Indelibly Intimate by Regina Cole

do to keep from kissing her. But her nervous expression had stopped him cold. He had to move slow. She was still spooked from what happened before.
    Once the doors of the elevator closed, he allowed himself a victory sigh. He’d move slow but he’d be damned if he let an opportunity like this pass them by. As time went on, he was more and more sure he wanted to see more of Quinn. A whole lot more.
    The elevator descended slowly, soft dings for each floor. The solitude left him time to think. About her, about him, then about the past, about Lora…
    Thankfully, the doors opened. His brother’s mistake-turned-Hammer’s-burden wasn’t what he wanted on his mind this weekend. What happened with Lora was a long, long time ago. Quinn was here and now, and he had every intention of keeping his mind—and his body—firmly in the present.
    The mindless job of unloading his gear from his Jeep numbed his memories and helped him focus on the here and now. The parking lot was filling rapidly, other artists and exhibitors competing for the same space to unload their own equipment. Nodding greetings to acquaintances and giving his signature half-smile to old friends, Hammer made his way to his assigned booth space.
    The huge ballroom was marked off with typical convention aisles, pipes with black and white drapes cordoning off each individual booth. With a critical eye, Hammer scanned the layout of the room as he approached his booth. Traffic should flow to the right and that meant customers would be seeing his booth relatively early in their visit to the convention. Good news for someone who needed the exposure as desperately as Hammer did at this point in his career.
    His black duffle made a dull thud as he dropped it on the table at the front of his booth. Leaving his tattoo kit beside it and propping the rolled-up sign against the draped-and-skirted table, he stepped back, crossing his arms as he examined his space and made his plan of attack.
    Privacy screen there, portfolios with table up front. Sparky can sit there and greet people. I’ll put the big banner across the right side, canvas pieces on the left…
    Something big caught Hammer in the small of his back. Stumbling in surprise, he righted himself then pivoted to see what the hell had knocked him.
    A Jersey Shore wannabe apologized insincerely at him from behind a massive cart laden with large boxes. “Sorry man. Just passing through.” The overly tanned guy wore a bright green tank top, revealing a mixture of both good and bad ink on his arms. He wheeled his overloaded dolly down the aisle without a second glance.
    Hammer let it go and got to work unpacking his gear and preparing his space. Some so-called “artists” had more balls than brains.
    Several minutes later, he bent over, struggling to attach the banner he’d had specially printed for the convention to the stand.
    “Do you want some help with that?” The soft feminine voice brought his attention around.
    “Hey, Sparky,” he said, straightening. “I thought you were settling in.”
    She shoved her hands in the pockets of her denim shorts and shrugged. “I promised to help you so here I am. I’ve got to work off a pretty epic tattoo.” She pointed a toe and flexed her leg muscles, making the newly healed phoenix catch the light.
    Hammer nodded. “It is pretty damn epic. I won’t turn you down a second time. Lend me a hand with this sign.”
    They worked well together, which didn’t surprise Hammer at all. But it was a chore to keep his mind on what he was doing. When she stood on a chair, reaching high to adjust the corner of his “Tattoo Hammer” sign, her shirt rode up, revealing the curve of her hip and that beautiful sun tattoo. The sight brought back memories of the first time he’d seen that ink, shadowed in a dim bedroom after some of the best sex he could remember. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing her leg with his fingers.
    “Steady there,” he said,