Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,1

Staring, even, watching her closely. Why? Did he get off on watching tattoo artists work? She couldn’t imagine why else he seemed to be locked onto her. Ignore those intelligent green eyes, she told herself. Ignore that jawline so strong and chiseled it could probably whittle wood.

“Excuse me?” The suit was talking. To her.

Ignore him. She focused on the wing of the eagle as she saw him move behind her, his reflection in the mirror in front of her.

“Excuse me?” His voice was rich, like chocolate—smooth, too. She felt the baritone in her toes. Also, since when were suits so...tall. Broad. Intimidating. “Sorry to bother you.”

You’ll be sorrier if you keep trying.

“I’m looking for Mags McHenry?”

She let out a frustrated breath. He was just like the other strangers who came looking for her by name alone, surprised to find a blue-haired Asian woman named McHenry. It was her adopted name. She’d been taken in by a sweet old Scottish couple who’d been truer parents than her own, whom she’d never known.

“I’m Mags.” She raised her rotary tattoo tool and glanced back at him just in time to see the bloom of surprise on his face that he quickly hid behind a brilliant white smile, perfect even teeth. Lord, she ought to just change her name to Chan or Ling. Then she wouldn’t have to explain. Of course, she kind of liked throwing people off. Liked it when they stumbled over themselves to apologize—or even better, when they argued with her. As if she wouldn’t know her own legal name.

She inwardly dared the suit to start something. She almost wanted him to.

But he didn’t argue. Didn’t push back. His sharp green eyes held something...dangerous. Intelligence? He wasn’t some empty suit. She got that impression right away. She ignored the warming sensation in her belly. So the man was good-looking. So he was tall and broad in the shoulders, but with a tapered waist that told her he was probably no stranger to the gym. Hell, he looked like he belonged on the cover of some damn men’s health magazine. She didn’t care. He wasn’t her type. Her type was bad boys in leather jackets covered in tattoos, with or without hair, and fists crisscrossed with the scars they bore from their share of scrapes. She preferred men who didn’t own a tie, much less know how to knot one.

“Gael Quinn.” He grinned, a half smile, all too confident in the crease of the dimple in his cheek. Well, the Irish name suited him. No one likely challenged his Kelly-green eyes and jet-black hair, told him no, really, what’s your real name? Or looked past him when calling his name from a restaurant wait list. She couldn’t imagine anyone looking past him, really. Looking like a romance hero brought to life, a McDreamy and McSteamy rolled into one. Look at that damn high-voltage smile. He no doubt used it to get those status-seeking Lincoln Park Trixies to fall into his bed. Well, he was a helluva long way from Lincoln Park. She wasn’t an empty-headed single looking for a rich man to buy her things. She found his striking good looks just annoyed her.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Mags swiped at the slight sheen of blood on Angus’s shoulder and returned to her work.

“I called. About the Shaded Moon album tattoo? Talked to John about it? He said I could come in today for a consultation. I hope that’s all right.”

No, it wasn’t all right. John hadn’t bothered to tell her someone had called. But then again, how could he? He was never here, she thought bitterly.

“He should’ve told you I don’t do the Shaded Moon album.” Not anymore. For a while, everybody had wanted one of those. The album had been a hit a year ago, showcasing the falcon, midflight, she’d created for the band. The lead singer’s favorite bird. Mags had done the work and sold the rights to it for cheap because she thought the musicians had been her friends, but then she learned they were making money hand over fist by putting her image on T-shirts, hats and everything but bumper stickers. Mags didn’t like that she’d had no say in how her art was replicated, that they’d not even bothered to ask her permission. Because they’d intended to do that all along, even though at the time she’d drawn it, they promised they wouldn’t. The betrayal still burned.

“You don’t?” Gael seemed surprised. But more