Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) Read Online Free PDF Page B

say my name in the cab.”
    “Oh.” I stumble and then right myself, keeping my head down, concentrating on not tripping over the uneven sidewalk in the dim light.
    “Hold on,” Tyler says and extends his right elbow. I wrap my left hand around his leather-clad forearm gratefully. He rests his hand lightly on mine as we walk in silence for a few hundred feet.
    “I need you to promise me you won’t say where this is in your article, Stella. Not even the neighborhood.”
    Behind the aviator glasses, Tyler’s face is pinched with worry. Even though I need to keep this story real, I can give him this much.
    “I’ll carry the secret to my grave.” I put my right hand over my heart.
    Tyler hesitates and then nods. “I believe you will.”
    At the next corner, Tyler turns down a side street but stops abruptly, fishing for keys in his pocket. We face a dingy metal door with a peeling sign that says DO NOT BLOCK . A few yards away, a Dumpster is shoved against the squat, square building’s brick walls. Beyond that, cars are parked along the building.
    I don’t feel unsafe since I’m standing next to Tyler, but I’m disappointed that we’re not going to the über-hip practice studio I imagined.
    Tyler twists keys in a series of three locks to open the industrial door, then follows me inside a stairwell with worn timbers for stairs. The walls are covered with vibrant layers of paint, some of it graffiti, and round white globe lights the size of soccer balls hang at various levels.
    Tyler secures each lock behind us and the space smells of old wood, paint and newspapers. I’m afraid I already know what’s coming next.
    “It’s on the top floor.”
    Damn. I debate taking off my shoes but I’m sure I’d skewer a foot on a splinter or stray nail.
    Tyler must have seen my face fall. He pulls off his aviator glasses and tucks them inside his jacket’s chest pocket. “Hey, don’t look so worried. I won’t make you walk all the way up. We have a freight elevator, but it’s so old that it takes forever.” He turns his back to me. “Hop on,” he says over his shoulder.
    Is he for real? I’m small, but do I really want him carrying me up five flights of stairs? My face heats.
    “Come on,” he coaxes. I push my purse behind me with its strap across my body, hike up my stretchy black jersey dress and put my hands on his broad shoulders.
    Tyler squats and bounces me up against his back so effortlessly that I squeak with surprise.
    “Hold on.” He climbs the steps fast, his broad hands wrapped under my bare legs just behind my knees. I can’t help but feel how my legs are spread, my panties pressed against the small of his back and his leather jacket.
    Each bounce against his back makes my nerves more raw, my body more traitorous with desire. Did I come here for a booty call, or to write a story? Gah, I don’t know. I want them both. But I can only choose one.
    I need to keep him at arm’s length. He’s a story. A subject. And as a journalist, I can’t get involved.
    But as I’m riding him, I know I’m already involved. His touch to my lips in the cab. His hand pulling me through the restaurant. Tyler’s got bad boy inked all over him in each tattoo and he’s got the attention of every cell in my body.
    Bad boys are just my style.
    My face is flushed by the time we reach the top stair landing and Tyler’s not even breathing hard. He lets me slide off his back and I pull my dress back into place and gather my wits.
    Tyler unlocks two more deadbolts in another wide metal door and ushers me inside, hitting an industrial light switch panel to illuminate the old warehouse.
    I gasp as I hear the locks click behind me. This was not what I expected at all. The ceiling is at least fifteen feet high, crisscrossed by massive timbers. The floor is wood, worn smooth and shiny in some places. Multi-paned warehouse windows run from waist high to the ceiling and bare Edison bulbs hang down on long cords.
    I follow Tyler