"Never had one," Maxim admitted, shifting thoughtfully in his chair, her hand still occupying and occasionally squeezing his. "Want to go this year?"
"You want me to pop your cherry?" Savannah's smile twisted wistfully, and she kept her eyes on him, studying him, even as her body flinched slightly beneath the onslaught of the needle. It was one of the most beautifully tragic expressions that Maxim had ever seen. "You pay for my ink tonight, and it's a date."
"Done."
It was the script. It was all a part of the script, and they were merely actors. Even if every line they traded was made up on the fly, this wasn't real flirtation … and it was a credit to Agent Casillero's skills that he had fooled himself into almost thinking it was.
"And done," Adrian proclaimed what felt like only moments later, drawing back from his delicate canvas. Maxim leaned around to look as the tattoo artist went and retrieved a mirror so that Savannah could assess the finished product. The sword was small and slender as a dagger, and entirely monochrome, which was why Adrian had been able to finish it so swiftly. Savannah turned her head slightly, wincing at what Maxim knew, having been on the receiving end of Adrian's work many times himself, was the ache that accompanied the finished product.
"Looks good on you," he noted approvingly.
"Not half bad," Savannah admitted, turning her head more gingerly to look again from a different angle. "Now everyone will know I'm yours, right?"
Maxim hated the way the question caught him by surprise. Obviously, Savannah hadn't intended it the way he instinctively took it, but he couldn't help but consider her in those same terms when he looked at her now: as his. The thought of exercising some modicum of possession over such a beautiful, lethal creature lit a fire in his belly. There was no denying the flare of desire he felt for her-had felt for her since the beginning-was only stoked by the idea that his mark had been imprinted on her for the rest of her life.
Adrian dabbed the area clean and taped a bandage across it, effectively sheathing the sword. Savannah slid down off the chair and went to use the wash room as Maxim followed Adrian to the counter. When he reached into his back pocket to go for his wallet, Adrian stalled him with a hand.
"My gift to her," the artist said. "She is a lovely woman."
"I'm a lucky man." The words passed his lips easily, reflexively, as he watched Savannah exit the bathroom. She had let her hair down and was still rubbing the back of her neck, but smiled and stopped when she noticed him watching her. She pointed to indicate she was going outside, before disappearing out the front door. Like a moth mesmerized by a departing light, Maxim found himself compelled to follow. He dropped a nod of thanks to the proprietor before starting for the door.
"Maxim." Adrian's thick pronunciation of his name gave him pause. Maxim turned to find the tattoo artist smiling, although the look in his eyes was calculated. "You are planning on returning to work soon-your real work-ja?"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention you saw me," Maxim replied, knowing full well the pair of loose lips he was talking to. That was part of the point of coming here tonight. His friendship with Adrian was practically lifelong, but that didn't mean he trusted the other man to know when to keep his mouth shut. He did feel a little sorry for manipulating him like this, but decided privately that he would blame his new capacity for subterfuge on Savannah; odds were the agent would approve.
"Ah," Adrian said knowingly. "Understood." He winked, and Maxim offered him the slyest of smiles in return as he clapped the other man on the back.
"You did great work tonight. Be seeing you."
Outside, he found Savannah gazing at her reflection in the side mirror of his Nighthawk, occasionally attempting to turn and scrutinize the bandage on the back of her neck.
"Leave it alone," he advised her. "We both know you didn't really want a new tattoo, and you definitely don't want one that's aggravated."
Savannah tilted her head to look at him, before straightening up once more. Maxim didn't attempt to suppress the urge that came over him then; he embraced it wholeheartedly, reaching forward to shift her hair back into place over her neck. His fingertips brushed fleetingly across her skin. Did he imagine it, or did she lean slightly into his touch? Did her eyelashes flutter? Maybe her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness outside the parlor.