The Strongest Steel (23 page)

“My son, Anton.” They both looked over as he pulled out a textbook, puzzled by whatever it was he was reading.

“He struggles. Well, in anything he has to write in. Math, he’s great at. I guess seventh grade is tough. We all set for starting next week then?”

Harper nodded and picked up her purse. “I would say I can’t wait … but…”

Frankie smiled, “It’s okay, I get it. We’ll get through this.”

As she was leaving, she saw Anton tug a hand through his hair in frustration, his shoulders rounding in defeat.

“Hey, Anton.” Harper walked toward him. He looked up at her curiously. “I’m Harper. What are you working on?”

He looked over toward his dad before answering. “Stupid essay on the sea.”

“Can I see it? I can help if you want.” His eyebrows furrowed, and he bit his lip in thought. He moved his backpack out of the way and created space for her to sit.

“Hmm. ‘Take a quote about the sea from literature and discuss what the author was trying to express.’ Wow. That’s a doozy of a question. What were you thinking?”

“I dunno. I don’t know many quotes.”

“Well, we could maybe use your dad’s computer, but here’s one quote offhand: Did you know that Franz Kafka once wrote that a book should serve as ‘the axe for the frozen sea within us’?”

“What, like books make us feel warm?” He looked at her hopefully.

“Definitely. You are one smart cookie,” Harper answered, warmed by the first genuine smile she had seen on Anton’s face. “I’m sure we can come up with more.”

*   *   *

The sun coming in through the main windows haloed Harper’s silhouette when she walked in a bit later that afternoon. There was a deep red in the darkness of her hair that he’d never noticed before. He leaned against the hallway wall and watched her talking animatedly to Pixie.

She wore a black strapless sundress that skimmed the floor and silver sandals that showed off the bright pink of her toes. A halter-neck bikini poked over the top, and now that he knew what it was encasing, he found it increasingly hard to keep his dick in check.

The Harper he was looking at now, standing on tiptoe to look over the desk at whatever was on Pixie’s laptop, was so different from the Harper who’d approached him on the street that night. She’d seemed so fragile back then; even her skin had felt like ice to the touch.

Seeming to sense him, she turned her head to look straight at him, her eyes hooded with emotions he couldn’t or didn’t want to fully acknowledge. Her tongue licked her upper lip before her teeth claimed the lower one.

Neither of them moved. They just stood, staring as electricity charged between the two of them. He pushed off the wall. Christ, he was done for.

Without saying a word, he came to stand right before her, practically toe to toe. He knew his height gave him a huge advantage, and he grinned as she leaned backward to look up at him.

“Just kiss her already!” Pixie called with a whoop.

Harper laughed, the sweetest freakin’ sound, and Trent couldn’t hold out any longer. Bending, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her until their faces were close to level, her legs still dangling down.

As his lips touched hers, the burning he had for her flamed hotter. Without stopping, he reversed them out of the main studio toward his office, flicking the bird at Cujo, who was staring at them with his mouth open.

Pushing up her dress, he wrapped Harper’s legs up around his waist, backed her into the door of his office, and locked it.

The music was blasting loud, vibrating the pictures on the wall with the heavy beat and disguising the sounds of them making out like teenagers in his office.

“How was Frankie?” he managed to ask before his lips reclaimed hers.

“Helpful. I missed you,” Harper mumbled against his lips as he pushed his aching hard-on against her stomach.

“Really,” he murmured back, “I didn’t miss you at all.” Feeling the slight tug on his hair made him groan.

Harper tipped her head back and laughed as he reached up and pulled her strapless dress down, uncovering her bikini top. He was seriously going to hell if he took her in his office with a studio full of people outside.

It was hard to resist her nipples, which were standing at such perfect attention. He leaned forward and gently bit one through her bikini before lifting her higher.

“Jesus, Harper.” His heart was getting one hell of a workout as it pounded in his chest. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Hi, baby.” She looked up at him under lowered eyelashes.

How could he want her this badly all the time? Her mouth was all swollen from the heated exchange. A sexual haze smoldered from her eyes as her back arched. Screw the tattoo, he wanted to take her on the floor right now.

He tightened the hold on her thighs, pushing her legs open wider so he could get his erection even closer to her sweet spot. Trent groaned as she rubbed up against his rock hard length.

Their lips clashed back together with a furious need.

Trent stopped himself, pulling away from her. “We need to go next door now before I get really nasty with you in here.”

God, her smile was something else. He really was a goner.

*   *   *

Controlling highly intense sexual urges was a new problem for Harper. Having lived the last several years as a self-imposed celibate, plugging the dam once it had opened was proving to be a challenge.

And when the very person who had pulled the proverbial plug on it was standing not one foot away after manhandling her up against a wall, it was even harder.

Trent led them to the private room, and leaned in to kiss her softly one last time before he changed the height of the bed. “Up you go. I’ll just get the rest of what I need to get started.”

Harper watched him bring over the little pots of ink and line them up just how he wanted them.

“They look a little bright sitting there. I don’t want to look like a Crayola box threw up on me.”

“Told you, Harp, I’m amazing at this stuff. I learned that red plus yellow equals orange in kindergarten.”

Harper couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend your creative expertise, but you’ve got to admit, it does look a little vivid.”

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her iPod and started to find something to get her through the session. Maybe a bit of Garth Brooks. That would help. Or Lady Antebellum … always a good choice.

Before she could stop him, Trent whipped her iPod out of her hands. “Okay, darlin’. I can’t do it. I can’t go through another three or four hours of country shit. I know you love it, and I have no idea why because it makes my teeth hurt. Can we please, please, please not listen to it today?” One look at his face and Harper started laughing.

“What happened to the customer is always right? You didn’t say anything the last time I was here.” Harper turned to kneel up on the table, trying to grab the iPod out of Trent’s hands.

He lifted it above his head out of her reach, showing a magnificent inch of his washboard stomach. “Yes, but I was trying to get you into bed with me and was being nice. I hadn’t licked chocolate sauce off those perfect nipples of yours before. I think that gives me some right to be a bit more honest now.”

“Oh my God, you are unbelievable.”

Still holding the iPod in one hand over his head, he wrapped the other tighter around her waist and pulled her toward him, kissing her playfully. “Mmm. An unexpected advantage of this conversation.” He let out a harrumph as Harper elbowed him in the ribs, pushing him away.

“Fine. We won’t do country. What can we listen to?”

Trent reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone and waved it at her.

“NO. No way. I don’t want some subliminal message telling me I should go jump off a bridge or become a devil worshipper.”

Trent let out a loud bark of laughter. “Seriously, Harper,” he continued, laughing, “where the hell do you get your ideas?”

She gave him her evil eye, but he just kept laughing like she was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

He slid her iPod into his back pocket. “I’m going to educate you in the finer art of metal this afternoon, darlin’. According to our rental agreement, no satanic worship is allowed on the premises and we only sacrifice live animals on Tuesdays and Saturdays, so you’re safe.”

With a groan, Harper sat, pushing her strapless dress down to reveal her back as Trent fiddled with the docking station.

Drums in a fast, pounding rhythm were followed by guitars. A rough voice singing about a white man coming across the sea joined the catchy rhythm.

“This,” said Trent, “is the start of Harper’s Metal 101. By the end of this, you’ll wonder what the heck you ever saw in country. To start is classic Iron Maiden. ‘Run to the Hills.’” He pushed his hair back, put his baseball cap on backward, pulled on his gloves, and sat down on his stool.

It wasn’t as bad as Harper was expecting. You could kind of hear the lyrics, and the chorus was actually kind of catchy, not that she’d ever tell Trent. His foot was tapping as he straightened the cable of one of his tattoo machines.

Once he was done, he looked up at her. “Are you wearing a full bikini, or just the top?”

“Full. It felt weird to just wear the top.” It smacked of OCD, but that’s who she was.

“Take your dress off. It’ll give me more inspiration to work with.” One look at his eyes said he wasn’t joking.

“What do I get in return for being your muse?”

“Other than a kick-ass tattoo, what else is there?” Oh. She liked his confidence. She liked it. A lot.

Kneeling up on the bed to face him, she wriggled the dress down slowly across her flat stomach and over her hips. Trent’s eyes darkened and he licked his lower lip before biting it as he watched her shimmy the dress down to her knees.

Shaking his head, he smirked. “You continue to surprise me, Harper. Totally thought you were going to say no. This is awesome. Should have asked you to do that last time you were here. Okay. Lie down, hot stuff. I got some ink to play with and some lettering up your back that needs to be finished.”

The machine started to buzz and the usual feeling of anticipation tinged with a little fear surged through her. His hands stroked down her skin. Skin he’d shaved in the shower that morning. The Vaseline he rubbed into her skin was slightly sticky.

“Sixth single they released and the first one with their new singer, Bruce Dickinson. You’ll see that a lot in metal. There is a lot of movement of people between bands. Sometimes permanent, sometimes not. I’ll get to Dio and Ozzy in a bit as examples. This was likely their most commercially successful song … debatable whether or not it’s their best, but definitely one of the most popular.”

Maybe it was because the nature of their relationship had changed so much since her last appointment, but it felt more intimate having Trent tattoo her. When the needles started to do their thing on her skin, it took her breath away.

The song ended and Trent leaned over to line up the next one. A haunting voice started to count down. “Eight … seven … six … six … six … five … four…”

“Oh lovely,” Harper murmured. “Six six six? Seriously?”

“What metal countdown would be complete without at least one offering from Slipknot? Nu metal. This is ‘The Heretic Anthem’ from
Iowa,
their second album. Born in Des Moines, Iowa, funnily enough, and famous for wearing masks when they perform.”

“Sounds like the guy is going to throw up his vocal cords.”

Her bikini fell loose as Trent untied the strings. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“I’ve seen what’s under there, darlin’. It’s way easier for me with it not in the way. If I don’t, you’ll end up with missing letters.”

“Any more clothes come off and I might as well be naked,” she grumbled, more to herself than Trent.

“Now there’s a thought. What would I have to do to get you naked on my bed?”

“I am so not getting on that list.”

“What list?” He stopped inking her to change the tunes again.

“The ‘How many girlfriends can Trent tattoo naked in the back room?’ list.”

She jumped as Trent appeared crouched down in front of her. Shit. He looked pissed.

“Just so we’re clear, there is no list. I haven’t tattooed any girlfriends in the past. I haven’t had anyone naked on my bed. I don’t use what I do as a way to pick up chicks and get laid.” He studied her intently until his face softened and he stroked her cheek with his finger and leaned in for a soft lingering kiss. “But for you, I’ve made a most definite exception. You’re a first in many ways, darlin’.”

Standing, he stroked her face one more time before returning to his stool.

A first in many ways. What on earth did he mean by that?

The loud knock momentarily preceded Cujo throwing the door open and sticking his head in.

Harper grabbed for the strings of her bikini top in a panic, but Trent simply put his hand over hers as she tried to tie them while he continued to clean up her back with a cloth.

“What are you crazy kids doing back here?” Trent’s thumb continued to rub against her wrist, soothing her. If she stayed lying down on her front, it wasn’t like Cujo could see anything.

“I’m expanding Harper’s musical knowledge into the metal genre. Right, darlin’?”

“Something like that.” Harper turned her head to look at the bald-headed giant who was grinning at her.

“So what’s next on the playlist? Metallica?” He walked in and leaned on the bed, looking at her back.

“Nah. I’m gonna end with that. Probably some Killswitch Engage, maybe some Converge and Cannibal Corpse, Dio and probably some Korn for old times’ sake I think.” Oh my God. Didn’t they realize that she was lying practically naked between them? They were having this super-normal conversation.

“This looks epic, T. Could be the best work you’ve ever done. You can hardly see the … erm … well … you know.” He trailed off.

There was an awkward moment. Harper swore she could see a tumbleweed drift by.

“It’s okay. That was the general idea, so it’s good you can’t see them.”

There was a sigh of relief. “Glad you said that, Harp, ’cause I think your boy was about to rip me a new one.”