Nat sighed. “Look, I’m sorry we have to be crowded in together.” Why he felt suddenly so apologetic, he didn’t know. He was just trying to do his job. “I’m going to have a cot. The bed is all yours.”

The guy nodded, still with a beaten expression. “As long as no one hurts me, I’m fine with whatever.”

A strange shiver passed through Nat’s chest and down his arms. Was Miyazaki referring to him? “No one’s going to hurt you. I’m trying to help you. Maybe you don’t understand that.”

Miyazaki looked down, as if he were studying his boots. Head to toes the guy was an image from a fashion magazine, and it was hard to picture him dancing around in a boxing ring, landing punches and taking them. “I understand protection.”

Nat’s heartbeat sped up slightly. “Good, because that is precisely why I’m going to ask you to let me cut your hair.”

Miyazaki’s eyes went wide. That damnable look of panic flooded his soft features. “No. I told you, I can’t.”

“The nose ring too has to go.” Nat steeled himself against Miyazaki’s expression. Whether the guy was being manipulative or not didn’t matter. Bottom line was he was acting stupidly and against his best interest. “You stick out like a sore thumb.” He took a step closer and saw Miyazaki wince. “You can’t rely on a hat. Especially if you’re going to be training. It could fall off. You need to blend in a bit.”

“No.”

Nat suppressed a flash of anger. “Yes. Or you won’t leave this room. You can stay holed up in here until I hear from Tokyo that you’re free to leave.”

“That’s fine with me. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Nat crossed his arms. “Giving me an attitude won’t help you. In case you haven’t learned that.”

Alarm passed over Miyazaki’s face. “I’m not trying to give you an attitude. I swear.” He glanced away and then back. “It won’t matter about my hair anyway. I have…tattoos. You can’t cut them out.”

“Tattoos can be covered.” He gestured toward Miyazaki. “I don’t see any on you now.”

“Under these clothes, maybe.” Miyazaki’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt. “But I can’t wear jeans in the ring.”

Tingles ran down Nat’s arms. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you what I mean.” Miyazaki’s fingers worked open his black shirt and the material fell to each side. With a quick yank, he slid the shirt off.

Nat stared. Loog ga ree. Son of a bitch. ‘Tattoos’ was an understatement. Miyazaki’s whole torso was a canvas of color and design. For a moment, Nat’s mind blurred. All he could see were swirling patterns of leaping white tigers across Miyazaki’s chest, ribcage and abdomen. Nat pulled in a breath. Heat erupted in his armpits.

Miyazaki stood, watching him, his arms at his sides. The rounded muscles of his shoulders too, were inked, the colors reaching to his carved-looking triceps. “See?”

Nat swallowed hard. He hadn’t meant to notice the v-shape of the other man’s torso or the lean perfection of his wiry musculature. If it hadn’t been for his soft facial expressions, Miyazaki would have been the picture of a tough fighter. He was small, a welterweight, but like his face, his upper body was perfect.

Nat cleared his throat. The lubrication needed to speak seemed to have dried up in the last few seconds. “You can wear a shirt when you go outside,” he managed to say. “No big deal.”

Miyazaki didn’t answer. Instead, he began toeing off his boots then undid the button and zipper of his jeans.

More electric heat zinged through Nat’s body. What the hell was this guy doing?

Before he could even turn around, Miyazaki had shucked off his jeans and straightened again. “It won’t work.” He pointed down.

Nat wanted to close his eyes. But he couldn’t. The bottom half of Miyazaki was as colorful…and…perfect as the top half. And well, he could see just about all of it. Including the hints of dark hair just above his…package, barely concealed by a pouch of white cloth. The rest of his underwear was a couple of strings across his hips and…Miyazaki turned around…up the crack of his ass, both cheeks of which were covered in colorful swirling designs. Purples, blues, reds, oranges and yellows…

To Nat’s horror, his mouth began to water, as if the colors inked onto Miyazaki’s smooth skin were flavors he could lick right off.

“I told you,” Miyazaki said. He sounded a bit petulant, though the tone of his soft voice had dropped a notch.

From about mid-thigh to just below his collarbone, he was covered, a literal human canvas. Nat’s gaze traveled over the perfect round globes of his ass, up his widening back where two samurai warriors in flowing kimonos fanned out, arms entwined, lips pressed together in a tender kiss.

Nat began to pace in the small room, the only way he could think of to relieve the sudden pressure in his groin. It occurred to him that Miyazaki could just be playing a game, using seduction to control him when flattery hadn’t worked. “It’s not going to work you know.”

“What’s not going to work?”

Nat glanced up. Miyazaki had turned back around to face him. His wide-eyed gaze almost made Nat think he really didn’t know. “The seduction thing. Getting undressed like that.” He gestured. “No matter what you do, I’m not going to let you keep that electric hair so that everyone will remember you at first glance. That’s a good way to get killed.”

Miyazaki’s soft lips parted and his eyes grew even wider. “I wasn’t trying to…seduce you.” He looked down and Nat could swear he saw the other man’s cheeks flush a shade darker.

Then something else occurred to him. “You are a yakuza, aren’t you?”

At that, Miyazaki whipped his head up, eyes pained, as if he’d been physically slapped. “I am not a yak.”

Nat crossed his arms, pinning Miyazaki with his gaze. “Then why are you marked up like one?” The thought that the guy was a criminal helped take the edge off Nat’s physical response to his incredible, nearly-naked physique.

For a moment, Miyazaki’s eyes misted over, as if he would burst into tears. But he remained silent and then squared his shoulders, causing the white tigers across his front to shift. “That’s personal.”

Nat uncrossed his arms and took a step toward Miyazaki. “Don’t you ever just answer a question? How the hell am I supposed to help you if you won’t tell me what I need to know?”

Again, silence. And that soft yet somewhat defiant look.

Dammit. He exhaled and turned his back to Miyazaki. “Why don’t you…I don’t know…get dressed, or shower or something. Not that it matters. You’re not going out of this room anyway.”

“I’d like to shower.”

“Fine.” He heard sounds of Miyazaki rummaging in his bag, probably for a toiletry kit or something followed by the door to the tiny bathroom closing and the spray of the shower.

Finally Nat turned around. Miyazaki’s clothing was off the floor and neatly folded on the foot of the bed. Nat looked at the closed door. That’s when the idea hit him. Quickly he formulated his plan to deal with Miyazaki’s hair, then got ready. First to change into something looser and more comfortable. He opted for no shirt and a pair of fisherman pants. Then he called Lew’s office to ask to borrow a pair of electric hair clippers—Lew always had one of those around—then called Tongmee to come to the room to help him.