She may have been a bit cocky when she’d dismissed the pain of having her skin tattooed as trivial. “Just breathe.” Dalton’s breath was warm on the shell of her ear. She’d had her fingers clenched around his hand for last two and a half hours, grounding herself with his strength and compassion in an effort to keep from flinching as the needle struck again and again. During the first thirty minutes, she’d been able to grit her teeth and drift to the special spot in her mind she’d built years ago, where nothing could reach her. As the pain persisted, she’d had no choice but to accept Dalton’s calming touch. Still, she remained more than a little annoyed at Dalton for barging into the room, refusing to run away from her like any smart man would and being right about her needing a hand to hold. Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hand to hold for any reason. “Almost done.” The hint of cheeriness in Abigail’s voice made Lucy want to explode off the table and throttle her landlord’s pretty little neck.
