Wallflower Ink

Chapter 15

· Jace ·

I feel as if last night the air had finally been cleared between myself and Merri, and as I set up my work station to begin her back piece I feel better than I have the whole time I've been here.

Meticulously laying out my tools, I smile to myself. I'm in my element now. When I'm working, all I can think about is the portrait I'm creating, the dream of the customer I hope to realize.

When I have everything laid out where I need it, I step over to my drafting table and lift up the first of the large stencils, the basic outline that will eventually frame Merri's wings.

I cross the room then sit down again to wait. I study the image on the transfer paper--just as I've already done dozens of times--to assure myself that each and every line is as perfect as I can make it. With a satisfied nod I lay it to the side then pull out the bottle of stencil transfer lotion and a clean pair of gloves from the drawer under the table. As I'm laying them with everything else, Merri steps into the room from the hall.

Wearing a baggy t-shirt over a pair of jogging sweats, she looks about as far from her norm as she can get. Her expression is apprehensive, her eyes slightly widened, her lips pursed into a tight line. She's paler than normal and I frown at that.

She's scared, everything about her tells me that. I rise from my seat and walk the short distance to her then take her hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you ready?" I ask softly then wait for her to meet my gaze.

Her green eyes find mine and for just a moment I am jolted back to the day I first met her. This is the woman who'd nearly run right back out the door of my shop, the terrified hare in fear of the big bad wolf. I smile, both at the memory and in an effort to calm her fears. Her answering smile is tiny, nearly nonexistent.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I won't hold it against you if you change your mind."

I search her eyes a long moment, almost hoping she has decided not to go through with it--the thought of causing her pain of any kind has begun to bother me, ever since her confession the other night. But though I find plenty of worry in those emerald depths, I also find a bright sheen of determination, and I know that emotion will win out over any misgivings she's having.

"I'm ready," she says softly with a nod of her head that seems to be as much for herself as it is for me.

I nod mine too, and without letting go of her hand I lead her to the table. When I release her she climbs up on its end, turning her back to me. I watch as she pulls the long braid she's made of her hair over one shoulder then wait for her to pull off her shirt. As she does, I avert my gaze to give her as much privacy as I can.

"Okay." Her single word is but a whisper.

I look back to her and the perfect skin of her bare back. The lines of it are exquisitely sculpted, her shoulder blades much like delicate wings themselves. My heart beats just a bit quicker at the sight.

Turning away again I slip on my gloves, pick up the lotion bottle, then apply a generous amount to the palm of one hand. I move closer to Merri.

"This will be a little cold," I say softly then take a deep breath to calm myself.

She gives a quick nod and I gently place my hand on her back. Even through the glove I feel a small jolt as I touch her skin, as if a static charge has jumped from her and into me. And as I run my hand down the area I will soon be working on, the sensation intensifies.