Body of Art
By
Nikki Winter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.
Body of Art © 2013 Nikki Wnter
Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Art: Marteeka Karland
Books are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.
Dedication
Shara made me do it. No seriously. I was literally harassed into this (sniff). It’s like she’s my pimp, man. Oh, and I think you all should be aware that Janet has firmly planted her flag in Sully’s ass.
~Nikki
Contents
Chapter One. 7
Chapter Two. 15
Chapter Three. 23
Chapter One
He couldn’t believe he was doing this shit. Granted it was more than a little necessary but still. He was a man! And he’d announced that when he’d been talked into this too! He’d said it as loudly as possible, was one step from beating his chest but he’d been laughed at. Laughed at! Him! Sullivan “Sully” Byrne! The man whose name was whispered in fear and awe. The man whose named was both revered and respected. The man whose name was...
“Sully! Get your giant ass out of the car! Now!”
He jumped as though someone had pulled the trigger of a gun right next to his head. “No respect.” Sully muttered as he finally opened the door to his younger sister’s tiny, impractical, embarrassment of a vehicle. Frackin’ mini coupe. How did anyone drive a mini coupe and not feel as though they were being buried alive?
“Ow, ow, ow, ow. What the hell Rhona?”
The brat finally stopped twisting his ear as he made it out of the tight confines of the car. She shoved a manicured finger in his face. “Do you want me cranky Sully? Is that your ultimate goal here?”
His brow quirked. “You mean you’re not already cranky? Ow, ow, ow. Would you stop doing that?”
Rhona let go of his ear once more. “I have listened to your goddamn lamenting for the last goddamn forty-five minutes on the goddamn drive over here through some of the worst goddamn traffic I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Not to mention I have our goddamn mother breathing down my goddamn neck along with my goddamn soon-to-be mother-in-law. So if you want to see another goddamn day, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth and walk into that goddamn building and learn the fine art of the goddamn waltz. You got me, goddammit?”
He bit his lip so hard that tears of pain mixed with the tears of amusement crested his lids and simply nodded his head, a small squeak that sounded anything but manly leaving his throat.
Satisfied for the moment, his sister spun on the heels of shoes that he was sure cost his future brother-in-law a pretty penny and marched through the parking lot, head held high, shoulders back, auburn hair twisted regally at her nape. “Sully!” Rhona snapped and he followed in a military-esque fashion, determined not to get his throat slit today because he’d pissed off a stressed bride-to-be.
“No respect.” He muttered again following her inside the huge building she’d dragged him to in downtown Seattle, Washington. He very rarely made the trip up from California during the summer, being that this was the busiest time for his tattoo shop, preferring to pay for Rhona and their mother--Fiona--to catch a quick flight down to him. But his sister’s wedding was more important than his business. What she’d requested from him was the greatest honor and despite his goddamn lamenting he’d do it a thousand times over if she asked him to.
She peered at him over her shoulder, bright blue eyes narrowed on him in a challenge. “What was that?”
Sully swallowed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
With an arch look of disapproval fit for a feline, she continued her walk. He made a face behind her back.
“I saw that.”
He mocked her silently.
“Sullivan...”
“Oh get the stick out of your arse!” She was irritating him. When she irritated him, his accent came back. When his accent came back, he hated it. They’d grown up in Dumfries, Scotland with their mother and father, not coming to the states until Ewan Byrne decided to move his wife and kids for a job opportunity in L.A. at a law firm that dangled a money and a better lifestyle in his face. Sully and Rhona’s father only enjoyed a few years of that opportunity before the stress of his job took a toll on his health and he had a heart attack.
It had taken Sully years to shake his accent, Rhona on the other hand had been rid of hers not even two years after their move to the states.
The brat snorted.
“And stop yer laughing!”
She chuckled harder. “All you need is bagpipes and a kilt and you’d feel right at home.”
His eyes narrowed on the back of her shirt, wondering if the hem would stretch well enough up over her head.
“Don’t even think about it, Sully.”
“Stop irritating me!”
“Now you sound like Fat Bastard!”
Oh that was it! Sully reached for her. Rhona ducked out of the way just as a door swung open in between them, blocking him from getting to shake her around the way he discovered he could the summer he had his first growth spurt.
“Help! He’s trying to kill me!” His sister cried dramatically, peeking just around the edge of the door.
“Something tells me you had it coming.” A voice replied softly, the husky tone momentarily taking his focus away from the need to strangle his sibling.
Sully looked down at the owner of that voice and his whole body just kind of jerked. May the good Lord forgive my thoughts. He mentally prayed, his eyes catching sight of a toned tummy, a small diamond winking at him from an adorable little navel. It made him question if there were anywhere else on the body before him that had small treasures for him to find.
“Channing,” Rhona was saying in the distance. Or at least it felt like the distance because he had tunnel vision. “This is my brother Sully. He...oh for Christ sake would you stop staring man!”
His head snapped up, just to catch the hard glare his sister was shooting him, arms folded impatiently across her chest. He swallowed, muttered, “Sorry.” Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets and desperately tried not to stare. But fuck, it wasn’t like he could help it.
She had to be at least five foot nine to his six foot four height. Her form was amazingly proportioned. Her breasts weren’t too full but just heavy enough to press enticingly against the ribbed tank covering her upper body, decolletage teasing him; waist was small enough to span with his hands but her hips were generously curved. Skin was the shade of rich coffee with just a touch of cream. Her eyes were large, catlike and a coppery brown that sparkled. Jet black hair was cut into the feminine version of a mohawk, trimmed closely on the sides but left several inches longer and slightly curled on top.
Over the last few years since Rhona had moved to Washington with her fiance Keith and Fiona, he’d heard the occasional mention of Channing Harris but he’d never actually gotten a glimpse of her. She’d apparently become his little sister’s best friend when the two had a near brawl over a pair of sandals in the middle of a popular shoe store in Tacoma. Women were weird, was the conclusion he’d come to after absentmindedly listening
to the story. At the time he’d been tattooing the thigh of a very flexible brunette so he’d only heard the brief description that Channing’s gorgeous, Channing’s a dancer, Channing’s incredible, blah, blah, blah.
Now standing in front of her, Sully damn well understood why Rhona had made friends with her. Shit, he wanted to make friends with her. Or preferably, her ass. Because really, they could talk later right? Like after he fucked her silly and put a ring on her finger with a diamond the size of quarter. In his mind, there was no way this woman would ever be with anyone else again.
If Rhona sung her praises so highly--whether Sully paid attention or not--it let him know two things; Channing truly was amazing and that if she weren’t already taken, she damn well would be by the time his stay in Seattle was done.
***
“Um...hi.”
He was staring. Why was he staring? Could she get Rhona to make him stop staring? It was skeeving her out and when she got skeeved, people ended up hurt. Having the equivalent of a human wall gaze down at her was...disconcerting. His eyes were so blue that for a moment she wondered if he were wearing contacts.
Channing had listened to Rhona talk about Sully more times than she could count over the two years they’d been friends. Sully’s smart, Sully’s funny, Sully’s so talented, blah, blah, blah. But she’d never paid much attention, didn’t even really notice when Rhona flashed her pictures of him or mentioned his tattoo shop in L.A. A lot of the time she was busy doing full on ice baths to keep herself from going slightly insane due to overworked muscles. As a dancer who’d trained in almost everything from ballet to Latin, Channing spent most of her days teaching classes of all ages and styles when she wasn’t on the road with various music artists.
Her life, however, was in Seattle. No matter how far she traveled away from home, Washington was the only place she could ever truly feel comfortable living. She’d been born and raised in Tacoma by her Nana. When her parents decided the best place for her was with Tessa Harris, that’s where she’d remained. Well, aside from on top of her best friend’s brother fucking him until he had an epileptic fit and a mild coronary. But that didn’t count did it?
No, no, it couldn’t count. But she wanted it to. Jesus, the man was...he was...he was...he just was goddammit! And yes that made perfect sense in her twisted mind! Sullivan Byrne needed to be in a kilt with leather boots, a sword in his hands and slapped across the cover of some story romanticizing a barbarian raiding a village, taking a virgin, and defiling her; preferably with Channing playing the part of the defiled virgin. Even though she hadn’t been a virgin in quite some time...
For a second she allowed her eyes to take him in on one fell swoop. From what she could tell, he was just over six foot three with mile wide shoulders and a body that was made solid; strong. His face was formed from hard angles with floor sweeping lashes just a shade darker than the auburn shoulder length tresses on his head and the stubble over his granite like jaw. His nose was romanesque but his lips were a full soft pink. There was a dimple in his chin and those eyes, good Lord above those eyes, were a cerulean blue so deep that they reminded her of her first spring break trip to the beaches in Huatulco Mexico.
Being that Rhona herself was absolutely gorgeous, Channing figured that of course, Sullivan would be good looking too. Well wasn’t that just the understatement of the year?
Channing wasn’t oblivious to her looks, she just chose not to let them define who she was. Outer beauty lasted briefly and once it was gone, you truly got to see what you were left with. Unfortunately, her last three boyfriends didn’t have that same viewpoint. The way she looked was just about everything to them and the fact that she had men traipsing in and out of her class bothered each one. The fear that she’d suddenly hand over her body the same way she did her name, caused some ugly behavior and every relationship was extinguished quickly.
Now she understood that fear because even though the majority of her clients had been good looking and charming not one of them had ever been able to make her feel as though she were coming out of her skin from just a look. Sully had accomplished that in all of the five minutes that he’d been standing in front of her. If he’d come around while she was in a relationship, she would’ve slipped and fell on his dick. At least she was honest with herself about that.
Rhona and Keith were set to get married in just two short weeks and she’d told Channing that she planned to ask Sully to do her father-daughter dance with her being that their own father was no longer alive. Channing knew how close the siblings were so she wasn’t surprisedand when Rhona had asked her to be the one to teach Sully the waltz, she figured it would be easy enough. But standing in front of the man in question now, , Channing knew that any time spent in his arms was going to do her in. Big. Time.
Rhona suddenly shoved Sullivan further into Channing’s space. “Meet your new student. Get acquainted. Get him taught. Everything else is in order from the catering to the Northern Lights dome room at The Arctic Club except for my dress and his two gigantic left feet.”
“Hey!” Sully barked and a shiver moved down Channing’s spine. He had an accent! The man had an accent! Was Rhona trying to kill her! Channing was well aware that they’d grown up in Scotland for half of their lives before their father relocated them to California but God was really trying to test her!
“What did I say about the lamenting?!” Rhona suddenly yelled in her brother face.
Channing’s shoulders jerked with the effort not to laugh.
Sully settled down, looking down at his huge boot clad feet. “That I needed to shut my goddamn mouth, come in the goddamn building, and learn the art of the goddamn waltz.” He murmured like an obedient school boy reciting the golden rule.
Her eyes watered. She wouldn’t look at Rhona. She would not look at Rhona. Because the moment she looked at Rhona, it was all over. Instead she listened to the way her friend sighed and slowly said, “That’s right.”
Channing closed her eyes and clicked the heels of her keds together three times. She reopened them and nothing was different. Shit.
“Now,” Rhona breathed clapping her hands together. “Channing has been so kind as to offer her wonderful skills because I sobbed until she finally yelled ‘Jesus Christ! Alright already I’ll do it! Just stop the tears!’ Therefore you will be getting a two hour lesson every day up until the day of the wedding.”
Sully grimaced. “I still don’t understand why we can’t just do a simple two step.”
“Do you want me cranky Sully? I thought we had this discussion before we came inside.”
His whole being recoiled and he took a step out of reach of his sister. “No.”
She nodded. “Okay then.” Rhona turned those baby blues in Channing’s direction and from the look on her face, she already knew what Channing was thinking. Mouthing sorry, she pushed Sully just a little bit closer, finger waved then turned on her heels and walked out, leaving the two to the company of only each other.
Chapter Two
Poor thing was skittish. She looked as though she’d launch herself at the ceiling and stick there if he moved anywhere near her without her permission. She’d had that same reaction over the last four days that he’d shown up in her studio. Channing’s expression ranged from embarrassment anytime he touched her to fearful the moment he made her aware of his presence in the room.
It had alarmed Sully so badly that he’d asked Rhona if Channing had a history of abuse. His sister had simply laughed in his face and said, “Channing?! The woman who spends her free time studying historical methods of torture? Oh, yeah sure. Some asshole was just bold enough to risk having his whole body turned into an extra from Bill Nye the Science Guy.”
He’d felt a little silly after for even asking. Channing didn’t seem afraid of him per se; more so afraid of being alone with him. Sully tried not to feel too offended by that. But it was getting hard. He enjoyed being in her space, enjoyed touching her, enjoyed those very brief moments that she brushe
d up against him while dancing because it made his dick harder than a rock and reminded him of the reason he was male. The female body was a work of art.
Sully always enjoyed tattooing women, not because he got to ogle the parts of them that could get them arrested on the street for indecent exposure but because there was something about getting to place a flower, or wings, or intricate messages on a beautiful canvas that made his job just that much easier. As one of the best tattoo artists in California, his being sought after so much allowed him to do the one things he loved.
When his father had been alive he’d hated Sully’s love for artwork, his love for ink so he’d done his damndest to discourage the fascination saying that it was pointless scribbling that couldn’t be erased. Therefore when Sully had started as an artist for a small shop as a kid, he’d made sure that every tattoo he received and every tattoo he’d given was the best that he could.
On his left pec he had the old Scottish saying, “Fools look to tomorrow. Wise men use tonight” to keep his life choices in perspective. His father had been work oriented, no time for family, or fun. Sully didn’t doubt Ewan had loved them; he just loved his money more. On the right side, he had both Fiona and Rhona’s names with wings on either side of the italicized font. Fiona had never begrudged him his love of art.
Down his left side he had Dumfries and on his right side was the name of his shop; Body of Art. From his right shoulder down his arm there was a tribal tattoo and the same for his left. Both stopped just beneath his elbows. Each tattoo was an extension of him; each one was special. The thought of his skills made him wonder briefly if Channing had any tattoos hidden under the fitted tanks and yoga pants she was so fond of wearing. He also wondered if she’d consider allowing him to be her artist should she ever choose to get one.
Body Of Art Page 1