blade, simple, well done, good clean lines. Shaded in black and gray, the edges of it curled as if dying. It was a sad tattoo but a beautiful one. No way had it been done by the same guy who put his initials on her leg.
The ink on her lower back was just as well done, probably by the same artist who’d placed the leaf on her shoulder blade. A golden sun, vibrant rays reaching across her back and up to her waist, shined there. It was as hopeful as the leaf was sad. The juxtaposition of the two hit Hammer hard and he sank to the edge of the bed.
Ink told stories. He knew that from experience. This girl had been hurt, and hurt bad. He hoped the sun had come after the leaf but he thought he knew better. Right then, she shivered. He laid a palm on the curve of her waist. The skin was cool, goose-bumped.
He patted her hip. “Sparky? Here. I’ve got a tee shirt for you and you can snuggle under the covers, okay?”
“Mmm,” she said, shivering and balling up farther.
He laughed. “Come on, I promise it’ll be warmer. Trust me.”
She sighed and stretched, rolling onto her back. He swallowed hard at the sight of her chill-hardened nipples. Sleep. She needs sleep.
“Up you go,” he said, gently grabbing her arms and pulling her upright. She blinked at him blearily. “Raise your arms.”
She did so without comment or hesitation, almost like a sleepwalker. Hammer pulled the tee shirt over her breasts with a sigh of regret.
“Here.” He pulled the covers back. “Climb in.”
Scooting under the covers, she flopped back against his pillows without a word and was asleep only seconds later. Hammer followed her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Her shivering stopped as she absorbed the heat from his body.
“Good night, Sparky,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.
When they woke up in the morning, he was going to ask her about those tattoos. And if the dying leaf represented what that jackass boyfriend of hers had put her through? He would seriously consider going after the punk, and not only for the pleasure of breaking his bones. Anybody who dimmed the flames of this girl even for a moment deserved torture, and Hammer was more than willing to do it.
Chapter Six
Quinn stretched and yawned without opening her eyes. Man, she didn’t remember her bed being this comfortable. Her pillows weren’t memory foam before, were they? Was this a down comforter? Who was snoring beside her?
She sat up like a shot, clutching the sheet to her chest. Hammer sighed in his sleep and rolled over onto his stomach. Hammer . The tattoo artist she’d just met. Why was she in bed with him?
She scrambled out from beneath the covers and tried her best to stop hyperventilating and think. Last night. She’d gotten her tattoo covered. That was clear in her memory as well as in the dull throbbing ache on the skin of her thigh. She’d gone home… Quinn clapped a palm to her forehead. The lights. The call to Hammer. She’d followed him here, drank about a case of beer and enjoyed being in control a wee bit too much.
She’d had sex with him. “Fuck.”
Hammer twitched at the sudden sound of her voice in the otherwise quiet room but his breathing soon evened back out.
Quinn tiptoed to the door, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the still-sleeping man. He’d been great to her, so thoughtful, helpful even. She was the bitch who’d pushed this to happen. He’d been trying to help her out and she’d strong-armed him into fucking her at his damn table. Quinn sighed with regret as she scooted downstairs to the dining room where her clothes were still scattered.
If she had her way, she’d disappear. Not that she wasn’t interested in Hammer. That was the problem. She was too interested. Pulling on her panties and then her skirt, she made up her mind. She’d leave him a note. Disappearing without a word was rude, especially after he’d been so great to her last night. She owed him the
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