Think about the pain. Think about the war. Anything but the feel of her soft fingertips against you. There was no room for his libido in this room. Lissa was one of his longest-standing friends and someone he had no intention of losing because of sex.
Yeah, he didn’t need that thought either.
He had enough on his plate at the moment. A rash of violent activity around the city had made him and Garrett especially busy lately. His buddy had taken down the city’s top drug lord recently, and now other, newer ones were trying to assert their dominance. The situation made for all kinds of crime and in-fighting. Just the other night Jackson had been called on two occasions to help clean up a scene while Garrett continued to chase after bad guys who had gotten away, two swords in his hands spun from the tattoos on his biceps.
There didn’t look to be an end in sight to the violence, which was a big problem. Garrett might be superhero, but he was only one person. If the police in these parts had been smarter, the problems wouldn’t have escalated to this magnitude. But they just gave out more parking violations rather than dealing with the big issues.
“Are you ready for this?” Lissa asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yeah, let’s get it over with.”
“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for from my first client in my new parlor.”
He turned his head slightly to find her standing with her hands on her curvy hips. Her raven hair fell to midback and draped over her shoulders, the color almost blue in the recessed lighting she’d had installed in the ceilings. Her light blue eyes and pale skin would have haunted his dreams if he’d let them. But she was totally and completely off-limits to him except for as a friend. Anything else would ruin their dynamic, the strange, dysfunctional family they’d formed over the years as they each stepped in time and again to help Garrett. And this was going to make her happy. He wanted her to be happy, so he’d better buck up and smile.
“Sorry. It’ll be good. Your work is always good and I’m happy to be your first customer. My mind is just stuck on all this crime. I think Garrett is wearing himself out, and I don’t like it.”
One of her hands went up to cover her heart. “I don’t like it either, but he’s driven. He was my final job at the old parlor and I gave him a boost with the last tattoo. He’ll be fine.” She laid her warm palm on his right shoulder, away from the transfer. “And thank you, Jackson. This means a lot to me.”
“Well, at least you’re not a newbie,” he said, laughing as she hit him with the first series of thousands of needle pokes.
* * *
Lissa had held tattoo guns in her hands since she was fifteen years old and they’d never shaken like they were shaking right now. Slowing her heartbeat with a deep breath, she gave herself a stern talking to.
She had returned to the town where she grew up to get a fresh start, but she was still haunted by her past.… She’d used her ability to tap into people’s hidden potential several times over the years—fine-tuning an artist’s ability for the harp, increasing someone’s skills as a cardsharp, that sort of thing—but nothing the magnitude of what she’d done to Garrett. At least that now his life was on track, and he was using the powers she’d released in him for good, she could continue with the work she’d been born to do without the heavy weight of guilt. Though she loved helping people find their dormant gifts, she never again wanted to change someone’s life like she’d done to Garrett. The power was too great. The responsibility was too much for her to shoulder.
She sucked in a deep breath, grounding herself in the present moment, and braced her feet apart. Bending over Jackson’s back, she put the tiny needle into his skin to make the outline for the simple yet beautiful design he’d requested.
The vibration of the gun kept her rooted as she followed the outline she’d traced onto his skin. She didn’t freestyle because it led to too many messy complications. She made the first lines of the tattoo then went back to make them bold, her hand steady and her mind clear. If her thoughts kept straying to the hard muscle covering Jackson’s smooth back.… Well, there was nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of what God had made, was there?
And one thing was for sure. Jackson was a whole lot of beautiful—always had been. The first time she’d met him, he’d been eighteen, with a crew cut, fatigues, a sense of humor and a serious attitude. She’d been sixteen—quite young to be working at a tattoo parlor—but her mother had convinced the owner to take her on because of her considerable talent. His smile had been infectious and she’d fallen head over the tips of her toes into a crush. Martin, her old boss, had been three years ahead of Jackson in high school, but they’d both played football, and Jackson had been moved onto the varsity team because of his skill.
That skill had seen him through boot camp and his first stint stationed at Twentynine Palms in California. He’d come back two years later, harder and firmer but no less funny, and it had made her heart jump into her throat when he remembered her name. She had been in the process of giving Garrett his first tattoo when she’d watched Jackson stroll into Martin’s shop in his dress blues. She’d seen his name on the books and had looked for him all afternoon through the small window from her assigned tattooing room. Even at eighteen, almost done with twelfth grade, she’d been drawn in by his magnetism. She had to swallow when she smoothed her hand over the middle of his back to encourage his muscles to relax. She had needed a break and a small breath of air then, and she needed both now.
“You doing okay? Want to stand for a minute or have something to drink?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.” His shoulders bunched, a play of muscle she’d seen a thousand times over a thousand tattoos, yet this time her stomach twisted.
“Well, I need to run to the little girls’ room. I’ll be right back.” Switching the tattoo gun off, she all but tripped over herself to get out of the small room and into the bathroom.
Once there she slammed the door behind her then gripped the white porcelain pedestal sink until her fingers turned white. “I need to stop looking at Jackson’s back like it’s a smorgasbord.” She took another one of those deep breaths and stared at herself in the mirror. This had only happened to her once in all the years she’d been tattooing—when she’d inked his last tattoo. Never since. Never. She was a professional, goddammit, and over the course of her career, she had seen more backs and chests and even a penis or two—when someone wanted a particular area tattooed—than she could count. Never had lust entered into the equation. And yet, here it was for the second time, hustling down the tracks of her brain like a freight train with disabled brakes. Another deep breath did not help. Neither did Jackson banging on the freaking bathroom door.
“You okay in there?”
“Yep, just had to pee.” My God, had she just said that out loud? Her reflection laughed back at her, breaking the seriousness of the moment. This was the guy who had taken in the lost soul she’d helped create. He had taken Garrett under his wing, making provisions in his military contract to almost always have Garrett move with him when Jackson was not in a war. She was grateful to him, indebted to him and not in lust with him.
Feeling like she’d regained her cool, Lissa splashed water on her face, washed her hands and jerked the door open. She didn’t even notice Jackson was standing in front of her, bare to the waist with his brawny arms crossed over his lightly furred chest. Nope, didn’t notice how perfectly defined his abs were and the way his jeans hung just below his navel. Nope, didn’t notice one iota as she shooed him back to the chair and got to work again.
The green she was using on his back matched his eyes almost perfectly. She kept herself in check while she finished the tattoo by praying to an ancient goddess whose name had been lost over time. She begged the goddess for help and asked for the strength to finish this job so she could go back to her regularly scheduled life—the one where she hardly ever saw Jackson and only talked with him when she was checking in on Garrett.
And