Free Tyler by Jo Raven Page A

blue and light spills through the store front, seeping between the tattoo designs stuck inside the glass.
    With a fortifying breath, I step inside. Soft music is playing for the customers—soft vocals, quite unlike Zane’s taste in music, which leans more toward punk rock and metal. Two men are standing in front of the desk, hiding it from view—wide shoulders, leather biker jackets, shaved heads and silver studs on the shells of their ears. The usual type of customers at Damage Control. I wait until they’re done and then take their place in front of the desk.
    Tyler is standing there, typing something at the computer. His dark head is bowed, silky strands brushing his square jaw and falling in his face. He’s wearing a light gray, long-sleeved T-shirt that hugs his muscled arms and broad chest and faded jeans hanging low on his narrow hips.
    Whoa, Tessa’s right. Boy’s smokin’ hot. My face feels warm, the heat creeping up my neck. I tug on the collar of my jacket, suddenly breathless.
    I must have made a noise, because he looks up from the computer, a hand poised over the keyboard.
    “I’ll be right with you…” His eyes widen, dark like the night, and his jaw slackens. “Erin?”
    I wipe my palms on my pants and struggle to formulate words. His lips look soft like satin, and when he licks them it’s all I can do not to grab and kiss him.
    Good job, Erin. Losing your mind the moment he looks at you.
    “I, um,” I say intelligently and shift my weight. Focus, Erin. On something other than his lips, that is. “Can we talk?”
    His gaze drops, and he heaves a quiet sigh. “Sure.”
    “Where can we go?” I’m suddenly aware of the buzz of the tattoo guns and voices.
    His jaw clenches, and his gaze slides sideways. I turn and see Zane watching us, his slanted eyes narrowed.
    “Come with me,” Tyler says and steps around the desk. He grabs my hand and drags me behind him. I don’t even think twice as I follow him to the back of the shop, to the customers’ bathroom, my resolutions and my list forgotten.
    ***
    As he opens the door, I tug on his hand, and he lets go. His dark eyes shift to me, uncertainty flickering in their depths.
    Good. Let him be uncertain.
    He hangs back, and I step inside the spacious bathroom. The black granite counter where the white sink rests is cool under my hands as I lean back against it. A floral air-freshener scent wafts around me.
    Then Tyler steps inside and locks the door behind him. He turns toward me, running a big hand through his longish hair, and steps closer. His presence fills the room. His shoulders seem impossibly wide, his gaze growing darker by the second. The room is growing smaller.
    I suck in a sharp breath and press back against the counter, the granite edge digging into my palms. He looms over me, and my heart thumps too fast in my chest. My demands, my questions, every word in my vocabulary flees at the sight of him. From close up, he doesn’t look so much like Asher. His mouth is wider, his cheekbones high, and that gaze… It glides over my skin like liquid fire.
    Another scent overlays the floral air freshener now. It’s musky and deep, layers of masculine, clean sweat and a whiff of pinewood. I draw it into my lungs as if it’s oxygen before I realize it’s all him, the scent awakening memories I thought buried and dead—of Tyler kissing me, holding me. Our bodies pressed together, skin to skin, our limbs tangled.
    “Why?” I blurt out, to break the spell.
    “Why what?” his voice rumbles, low and deep, sending shivers skittering over my skin.
    God. I can’t let his face, his scent, his body take away my reason. I came here to talk. “Why did you leave four years ago?”
    His mouth flattens, and he shoves his fingers through his unruly hair. Those broad shoulders roll in a shrug.
    That’s it? He thinks he’s off the hook that easily? No way. I push off the counter and get into his face—well, I crane my neck and almost rise on my