble. “Not well enough that I would feel the need to call her up and tell her you’ve got a bit on the side, but you know, it could be awkward since I do go to all the Redemption parties—”

“Sia.”

“And if I was talking to her and saw—”

He cups his hand around my neck, leans down, and kisses me. Soft and sweet, his lips press against mine, stealing my breath from my lungs.