“All right, you know the drill, shirt off,” DaVinci said as she returned.
Caine reluctantly let go of Eleanor. He shrugged out of his cut and then his tank top. He settled in the tattoo chair as DaVinci reclined it back. A razor made quick work of any lingering hairs before she carefully placed the stencil to transfer the image to his chest.
“Umm, should I go?” Eleanor asked.
“Of course not, sweetie,” DaVinci smiled. “Pull up that chair and enjoy the show. It’s all for you, you know.”
“Is it?” Eleanor sat as instructed. Caine immediately grasped her hand as DaVinci prepared her ink.
The artist looked up a moment before slapping Caine on the head, “You mean he hasn’t told you? Shame on him.”
Caine grimaced, looking at her with a sheepish look. It was strange to see him suddenly shy.
