Good, Bad…Better

“Why not? I mean, if you’re going to be this grownup, independent woman, a fling with a hot, slightly dangerous guy seems like a good way to start. Personal freedom means sexual freedom too, right?”

“Right.” Not that she knew a lot about it, given her limited experience.

“Listen, I’ve got another call coming in. Maybe it’s Aaron. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure. Good luck with Aaron.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need it.”

Jen said goodbye and laid the phone on her bedside table. She stared up at the ceiling, mulling over her options. While the idea of a fling with Zach made her heart race, she didn’t think she could pull it off. Better relegate that idea to the realm of fantasy.

But that didn’t mean she was giving up. She’d find some way to make her father see she was serious about living life on her own terms.

As soon as she figured out exactly what those terms were. She glanced again at the calla lily above her breast. The tattoo was a nice start. But her father was right—it looked out of place with her leotard. And most of the rest of her clothes weren’t cut to show it off to advantage.

Okay, then the next step was obviously a new wardrobe. She had some money saved, and charge cards. Time to buy some of the things she’d admired in stores but hadn’t had the guts to wear before. Now, what should she buy?

She remembered the leather halter Theresa had been wearing. Her new tat would look fantastic with something like that. But she’d left the tattoo shop without getting the card for the store. She smiled. “Guess I’ll have to make another trip to Austin Body Art.” She’d ask Theresa for some clothes-shopping advice. And if Zach happened to be there, maybe she could flirt with him a little. Just to see what happened next….

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON ZACH WAS FINISHING AN elaborate design on a customer’s back while another artist, Scott, worked on a college girl, when Jen returned to the shop. The sight of her silhouetted in the sunlight in the doorway set every nerve in Zach’s body on red alert. She was wearing a dancer’s leotard and tights and a short, wraparound skirt that showed off every curve and muscle of her petite body. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“I wanted to see Theresa.” She walked into the shop and looked around, those gray eyes flickering over him.

“She’s not here.” He forced his attention back to his work.

“When will she be back?”

“I don’t know. She went to lunch.”

“I’ll wait.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her walk past. She moved with a dancer’s grace, her back a long, elegant line. He followed her with his eyes, distracted from his work and annoyed that he would let a woman do this to him.

“Maybe I can help you with something.” Scott looked up from the transfer he’d just applied to a coed’s ankle. A young, lanky blonde, Scott fancied himself a lady-killer.

“That’s okay. But thanks.” The smile she gave Scott made Zach tighten his grip on the tattoo machine. He didn’t miss the way Scott looked at her.

“How’s the tat?” Zach asked. If she had a simple question about that, he could get rid of her quickly.

She put a hand to the tattoo. “It’s great. Theresa did a beautiful job.”

“Let me see.” His customer, a beefy kid who played tackle for the University of Texas Longhorns, grinned and motioned her over.

She walked toward them, hips swaying, and leaned over, giving them both a great view of her cleavage. Her breasts weren’t very large, but they were nice and round, with pert nipples that pressed against the thin fabric of the leotard. Zach got hard watching her, while the customer all but drooled. “That looks great,” the kid said, his eyes almost bugging out of his head.

“Hey, watch it!” The guy flinched and shot Zach an angry look.

Scott laughed and Zach glared at him and shut off the machine. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was bearing down so hard.” It was difficult to concentrate on his work with Jen so near.

She smiled and touched the tribal band etched around the customer’s bicep. “You have some very nice tattoos, yourself.”

When she reached out to touch the guy, it took all of Zach’s self-control not to shove her hand away. As it was, the kid was puffing up like a muscle-bound toad, ogling her as if she was a particularly juicy fly.

“Did Zach do all the work?” Her gaze flickered to him again as she asked the question.

The kid nodded. “Oh, yeah. Zach is the best.”

“Yes, he is the best, isn’t he?” Her smile made him hotter than ever.

“You told me you were the best!” The coed pouted at Scott.

“I do the best butterflies,” Scott said soothingly. “Now lie back and relax.”

Zach started up the machine again and returned to etching the feathers of a highly stylized eagle. Jen leaned over to watch him. “That’s gorgeous.”

The kid grinned. “Really slick, ain’t it? People that know tats know Zach’s work. No one else does anything like this.”

“Zach is definitely a talented artist.”

He tried to ignore the flush of pride that swept over him at her words. What did he care what this ballerina—or whatever kind of dancer she was—thought? “Why do you want to see Theresa?”

She straightened. “I’m hoping she can give me some advice.”

He almost laughed. His sister as Dear Abby? Hardly. “What kind of advice?”

Jen sat in a low-slung leather chair and crossed her long legs, the poor excuse for a skirt sliding up her thighs. The customer leaned forward, his mouth gone slack. Zach squeezed the kid’s shoulder, not too gently. “Sit up straight.”

He forced his own gaze back to his work, determined not to let her get to him. “What kind of advice?” he asked again.

“I’m trying to change my image.”

“I thought the tattoo was supposed to do that.”

“It was a start, but I need to do more.”

“Didn’t shock the old man enough yet, huh?”

She sat up straighter, her cheeks flushed. Bingo. He’d read her right, then. “I’ll admit, I want my father to see me differently. But I’m doing this for me, too. Moving to Chicago is a chance for me to start over, with a new image. Reinvent myself.”

“I thought your old man wasn’t going to let you go to Chicago.”

“He’s still against it, but I’m going to change his mind.”

She sounded so determined. But Zach wouldn’t have bet against Grant Truitt. “Why not just go, and the hell with what daddy says?”

“Yeah, why not do that?” the kid chimed in.

She frowned. “Because he’s promised if I do, he’ll contact some influential friends who owe him favors and they’ll put pressure on the dance company to kick me out.”

“He’d really do that?” the customer asked. But Zach already knew the answer to that question. Grant Truitt did whatever he damn well pleased. Before the “Clean Up Sixth Street” hoopla had died down, he’d been a frequent figure on the local news, pledging to rid Austin of “less desirable” elements. If the mayor hadn’t turned his attention to the more pressing issues of budget shortfalls and his chief aide’s involvement in a minor scandal, Chief Truitt and his minions would probably still be frequent, unwelcome visitors to the neighborhood.

“My father wouldn’t see anything wrong with forcing me to stay in Austin, because he’d see it as ‘protecting’ me,” Jen explained to the kid.

“So what makes you think you can do anything to change his mind?” Zach asked.

She sat back and smoothed her hands along the arms of the chair. She had nice hands, with graceful fingers and neatly trimmed nails painted a shell pink. He wondered what those hands would feel like on him. Would she be tentative? Or more assured?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do just yet, but I’ll think of something. The important thing is that, from now on, I’m going to live my life the way I want to live it, and stop worrying so much about what he or anybody else thinks.”

“Your old man sounds like a real prick.” The kid came out of his lust-crazed stupor long enough to comment.

Zach agreed, but it didn’t seem the thing to tell a woman her father was a prick, even if he was.

“He just…gets ideas in his head and won’t let them go.” She shrugged. “I think he still sees me stuck as a ten-year-old, needing Daddy to look after me. It would be sweet if it weren’t so annoying.”

Zach thought there was nothing sweet about her father, but that was probably a matter of perspective. “I don’t see how you think my sister’s going to help you.”

She smiled again and her eyes met his, the look of determination in them was stunning in its intensity. “She looks like a woman of the world. I figure maybe she can give me some tips.”

Tips about what? he wondered. Then again, maybe he didn’t really want to know what this woman was up to.

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