“Do you mind?” he asked her with a raised brow.

“Nope.” She gave him an unrepentant grin that made him chuckle.

“Let’s go.” Juan turned and walked towards the back.

With a quick kiss and hug for Sophie, I raced after him, my only thought being I hoped I didn’t pass out.

My back was to the mirror. My head turned to look over my shoulder as I admired the tattoo in the mirror of my bedroom.

It was extraordinary. Taking up most of the right side of my upper back, it was more lifelike and realistic than it had been on the wall. The crisp blooms of the cherry blossoms and the vibrant shades of peach, pink and creams that made up the butterflies, highlighted by the black and white polka dots rimming their wings, was a work of art—literally.

Juan had not been wrong when he’d said the tattoo was going to take six hours. It actually took a little more. I didn’t mind though because it meant that he was putting more attention into all the subtle details that made it so special.

When he’d revealed the piece to me, I’d nearly burst into tears right then. I hadn’t thought it would be seemly to sob on the shoulder of a hot tattoo artist, so I’d choked them back, only letting a few stray ones leak from the corners of my eyes.

Once Candy had shown up with the girls, who oohed and ahhed over my tattoo, I’d paid the shopgirl. On our way out, Juan had emerged from the back and without a thought as to why I did it, I’d launched myself at him and gave him a tight hug.

The girls had conked out in the backseat of Candy’s car on the way home, giving her plenty of time to grill me about my day with the man of her dreams. There really hadn’t been much for me to tell her, much to her chagrin, because I had promptly taken him up on his offer for headphones and an mp3 player.

“You good in there?” Candy knocked on my bedroom door before opening it a crack. With just her eyeball visible through the crack, I couldn’t help it and started laughing hysterically at how ridiculous she looked.

Through my laughter, she pushed the door open and came into the room shaking a tube of A&D ointment at me. “Time for me to lube and then cover you up.”

“Thanks… I think,” I mumbled, giving her my back.

“You going to be good in the morning with this?” she asked as her fingers lightly spread the ointment on my tattoo to keep it from drying out.

“Yeah. I’ll call Ruth.”

“Okay.”

My cell phone rang and my eyes moved to where it sat on the bed. Candy picked it up and squealed at the name displayed on the screen. “Holy shit! It’s Marx!”

“What?” I asked in confusion. I hadn’t put his number in my phone. I hadn’t even thought to ask for it since he’d given me his card in case I was interested in seeing him outside of work.

“How the hell do you have Marx’s number programmed in your phone?” she demanded to know.

“I don’t know,” I answered her truthfully and reached for the phone. “Do you mind if I answer it and see what he wants?”

“That’s probably a good idea.” A frisson of anxiety set up shop in my gut. She handed me the phone and I swiped my finger across the screen before putting it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Aurora, its Marx.” His voice was smooth and sexy, like a phone sex operator. It had parts of me quivering that should not be excited just from a man’s voice.

“Hi?”

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in going out with me Friday night.” My earlier assessment of him being a man who cut right to the chase was once again confirmed when he voiced his request without preamble.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” I told him.

“That’s where we seem to disagree. I for one think it's a very good idea.”

“Yes, well, it only matters what I think,” I replied cheekily, which had him laughing into the phone. It was a rich, dark sound that did funny things to my stomach.

“How true that is,” he said under his breath. Then louder, he said, “It’s just dinner. If you have a dreadful time, I promise I’ll never ask again.”

My heart skipped a beat at the prospect of going on a date with a man like Marx. He was sophisticated and sexy, whereas I was young and gauche. There was also my profession and the fact that he was a client of mine to contend with.

“If he’s asking you out, you better go!” Candy whispered irately, her head so close to mine I was sure she could hear our conversation.

Well, damn. What the hell was I going to do? I really wanted to go. I had been intrigued with him since the first time I had met him. He had said he wanted to fuck me, and I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t intrigued by what he had to offer. And I really needed something to take my mind off Xavier and the stupid attraction I had to him.

One date couldn’t really be that bad. We could always part ways amicably if it didn’t work. And if it did, well, we could cross that bridge when we got to it. Surely couples faced obstacles like ours all the time. Well, not the prostitute/John hurdle, but obstacles nonetheless.

Oh, and did I mention I really wanted to go?

“Oh alright,” I murmured in a mock aggrieved tone, making him laugh again.

“I’ll pick you up Friday at seven,” he said through his mirth.

“Okay,” I said softly, still loving the sound of his waning laughter.

“Until then.”

“Bye, Marx.”

We hung up and I threw my phone on the bed.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Candy shouted, her hands pushing me hard enough to make me fall back on the bed.

“I have no idea how he got my number,” I admitted while chewing on my lip. “But I’m glad he did.”

“Damn, girl. You are like the queen of The Den. Seriously. I’m going to have to get you a fancy tiara and a name plaque for your door.” I chuckled at both her excitement and her misguided belief I would be the queen of anything.

“Um, Candy?” I asked in between giggles.

“Yeah?”

“What the hell am I going to wear on Friday?”

A slow grin spread across her face. “I know just the thing that will have Marx eating out of your hand.”

Marx led me into the scene of a raging party—a large two-story modern house, its floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the crush of people inside.

After dinner at the most exclusive five-star restaurant in town, where the conversation had been easygoing and comfortable, he’d asked me if I wanted to go to a get-together with some people he knew. I was understandably nervous about meeting friends of his. It was only our first date and I was relatively anxious about how we would broach the answer to how we met, a question they were sure to ask. After a bit of cajoling on his part, though, I’d finally agreed.

So here I was, following him into a packed entryway, wishing he had wanted to go somewhere quiet instead, where we could have been alone.

He was lucky he looked so damn sexy in his black pants and dark green dress shirt opened at the throat, considering he’d failed to mention it was going to be so packed.

He was also lucky I was wearing Candy’s new red satin dress that hugged my curves perfectly. I was a firm believer in the “if you look good then you’ll feel good” philosophy. Experiencing both right then, being in such a big crowd didn’t faze me as much as it normally would have.

We made our way through the people crowded in the entryway and into the open space living room, dining room and kitchen area. I noted in surprise that the whole place was decorated warmly yet manly—at least from what I could see of the large corduroy furniture, dark wood accents, and cream-colored walls, it was. It seemed a complete opposite from the modern façade of the building.