Kyla always said to me that she wanted me to move on after she was gone. She repeated it and I was adamant it couldn't be done.

Or more to the point, I wasn't sure she meant it. But after reading her thoughts, her words, I know she was being genuine.

A journal was a place that was personal. A place to reveal what was in someone's heart and mind.

If she was scared about the fact that I would move on, that's where she would have voiced it.

And after reading her journal, it was like a weight had been lifted. She would always hold a special place in my heart. That would never change.

She was my first love. My first loss. She taught me so much about who I am as a partner and I would never forget that.

But I no longer felt gut wrenching guilt when I thought about Amalia. When I thought about kissing her and spending time with her and doing other things with her.

It made a huge difference. I was grateful that Justine took the time to bring me the journal. She's a good woman.

On Wednesday, my second day working at the gallery, I locked up at four and started down the road.

What appealed to Elias about the location for his second Delgado gallery was that it was close to his daughter's place of work.

That meant it was easy for him to go and see her if he was in New York and she didn't have far to go if she needed to come in and help.

It also made it easier for me to go a block over after I was done for the day. She had a late night booking with a customer who couldn't get time off during the day.

He paid a little extra for her to remain open late. But I knew she had to hang around for a couple of hours in between.

So I opened the door at the small parlour with a carton of hot noodles and wontons.

I hadn't been in here before but it was a standard establishment with art on the walls and pictures of client tattoos.

A desk extended from the left wall and created an L shape. It was covered in pamphlets of information, small steel figures of dragons and a rack of tattoo aftercare ointment.

The door closed behind me and the man behind the counter who was counting cash, peered up.

He was tall and lean with a slight hunch in his shoulders, more piercings on his face than skin and blonde frazzled hair that was down to his shoulders.

"How's it going mate?" He had a thick Australian accent.

He must have been in his mid thirties but he had tan skin. Like he'd spent a lot of time in the sun and I wondered if that aged him.

"Hey, good thanks," I said and let my eyes sweep the area. Before I could ask for Amalia, the tall Australian bellowed out for her.

"Mal," he shouted over his shoulder towards the back area. "Mal you have a guest, chick."

He looked at me as he opened a deposit bag and started slipping the money into it. "The good looking blokes are always here for Mal."

The abrupt bout of envy startled me. But I couldn't help it.

I imagined all of the men she would tattoo. The fact she'd have to be up close and personal with them.

I'd never given it much thought until now. But I shook it off. I didn't have the right to be jealous. I also wondered what kind of relationship this guy had with her.

Amalia appeared from the back with her long beautiful curls in a bun. Her white t shirt was cut off at the middle and her legs looked long in black high waist silk shorts.

The smile she wore when she found me standing there, watching her, was breathtaking.

"Hey," she stopped in front of me.

The scent of her sweet spice was infused with a hint of chemical and latex. I could see the powder from her rubber gloves coating her hands.

"I bought you some dinner," I handed the box over.

She inhaled the aroma with gratitude. "You didn't have to do that."

"It was no trouble."

She bit down on her lip, grinning, and ducked her head as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Oh uh," she quickly looked at the Australian who stood up. "This is Jimmy. He owns the parlour. He just moved here a couple of years ago with his wife and daughter."

Nice.

"It's good to meet you," I leaned across and shook his hand.

"You too mate. I better get home eh. Little Nel has a teacher parent meeting for calling her classmates sick cunts. It's a bloody compliment."

Amalia and I laughed as he shook his head and left, grumbling. And then Amalia and I were alone.

So I leaned in and kissed her freckled cheek.

She smiled and turned on her white sneaker, gesturing for me to follow her. "Come and sit out back. Did you bring something to eat?"

I followed her through into a sterile room with lots of stainless steel surface and machines and a couple of seats.

We sat down in front of a bench. Bottles of ink and small plastic drawers filled with needles and other supplies sat along the wall. Amalia put the box of food down and pulled her chair in closer.

"I didn't know if I was going to be able to hang around so I didn't bring anything," I leaned back in the seat. "You go ahead."

She opened the lid and inspected the box. I watched her exposed torso and the way her hair fell from behind her ear. So beautiful.

"I'm not going to eat all of this," she laughed and turned to me. "Share with me? Please?"

We sat together and ate noodles and wontons. She asked me about how the Delagado gallery was going and I filled her in on the clients I'd met and the three sales I'd made.

She seemed excited and eager to hear about how things were going. I even confided in the whole ordeal with Kyla's mom and the journal.

She was understanding, listening intently while I explained how much of a difference it made.

"She sounds like she was so sweet," Amalia used a napkin, dabbing at the corner of her mouth.

"She was. I was pretty lucky to have the real deal the first time around."

"You don't know how lucky," she mumbled and stood up, collecting the trash and throwing it out. "I've had a run of assholes. The first guy I had a real relationship with cheated on me and it didn't get a whole lot better after that."

She sat down again, not verbalising the shit head that came next but we both knew who it was.

Perhaps she didn't feel it was worth mentioning because she'd said once before that she was over what happened with Luc. She smiled and there was nothing awkward about it.

I leaned forward and her gaze widened in surprise as I tucked her hair behind her ear and fixed her with a serious expression.

"It'll get better," I murmured and traced her cheek with the back of my hand. My thumb grazed her lip.

She swallowed and her tongue lapped out where I'd just touched her mouth.

I meant it though. If she gave me a chance, I wouldn't hurt her. I couldn't. She was another example of shitty things happening to good people. And she should never have to hurt like that again.

"How long have you got until that booking?" I asked, interrupting the tension that lingered between us.

She sat up straight and checked her cellphone on the bench. "I have two hours. It's five."

"I've always wanted a tattoo of my sister's birthday. A subtle honour for the sister we lost," I said. Amalia raised a curious brow but it was clear she wasn't going to ask. "Abby was a twin but mom miscarried her."

"Aw. That's a nice idea. I could do that. It wouldn't take long at all."

Amalia snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and gestured at the seat in the middle of the room. "Are you going to sit or stand the entire time."

"Sorry," I laughed and sat down on the leather reclining chair.

It reminded me of a dentist seat but wider and more comfortable. She was mildly distracting if I was being honest.

I watched as she walked around and prepared. She tinkered with her tech and turned the machines on.

Her tongue sat between her lips, concentrated, and I inhaled a subtle breath.

I wasn't nervous. I had a couple of tattoos that Lucas and I had done together. The way that her cheeks blushed whenever she stole a glance at me was what had my heart beating faster.

"So," she held a pen in her hand. "Where am I doing this? I need to sketch it first."

"Uh," I hadn't given it a lot of thought. "My chest? Like just below the collarbone maybe?"

"I like it," she sat down on the swivel seat beside me. "Can you uh, can you take your shirt off?"

"Yeah," I quickly leaned forward and pulled it over my head.

I dropped it on the floor and relaxed into the seat again. The leather was cool on my back but her hands were warm, even through the gloves, on my chest.

"Perfect," she said and I noticed her swallow a little harder than before.

She began drawing with her tongue between her teeth. Her brows furrowed and she angled her hand differently a few times before she sat back and sighed.

"Sorry, I'm just in an awkward position."

She stood up and went behind me so she was leaning over my shoulder. But that didn't work either.

She came around to my other side and twisted her elbow into a chicken position and then growled with frustration when she still couldn't get her angle right.

"Maybe you could— sit— on me?"

She blushed. "I didn't want to be unprofessional."

"I'm not going to put in a complaint to the manager," I said and wanted to facepalm at the stupid joke.

She grinned and held on to my shoulders as she threw her leg across my lap.

She was straddling me now and began to shift closer before she rested her forearms on my chest and started to draw.

Whenever she shifted her feet, her hips moved and the friction against my lap was getting impossible to ignore.

It was quiet apart from the music coming from the portable speaker on her shelf. Her breath fanned my neck, mint and fresh. Her finger tips dug into my shoulder where she held on and a loose strand of her hair tickled my chest.

"Is this okay?" She practically whispered. "Um not to be awkward but I can feel your heart under my hand. It's going hard."

I swallowed because that wasn't all that was going hard.

"It's fine," I assured her. "I'm um— I'm nervous about the tattoo. That's all."

She peered up at me through her long thick lashes and bit down on her lip. "There's nothing to be nervous about."

I nodded and squeezed the arm rests beside me. Her exposed torso was pressed against mine and she looked back down at her work with a pinch in her brows.

She was so close to me. The top of her head was tickling my jaw. I could smell her sweet spice scent.

She carried on drawing but looked up at me again and her gaze fell on my lips.

Without a word, she raised her head and even though it was bold, I lowered mine to meet her in the middle.

She kissed me.

It was soft and slow but it was perfect. We continued to kiss soft and slow.

Our closed mouths moved against each other for a while. As if we were getting a feel for it. Sort of like we had during the weekend.

But then I burst. I tucked a hand around her neck and pushed her lips open with my tongue.

There was a fear she would push me away. But she didn't. She kissed me back. Eager and hard.

The sound of the pen hitting the floor didn't serve to interrupt us. She wrapped her arms around my face and wound her hands into my hair.

Instead of squeezing the arm rests, I placed them on her lower back and let them travel up and down her spine.

Her hips rolled and she moaned into our fierce kiss. She was something else. I kept hold of her lower back, the other hand went into her hair, my grip was strong and I tugged, causing her to moan into my mouth.

Her fingers slid into my hair, then slid down to my neck and across my chest as I held her hip.

She rolled, grinding and driving me wild. Her whimpers and moans reverberated through me, sending me over the edge.

Our hands didn't slow, our tongues were fast, kisses a hot mess. I wrapped an arm around the middle of her back and pulled her so tight against me that she gasped, moaning.

"Amalia," I groaned. Her mouth moved down my neck and onto my chest as I held her hair and pushed my hips up into her centre.

She whimpered, her frame shuddering as I held her waist and pushed her down as I thrust upwards, over and over again.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," I grunted as she tipped her head back. Her moan was guttural and undone as I pushed our mouths back together.

She leaned back, panting and gasping as her hands palmed out on my chest. "What the hell," she murmured, shifting restlessly. "You're so hot. I mean, you were hot before. But this," she waved her hand at me and pointed at my mouth. "It's so hot. Don't stop."

I wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about. But I was too pent up. Too hard and too turned on to ask her to elaborate.

She told me not to stop, so I pulled her back in and kept kissing her. I kissed her until it hurt. My lips hurt. My erection hurt. But it felt so good.

It was hard but I didn't take it further because it would be our first time and I felt like it should be more special than a tattoo parlour chair.

But that didn't stop us from making the most of the entire two hours she had spare.

The tattoo was never done.