Free Protective Ink (Urban Fantasy) by Misty Simon Page A

and his arm was flung out would be the perfect pillow.
    Sighing, she tiptoed to the end table near his head and switched off the light, leaving only the glow of the kitchen light in the next room. She didn’t fear tripping in the dark since she knew the apartment like she knew her tools in the shop downstairs. But she was just one step away from the couch when her path was blocked by a hot palm wrapped around her thigh below the hem of her boy shorts.
    She held herself perfectly still, not sure if Jackson was awake or having a nightmare. He’d come out of his years in the military a whole lot darker than when he’d gone in. Some of that anger had diminished, but there were moments when she was sure he was still stuck back in the sands.
    “Down. I told you to get down, goddammit. Do it!” It was said in a growl. “Get down!” He shot into a sitting position and swung her around, pulling her to him. She ended up in his lap, her head facing his, her rear end on his thighs, her hair a tangle around her face. She didn’t dare move the strands of inky black out of her eyes. She had no idea if he was still in the grip of a nightmare and wasn’t willing to chance a fist to the arm or an elbow to the eye.
    His eyes were shut, but they darted back and forth behind lids that looked bruised. She wanted to run a hand down his arm in a caress meant to soothe but didn’t want to risk it.
    “Jackson,” she said quietly. “Jackson,” she repeated as she took the chance and cupped his cheek, the skin rough with bristly stubble.
    He nuzzled her hand and breathed in hard, his hand coming up to her face to mirror the caress. And then he drew her in for a kiss that made her toes curl. A kiss that almost made the one from yesterday pale in comparison. Had it really only been yesterday?
    * * *
    Somehow he had gotten from the dust and dirt of a roadside shack in the back end of nowhere to a room filled with vibrant colors and soft fabric, a kind of heaven after the heat and desperation of the desert.
    Soft lips moved under his, questing hands promised pleasure and safety. Solace.
    When he recognized Lissa’s face, he stood up before he could let the dream go further. He heard a thud on the floor at his feet.
    Snapping out of his dreamy state, he was bewildered to look down and see Lissa in a close-fitting tank top and some little shorts sprawled across the area rug. She rose to her elbows, glaring at him. “Thanks a lot, Big Guy. I didn’t see that coming.”
    “What? How?” But he stopped himself before he could blather like an idiot, taking a moment to consider his surroundings and how he had come to be here. He’d staggered into Lissa’s apartment earlier after cleaning up his bloody nose at Garrett’s. He’d had no idea when she was due home, only that she wasn’t downstairs tattooing people. Since breaking into her apartment had worked for him before, and he hadn’t wanted to go home without talking to her, he’d taken up residence on her couch to wait for her to come home. And here he was now. He had no memory of the in-between except the feel of sand under his fingernails and the taste of something sweet and a little dangerous on his tongue.
    Jesus, had he actually kissed her again? Sure, he’d thought of it about a billion times over the past day, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do it again.
    She completely ignored his outstretched hand and rose gracefully from the floor under her own steam. And there was quite a bit of steam. He imagined he could see it coming out of her ears and was tempted to take a step back from her.
    Fortunately, his phone rang, cutting through the sound of their heavy breathing. He would have kissed Garrett if he had been here, too.
    “Yeah?”
    “I have another cleanup, Jackson. The guy’s in the alley behind the Laundromat. I’m hurt bad, so I need to get to Dory as soon as I can. I need to get to Lissa for that protection tattoo, too. We should step that up pronto.”
    Fucking