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sensual lips, as if daring me to make a move. And I almost do. I want him. I’ve wanted him for a year. And now he’s here. In my chair. Making me think he wants me too. I could almost forgive his insufferable arrogance.
    “Okay, I do. Covers are a specialty of mine. But are you sure you want to irritate a woman who’ll be wielding a tattoo machine that could do some permanent damage to your skin, or worse, give you a tattoo that will embarrass you for life?”
    He pushes up the left sleeve of his T-shirt and holds out his arm. “Sounds to me like you’re saying yes. And it can’t be worse than this.”
    My lips quiver with a repressed smile, and I trace my finger over the chubby orange smiley fish on his bicep. “I noticed it when you were fighting, but I was never close enough to see what it was.”
    “Otto the fish from a children’s picture book. Got fucking drunk one night and must have mentioned it was my favorite book when I was a kid. A coupla my buddies dragged me to a tattoo studio, and I woke up the next day with Otto.”
    Laughter erupts from my throat and I pat tiny Otto’s head. “I like Otto. And he was actually done by a master artist. Look how his scales glow and shimmer, and the way he ripples when you move your arm. It would be a shame to ink over him.”
    Ray slides a finger under my chin and tilts my head up, forcing me to meet his searing gaze. “You got a pretty smile. It lights up your face, chases away the shadows. And you got a lot of shadows.”
    My cheeks flame at his insight, and I look away. “Shadows” doesn’t even begin to describe the baggage I’ve been carrying around—baggage that means I usually stay away from alpha males like Ray. “So how did you want to cover Otto?”
    “You like the fish?” Ray says quietly.
    “Yeah, I like the fish.”
    “I’ll keep the fish.”
    My head jerks up, and I can’t help but snort a laugh. “You can’t keep a tat you hate just because I like it. You don’t even know me. And it doesn’t really go with your Predator image in the ring.”
    He captures me with his gaze, deep, dark, and delicious. “What would you cover it with?”
    Without thinking, I stroke the tat on his bicep. I always get my best ideas through touch. So hard. So warm. So smooth. His muscle flexes under my fingers, rippling beneath the skin. But that is Ray. Hidden depths. Wild. Untamed.
    “Sia?” His deep voice rumbles through me, and my hand vibrates against his arm. Instantly, I know how I would ink him. Grabbing my notebook and pencil, I sketch out a design, partially abstract, partially tribal, merging lines and patterns until they form the rough outline of a wolf.
    “This.” I hold up the notepad. “This is what I would do. This is what I see every time I watch you fight.”
    He takes the notebook and studies it for a moment longer than is comfortable. My pulse kicks up a notch and disappointment clenches my gut. He doesn’t like it.
    His gaze locks on mine, heated and heavy. “You see this?”
    “It’s the great wolf, Fenrir, from Norse legend.” I shrug and grab the notepad from his hand. “Fenrir was a bit of a troublemaker so the gods decided to put him in shackles. However, Fenrir was so strong that there was no chain that could hold him. The gods asked the dwarves to create a magical ribbon that even Fenrir couldn’t escape. But Fenrir said he would only allow himself to be tied if one of the gods was willing to make a sacrifice and stick a hand in Fenrir’s mouth. And when one of them did, Fenrir bit it off.”
    Silence.
    I cringe under his unwavering gaze and sit heavily on my artist’s chair, which brings my eyes level with his strong chin. Damn. “I can come up with something else…”
    “Did the ribbon have big hazel eyes and long, silky dark hair, awesome tats, and the sweetest fucking smile on the West Coast?”
    An inferno rages in my cheeks. “Actually, it was a just an ordinary red ribbon.”
    “Like the scarf you wore the