Good, Bad...Better. Cindi Myers

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      He removed the damp towel he’d placed on her skin and sketched in the lily with a ballpoint pen. “How’s that?”

      She looked down and studied the pale blue lines. The design looked as graceful on her as it had on paper. She nodded. “It looks good.”

      “It’ll look even better when I’m done.” He picked up an instrument that looked like a cross between a small nail gun and a drill, and began wrapping it in clear plastic. When he attached the needle, she looked away.

      “Are you ready?”

      Was she ready for big changes in her life? Goodbye, compliant good girl—hello, woman in charge of her own future. Excitement fizzed through her at the thought. She nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

      He leaned toward her, his head so close she could see the dark shadow of his beard beneath his skin. His arm rested against hers and the scent of him washed over her.

      “Nice bra.” With one finger, he nudged the white lace half an inch lower. Heat simmered through her and she bit her lip to hold back a moan. “Very virginal.”

      She flushed. “I am not a virgin.”

      His eyes met hers briefly, then he looked away. “Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing, did I?”

      “Of course not. Virginity is certainly an acceptable lifestyle choice.” Aaargh! She sounded like a lecture from high school health class. She tried again. “But I’m not one. A virgin, that is.” Well, not quite, anyway. She wouldn’t call her few attempts at sex particularly rewarding. Most men were so intimidated by her father they wouldn’t come near her. The few hasty encounters in cars or dorm rooms had been less than the earth-shattering awakening she’d imagined. The issues of Cosmo she’d read had made sex sound so much more…enjoyable.

      Her eyes widened as the tattoo machine touched her flesh. The first jolt stole her breath, but after that it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared.

      She’d intended to close her eyes and try to zone out, but she couldn’t stop watching him. He had beautiful hands, long fingers encased in sheer latex gloves. One hand guided the machine while the other held her shirt and bra out of the way, reaching up occasionally to blot the beginning tattoo with sterile gauze. He shifted, and the heel of his hand rested against her breast, his wrist brushing her nipple. She gasped, hot dampness gathering between her thighs.

      His eyes met hers, the heat of the look pinning her to the chair. He shut off the machine and backed away. “I’d better let Theresa do this.”

      Before she could speak, he stood and stripped off his gloves, then disappeared through a beaded curtain into a back room. A moment later, he emerged with a woman. She had black hair, like his, but hers was worn loose, hanging almost to her waist. She wore tight jeans, high-heeled boots and an inlaid leather halter top. A tattoo of a snarling tiger adorned one shoulder, while a Celtic knot nestled in the cleavage of her ample breasts. “This is Theresa,” he said. “She’ll finish you up.”

      Theresa took her place on the stool and picked up the machine while the man walked over to the front counter.

      “What’s with your boyfriend?” Jen asked, keeping her voice low.

      “Zach? He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my brother.” They both turned to look at him. He was seated behind the counter now, hunched over a sketchbook, blatantly ignoring them. Theresa looked back at Jen. “What did you say to him?”

      “I—I didn’t say anything.”

      Theresa grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d shaken him up.”

      “What do you mean?” If anything, she was the one shaken here. Her heart was still racing with the memory of his touch.

      “He doesn’t usually go for the innocent type, but who knows?” She started the machine again. “Okay, take a deep breath and relax.”

      For some reason, it hurt more this time. Maybe because she didn’t have Zach’s closeness to distract her. She turned to look at him again, trying to ignore the pain. He was still bent over his sketchpad, shoulders tensed. She had a feeling he was aware of everything that was going on in her corner of the shop. Was it possible Zach was as attracted to her as she was to him?

      Come on! A sex god like him could have anyone he wanted. Why would he pay attention to a plain-vanilla “good” girl like her?

      She looked away from him, at Theresa. “That’s a gorgeous top you have on,” she said. The black leather was inlaid with designs of vines and flowers in tan and dark brown.

      “Thanks. It’s from a shop over in Lakeway. The woman who owns the place has some amazing things. Clothes and jewelry. I can give you her card if you’re interested.”

      “Oh, thanks. But I could never wear something like that.”

      “Why not?” Theresa’s eyes, black like her brother’s, bored into Jen, challenging her.

      She felt like squirming, but didn’t dare for fear of messing up the tat. “I guess I’ve always dressed a little more conservatively.” But why? Because it was easier to do what was expected than to give in to the little voice inside of her that said wearing leather might be a real kick? She smiled. “But I will take the card. Maybe I’ll find something there I can’t resist.”

      “Zach, dig out one of Sandra’s cards for me, okay?” she called across the room.

      Zach responded with a grunt, and began rummaging through a drawer beneath the cash register. Jen took the opportunity to study him some more. His tough-guy image didn’t mesh with the sensitive artist who had produced the beautiful work that filled the shop walls. There was definitely a lot more to Zach than his leather and tattoos implied. The idea intrigued her.

      And there was his perceptive assessment of her. He’d said she looked innocent, but had a highly sensual quality. Could it be that, maybe for the first time ever, someone had looked past her “good girl” image and seen the real woman who was trying to assert herself? A bubble of hope swelled in her chest. If Zach could see that in her, maybe she could find a way to make others see it, as well.

      ZACH JACOBS DIDN’T NEED some gorgeous innocent messing with his head. For one thing, she absolutely wasn’t his type. He went for busty, brazen women who could give as good as they got, not some delicate, timid girl who looked as if a strong wind might carry her away.

      Not that she was exactly timid. She looked that way at first, mainly because she was so small, with all that blond hair falling around her shoulders like an angel in a Botticelli painting. But when you really paid attention, you could see the fire in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

      That was what got to him most—not her looks, but that fire. That…wanting.

      Her response to him had been so obvious. Where some women tried to be coy, her desire was out there in the open. And his own reaction had surprised him in its intensity. When he’d brushed against her nipple, an electric shock had passed through him. His hand had started shaking so badly he knew he’d mess up the tat if he’d tried to finish.

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