Secret Things and Highland Flings. Tracy Corbett

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СКАЧАТЬ over his options. His arm was throbbing, he looked a bloody mess and he couldn’t imagine he’d be welcomed at the prestigious Castle Hotel in the high street. And then he remembered the advert in the tattoo parlour’s window. He’d try there. Plus, it meant he could keep an eye on the gallery and ensure the owner did as promised and took The Cursed Man back up to Scotland.

      It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best he could come up with tonight.

      He backtracked to the front of the building. Tainted Love Tattoos had closed for the night, but the lights were still on inside. He cupped his hand and peered through the glass. A woman was sitting at a table. When he tapped on the glass, she looked up. He pointed to the sign hanging in the window.

      She stood up. He could see she was wearing a tight black skirt with matching corset, fishnet stockings and a pair of black patent shoes. The heels alone looked capable of causing serious damage. Around her neck she wore a black choker with tiny rubies hanging from one side that looked like droplets of blood from a puncture wound.

      Bloody hell. Talk about intimidating.

      She walked towards him, her onyx eyes blinking from beneath her Pulp Fiction hairdo. She released the bolts on the door and opened it. For a good few seconds she just looked at him, not saying a word.

      Unable to take the silence any longer, he said, ‘I was wondering about a room for the night?’

      She didn’t respond.

      He pointed to the sign. ‘It says you have a room to let.’

      She leant against the doorframe. ‘I know what it says.’

      ‘Right.’ He rubbed his arm. ‘Do you have a vacancy?’

      She eyed him cautiously. ‘You on the run?’

      He shook his head.

      ‘What’s with the arm?’

      He followed her gaze. The dressing was already soaked with blood. ‘I fell off my bike.’

      Her expression indicated she didn’t believe him. ‘No drugs.’

      He frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

      She sighed. ‘As in, I don’t want anyone shooting up on my premises. Comprendo?’

      He tilted his head to one side. ‘You remind me of someone.’

      ‘Fascinating. You want a room, or not? Forty quid a night, two fifty per week, seven hundred for the month. Cash. No tenancy agreement. No refunds. Payment upfront.’ She narrowed her gaze. ‘Food not included. Phone off limits. Touch my stuff and you’ll die a slow and painful death.’

      He visibly swallowed. ‘Good to know.’

      ‘We got a deal?’

      He scratched his head and then shrugged. ‘Deal.’ He held out his hand.

      She ignored him and stepped back to allow him inside. She locked the door behind him. Should he be worried?

      ‘Sit,’ she said, pointing to a black leather chair that wouldn’t look out of place in a dentist’s surgery.

      ‘Excuse me …?’

      Placing her hands on her hips, she stared at him. ‘You’re contaminating my sterile working environment. I don’t appreciate threats to the safety of my clients’ well-being.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m a softie like that.’

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Yeah, I can tell.’ He sat down, fearful of what might happen if he didn’t.

      She pulled out a first-aid kit. He was struck by a sense of déjà vu.

      ‘HIV positive?’

      He blinked up at her. ‘I’m sorry?’

      She sighed and then repeated very slowly, ‘Are you HIV positive?’

      ‘Oh, right. Err … no.’

      ‘Hepatitis B?’

      He shook his head.

      ‘Any other diseases I should know about?’

      ‘Not to my knowledge.’ He tried not to stare at the tattoo on her left breast, a dagger piercing a heart. ‘Shouldn’t we get to know each other a little first?’

      She snapped on a pair of latex gloves. ‘I’m not one for small talk.’

      ‘I’ve noticed.’ He watched her peel away the bloodied dressing applied by his previous first aider. ‘You know what you’re doing?’

      She dropped it into a sanitised disposal unit. ‘My job dictates I draw blood. Occupational hazard.’

      ‘I imagine you’re very good at it.’

      She almost smiled. ‘Funny guy.’

      The way she’d said ‘funny guy’ gave him another strong sense of déjà vu. There was something oddly familiar about this woman. But if they’d met before, he’d definitely remember. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man forgot.

      He looked around the parlour. In contrast to the white gallery next door, this place was jet black. There was a sign on the wall that read: THINK BEFORE YOU INK. It was hung next to the image of a naked woman with a creeping vine entwined around her torso.

      ‘Your designs are exquisite.’

      She rubbed something over his cut that stung. ‘I know.’

      Modest, too. He winced when she pulled the edges of the cut together and taped it.

      Unlike the woman who’d tended to him a few minutes earlier, this nurse wasn’t offering cups of tea or homemade cakes. Still, if it enabled him to get his painting back, he didn’t care.

      He looked up at her. ‘I may need the room for a couple of nights, if that’s okay?’

      She tightened the strapping. ‘Money upfront.’

      He tried to breathe through the pain. ‘No problem. Just the room, you understand?’

      She snapped off the latex gloves and placed her hands either side of his head. ‘I unnerve you, don’t I?’

      Instinctively, he pushed back against the chair. ‘Hell, yeah.’

      ‘Relax, sweetie.’ She patted the side of his face. ‘You’re not my type.’ She straightened and held out her hand. ‘Money.’

      ‘Money, right.’ He got out of the chair and removed his wallet. ‘Thanks for the first aid.’ He handed her the cash.

      She took the money and tucked it into her corset. ‘Keep the wound covered. Bleed over my equipment and you’ll—’

      ‘… die a slow and painful death. Yeah, I remember.’ He pocketed his wallet.

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