Not only is Presley an award-winning tattoo artist who has inked hundreds of tattoos, she’s also a sought-after tattoo model, sporting ink by some of the industry’s greats.
Tattoo model?
“Fuck me, Cat. I think I’ve got some more work to do.”
I got to my feet, carried my empty coffee cup to the kitchen, and stuck it in the dishwasher, then returned to the windows in the living room overlooking downtown Austin. The streets below had quieted, not as many cars or people weaving their way through the congested city. As I stared out, I wondered what Presley was doing right that moment. Did she live close? Or did she drive in to the city? How old was she? The article said she’d started tattooing at eighteen and had been doing it professionally for seven years. Did that mean she was twenty-five? Or was there training involved?
Surely there was training. Yeah, I got that the artistic ability had to be there, but…
I turned back around and went to my office, leaning down to peer at the screen.
Different by Design.
I highlighted the link, then did a Google search.
Hmm. Just down the road from me.
Maybe it was time for me to get another tattoo.
Well, not tonight, of course. I was too damn tired for that. Not to mention, I’d have to give some thought as to what I wanted. I had a few tats already, like the backpiece that had taken me nearly a year to have completed due to the intricate detail, as well as the sleeve on my left arm.
At least it was something to think about.
And more importantly, now I knew I would definitely have the opportunity to see Presley Abrams again.
“All right, Cat. Time to call it a night,” I called out as I flipped off the lights in my office, glancing once more at the notebook on my desk before the room went dark. “We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”
Chapter Seventeen
Presley
Lying on my bed, I stared out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars in the sky above. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done in the city thanks to the air pollution, which meant my nighttime view wasn’t as great as the Realtor had promised it would be.
Not that there was anything I could do about that now.
I’d been lying here for at least an hour, doing my best to sleep, but to no avail. I was pretty sure I’d nodded off once, maybe twice, but had woken when I heard the front door open, slamming into the wall.
My first clue that Gil was home had been the not-so-sexy squeal from the unknown woman who was accompanying him. I couldn’t even count how many different versions of, “Oh, Gil,” I had heard over the two years that I’d lived with him.
I cringed, rolling my eyes and mouthing the words the woman had moaned only minutes ago. “Oh, Gil, yes. Keep doing that.”
Why hadn’t I thought to get a condo that was sound-proofed? This was fucking ridiculous. Listening to Gil get his freak on with random women night after night… Not cool at all. I should’ve paid closer attention to that upon inspecting this place.
“Oh, yeah,” the woman moaned, and I realized they’d made it to Gil’s room.
For sure I should’ve at least found a place that had a master bedroom that didn’t share a wall with the second bedroom.
I rolled my eyes when Gil’s headboard hit said wall.
Maybe I could convince Gil and Gavin to switch rooms.
Rolling over, I grabbed my pillow and covered my head.
“Ah, yes!”
“You’re a screamer, aren’t you, baby?” Gil asked her, his words muffled.
Lord, don’t encourage her, you dumb ass.
The headboard continued to knock against the wall and I pretended not to hear it.
Well, I tried to, anyway.
Reaching over, I grabbed my headphones, shoved them in my ears, flipped on my music, then replaced the pillow.
“Oh, Gil! Keep doing that!”
I rolled my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Again.
Turning up the music and closing my eyes, I let my thoughts drift to Jacob Wild.
Tonight, while Gavin had been working away, I had spent some time doing a little research on Jake. Not because I intended to see him again—even if he was my neighbor—but because he’d piqued my curiosity. Especially with his journal. I figured for sure most writers these days used a computer. Apparently that wasn’t always the case. From there, I’d wanted to know what made a famous writer tick.
It looked as though the infamous bad boy author had gone on hiatus for at least a year, causing an influx of wonder and fear from the readers who sang his praises, worshipped at the shrine that was Jacob Wild, crowned king of dirty talk.
From what I could tell, Jake had a huge personal fan base—something like two and a half million Facebook followers, close to a million Twitter followers, and an actual fan club. Seriously. Another thing I noticed was that a lot of those women were interested in knowing whether or not he was open to doing a little hands-on research for his books. That had sparked my curiosity, too, because as I recalled, most authors didn’t look like a walking sex Popsicle.
But Jacob Wild… Sex on a stick.
“Shut up, Presley,” I mumbled to myself.
I’d learned in that short amount of time while I’d been stalking him online that he was thirty-six, lived in Austin, had written fourteen novels—most of which had caused at least two dozen orgasms per capita—in his short but lucrative career thus far. That was just from the brief bio on his website. I’d moved on to check Amazon, where I’d found more information. I’d looked up his books, even scanned some of the glowing reviews.
Admittedly, it had been a while since I’d read a book, but I definitely wasn’t opposed to the idea. Once I scanned the brief descriptions of a few of his most popular ones, I’d been intrigued. A flush had warmed me from the inside out when I’d read a review that had—quite nicely—detailed some of the interesting sex scenes.
I had to admit, based on what I’d read, I was one of those women who could definitely fall prey to the sexy seduction that was Jacob Wild’s writing. According to one reviewer, Jacob Wild definitely knew how to make a woman weep.
From her vagina.
Yep, it had actually said that.
It was noted that his love stories were known to pull some strong emotions, but the sex… These bloggers were definitely good at what they did. Based on their high praise, and yes, even some of the critical points, I wanted to know more. If this guy had mastered the art of the sex scene, shouldn’t every woman be interested?
Oh, and there’d been the one review that had suggested that Jacob Wild would be smart to own stock in Duracell or Energizer because … yeah.
Now, as I lay in the dark, eyes closed, I imagined his hands roaming over my body, lighting up nerve endings that hadn’t felt a man’s touch in more than a year. I could practically feel that rough stubble on his cheeks as it scraped against the insides of my thighs.
I groaned into the pillow, turning over as I chastised myself for getting carried away. Then Blaze’s words echoed in my head: Honey, you need to get laid. You know, by some outrageously hot guy who’s gonna pin you against the wall and make you beg for mercy.
Maybe she was right. And Jake would be just the guy.
No. No, he most certainly would not.
Shut up, subconscious.
This was not a good idea. The last thing I needed to be doing was fantasizing about some guy I had no business fantasizing about. Seriously, he was my neighbor. Weren’t neighbors off-limits or something?
If not, they should be.
Just because.
Instead of letting my imagination run wild—no pun intended—I should’ve been coming up with an epic design that would catapult my career, launch me to the next level, secure my future. I was an artist, for chrissakes. Hell, I was part owner of one of the most successful tattoo shops in Austin, only the nest egg I’d hoped to have by now had just been depleted.
Granted
, I’d learned in recent years that, though successful, my shop didn’t have that je ne sais quoi that most people who tuned in to reality television were expecting. A lot of people who walked into the shop anticipated the sort of drama they saw on TV. Not that my shop didn’t have enough drama of its own—Blaze brought her own special blend—but it wasn’t the sort that people would want to sit and watch week after week. Hell, I did that and I wasn’t typically impressed.
“Oh, Gil. Fuck me harder!”
I groaned. “Oh, Gil, stick your dick in her mouth so she’ll shut up.”
For a brief moment, the sound in the other room quieted and I laughed. Yep, they’d probably heard me and I didn’t care that they had. Listening to Gil nail these women to the wall was tiring. And for as long as I’d known him, not once had he found a chick who was original with her porn star dialogue.
The headboard hit the wall again and I sighed. The least Gil could do was make the girl climax so she would stop screaming his name. It sounded like a bad horror movie, which, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t at all sexy.
Grabbing my phone, I pulled up Amazon, then searched Jacob Wild. I downloaded his most recent book and began to read. Reading had always helped me to fall asleep.
Unfortunately, I learned a few minutes into the story, when it came to Jacob Wild, chapter one wasn’t nearly enough.
Two hours later, I was sitting up in my bed, blankets kicked to the end as I once again stared at the small screen, consuming word after word, lost in the drama. I still couldn’t believe that a guy I’d met in a coffee shop had written this.
It was good.
Okay, better than good.
In fact, it was so good that I’d paused long enough to grab my sketchbook so I could draw. Nothing major, just a woman’s face and hair. I’d detailed the eyes and the lips, all based on the way Jacob Wild had described them. I’d seen the image so clearly in my mind while I’d been reading, it would’ve been impossible not to stop and draw her.
But I’d finished that sketch and was once again caught up in the characters, wishing like hell I could be the woman who was being ravished by the handsome stud.
Luckily, Gil and his porn star wannabe girlfriend were fast asleep so I didn’t have to listen to them going at it anymore. What wasn’t good was that it was almost five o’clock in the morning and I hadn’t been to sleep yet.
Not that I had anything to do today. I could easily sleep it all away if I wanted to.
Wait.
I looked at the clock again.
Five o’clock.
That meant the coffee shop was opening. Maybe if I went down there to read, I’d find some inspiration and could draw something else. And maybe, if I was really lucky, the author of last night’s inspiration might just show up.
Not that I was holding my breath or anything.
Chapter Eighteen
Jake
I couldn’t help but think about what could possibly be going through Kora’s head when she was walking into that restaurant. I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced something like that, though I was sure many people had.
With my pen to the paper, I turned the tables on Kora, and put myself in her head—instead of her in mine.
From the minute moment she stepped through the doors of the banquet room that had been reserved for the baby shower, Kora had wondered how she hadn’t gone up in flames. She could feel the stares, hear the whispers, as everyone watched her as though she were a dangerous animal that needed to be caged.
Little did they know, but she wasn’t a danger to anyone tonight. Except maybe herself.
I stared at the page, practically feeling Kora’s resolve radiating from her. She could do this. She would do this.
Taking a deep breath, Kora made sure her shoulders were squared and her chin was up. She would not let these assholes get to her.
The first thing she did was order a drink, then, when the waitress delivered, she ordered another so she would have a backup when needed. Which turned out to be a good thing because she’d drained the first one in three gulps.
Alcohol would definitely make it easier for Kora, but I needed to remember what decisions she would be making. Whether or not her inebriated state, or lack thereof, was essential to the direction they were headed. If she was too intoxicated, would a guy like Donovan go after her?
I guess that depended on what baser instincts she brought out in him.
I continued writing.
Now, half an hour in, Kora was on her third with a fourth on the way. Probably wouldn’t have been a major issue, except she was drinking vodka and 7Up—doubles, light on the 7Up.
“You’re hittin’ it hard tonight.”
The deep baritone came from her left, and Kora turned her head to see a handsome stranger leaning against the wall, a glass tumbler tilted to his lips. It was possible she recognized him, but most of the people at the shower were friends and family of the parents-to-be, so that wasn’t surprising. She just couldn’t place him.
Was the alcohol obscuring her thoughts?
I knew that they hadn’t met, but how that played out, I wasn’t so sure. If she’d been dating Donovan’s brother for two years, how was it that she hadn’t crossed paths with this guy at least once? Like, at holidays? I’d have to think on that.
“That was always the plan,” she told him honestly.
“You know the expectant couple?” he questioned, though it sounded as though he already knew the answer to that.
Apparently brushing him off wasn’t going to work. When she said, “My sister and my ex,” the guy chuckled, causing Kora to turn. “You find that amusing, do you?”
Emerald green eyes leveled on her, pinning her in place.
Her head spun and the room suddenly got warmer.
Unfortunately, she didn’t think it was the booze this time.
No, I knew I didn’t want it to be the liquor affecting her. This was all chemistry between the two of them.
For a moment, the heat she felt racing through her veins had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with that seductive smirk that tilted his perfect lips.
“I’m thinkin’ you’re the lucky sister,” he finally drawled.
“Why’s that?”
“Sam and I go way back.”
Kora tried to place this guy, searching the dark recesses of her memory to see if she’d ever met him. Surely, if he was a friend of Sam’s, she would’ve at least heard of him. She and Sam had been together for almost two years before she’d found out he’d been screwing her sister.
“And you are…?”
“Donovan,” he said, tossing back what was left of his drink.
Kora would’ve definitely heard his name, even if she hadn’t met him, so I knew he didn’t need to elaborate.
“Sam’s brother?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her tone.
“The one and only,” Donovan said.
Well, that explained why he looked familiar. Now that she knew who he was, she noticed the family resemblance.
And, yeah, she’d definitely heard of Donovan, but oddly enough, though he was Sam’s only sibling, she’d never met him.
What was it that had kept Donovan away? Why hadn’t she ever met him? What did he do for a living? Okay, this was a critical piece. I knew Donovan needed to be someone who could get shit done. He was strong, smart, business savvy. He didn’t hold back, going after exactly what he wanted. What did I want him to do?
NOTE: He owned his own company, but what did he do? Real estate would be good. Was he a millionaire? Billionaire?
“The infamous real estate mogul?” she questioned, trying not to appear impressed.
Truth was, she was. Not only because of the stories she’d heard from Sam, but also because of what stood before her. The man was something else. Tall, dark, devastatingly handsome. And that air of reckless abandon clad in an expensive suit… Yeah, it called to her inner hussy, all right.
Perhaps it was the alcohol maki
ng her knees go weak. Yeah. She should definitely blame it on the alcohol. Much safer that way.
Donovan didn’t answer, but the smirk told her everything she needed to know.
When a waitress passed by, her eyes slowly regarding Donovan, Kora was tempted to snort. Instead, she smiled to herself when Donovan ordered himself another drink, and then one for her.
“Figured since the happy couple was footing the bill…” Donovan grinned, a full-fledged smile that set her panties on fire.
And for the first time since she’d received the invitation to the baby shower, Kora was no longer worried that she wouldn’t survive tonight. If she could find a way to sneak this guy off into the nearest storage closet, it would possibly get even better.
Hmm. I liked the idea of Kora letting loose, living in the moment. She had plenty of reasons not to, but to me, she seemed like the kind of girl who would go after what she wanted. And it looked as though she might have met her match.
On to Donovan once again. I briefly stared at the page, thinking about what he saw when he looked at Kora. He already knew what he wanted from her, but was it too soon? Maybe a scene with the family, something to show the tension? Or possibly just get right to business, not giving Kora a chance to think too hard on it?
I decided to keep writing, just to see where they took me.
While he waited for his drink, Donovan watched Kora. Although he only knew about her from Sam’s stories, he could definitely tell that Sam hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d done the deed with Kora’s sister. Not that Trina wasn’t a nice girl. He was sure she had some upstanding qualities, but stealing your sister’s boyfriend...? That was petty and childish bullshit right there. And when Sam had informed him of the abrupt change in his life, Donovan hadn’t felt the least bit sorry for the guy.
Why would he? If the asshole slept with Kora’s sister, he deserved all the shit life could throw at him.
Not that I was going to insert that in there. It was just my personal opinion, and everyone knew that there was always a little piece of the author in every book. I wasn’t the exception to the rule.
Inked on Paper Page 10