No More Masquerade

by Angel Payne

  That defiance made him wish again that he was a spanking kind of guy. He’d really like to melt that starch in her spine. If she wasn’t going to let him comfort her, he’d be more than happy to adjust her attitude with a good smack or ten on her ass, then follow it up with a thorough fucking. A nice handful of orgasms would do them both a world of good.

  “I am so done with people lying to me,” she ground out.

  That pissed him off. “You think I’m lying to you? About which part? Your parents being agents? That I’m sorry? Or that my cock is aching to fill your little pussy until you dig your nails into my back and wail out in pleasure?”

  Her face turned pink. “You’re not sorry about any of this. I’m also not buying your sudden desire bullshit.”

  “I will be more than happy to prove you wrong right now.” He reached for the button of his jeans. “I’m ready if you are.”

  In some distant corner of his brain, Joaquin realized that combating her hurt with challenge wasn’t going over well. On the other hand, something about arguing with her while he’d been imagining her underneath him hadn’t gotten his blood just flowing, but boiling. If fucking her would, in any way, prove to her that he wasn’t lying, he was beyond down with getting busy. If she let him, he’d give it to her hard and wicked—repeatedly.

  “No!” She managed to look indignant, but her cheeks had gone rosy. The pulse at her neck was pounding. Her nipples poked at her borrowed shirt angrily.

  He put his hands on his hips. If she looked down, she’d see his straining zipper. “Do you still think I’m lying?”

  “I’m done with this conversation.”

  “If you’re telling yourself you don’t want me at all, then you’re the one lying.”

  “Pfft. You might know facts about me on paper, but you don’t know me.”

  “So if I touched your pussy right now, you wouldn’t be wet?”

  He’d always liked a good challenge. It was probably one of the reasons he loved his job. But facing off with her this way made his blood sing, too.

  “No.” She shook her head a bit too emphatically. “And you’re not touching me to find out. Leave me alone.”

  “You’re worried that I’d find you juicy. You’re afraid to admit that I turn you on.” He stalked closer, his footfalls heavy, his eyes narrowing in on her.

  “Stay back,” she warned—but her eyes said something else entirely.

  “Tell me you’re not attracted to me.” He reached out, his strike fast as a snake’s, and gripped her arms. He dragged her closer, fitting her lithe little body against him and holding in a groan when she brushed over his cock. “Tell me you want me to stop. Remember, you don’t like liars. I don’t, either.”

  She didn’t say a word, struggled a bit for show. Mostly, she parted her lips and panted. Her cheeks heated an even deeper rose. Her chest heaved. Never once did she look away from him. “I’m involved with someone else.”

  “If you think whatever you’ve got going with Blane is going to stop me…” He didn’t bother to finish his sentence; he just laughed.

  “So you’re not listening to me say ‘no’? You’re not respecting my feelings for another guy?”

  “Let’s just say I’m proving my sincerity to you.” He tightened his grip. When she gasped and her stare fell to his lips, triumph raced through his veins. “I’m also testing you. That pretty mouth of yours might lie to me, but your kisses won’t.”

  Joaquin didn’t give her a chance to protest again. Normally, he would have. Women 101 was never to proceed without express consent, but this thick air of tension electrifying his blood and seizing his lungs was something entirely new and intoxicating. Their fight seemed to be helping Bailey forget her shock and sadness, not to mention the fact that it revved her, too. She wasn’t immune to him—not by a long shot. Thank fuck.

  Thrusting a fist in her hair, he pinned her in place and lowered his head.

  *

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  starts a sexy, contemporary romance series filled with heat, ink,

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  Chapter One

  “If you don’t turn that fucking music down, I’m going to ram this tattoo gun up a place no one on this earth should ever see.”

  Austin Montgomery lifted the needle from his client’s arm so he could hold back a rough chuckle. He let his foot slide off the pedal so he could keep his composure. Dear Lord, his sister Maya clearly needed more coffee in her life.

  Or for someone to turn down the fucking music in the shop.

  “You’re not even working, Maya. Let me have my tunes,” Sloane, another artist, mumbled under his breath. Yeah, he didn’t yell it. Didn’t need to. No one wanted to yell at Austin’s sister. The man might be as big as a house and made of pure muscle, but no one messed with Maya.

  Not if they wanted to live.

  “I’m sketching, you dumbass,” Maya sniped, even though the smile in her eyes belied her wrath. His sister loved Sloane like a brother. Not that she didn’t have enough brothers and sisters to begin with, but the Montgomerys always had their arms open for strays and spares.

  Austin rolled his eyes at the pair’s antics and stood up from his stool, his body aching from being bent over for too long. He refrained from saying that aloud as Maya and Sloane would have a joke for that. He usually preferred to have the other person in bed—or in the kitchen, office, doorway, etc—bent over, but that wasn’t where he would allow his mind to go. As it was, he was too damn old to be sitting in that position for too long, but he wanted to get this sleeve done for his customer.

  “Hold on a sec, Rick,” he said to the man in the chair. “Want juice or anything? I’m going to stretch my legs and make sure Maya doesn’t kill Sloane.” He winked as he said it, just in case his client didn’t get the joke.

  People could be so touchy when siblings threatened each other with bodily harm even while they smiled as they said it.

  “Juice sounds good,” Rick slurred, a sappy smile on his face. “Don’t let Maya kill you.”

  Rick blinked his eyes open, the adrenaline running through his system giving him the high that a few patrons got once they were in the chair for a couple hours. To Austin, there was nothing better than having Maya ink his skin—or doing it himself—and letting the needle do its work. He wasn’t a pain junkie, far from it if he was honest with himself, but he liked the adrenaline that led the way into fucking fantastic art. While some people thought bodies were sacred and tattoos only marred them, he knew it differently. Art on canvas, any canvas, could have the potential to be art worth bleeding for. As such, he was particular as to who laid a needle on his skin. He only let Maya ink him when he couldn’t do it himself. Maya was the same way. Whatever she couldn’t do herself, he did.

  They were brother and sister, friends, and co-owners of Montgomery Ink.

  He and Maya had opened the shop a decade ago when she’d turned twenty. He probably could have opened it a few years earlier since he was eight years older than Maya, but he’d wanted to wait until she was ready. They were joint owners. It had never been his shop while she worked with him. They both had equal say, although with the way Maya spoke, sometimes her voice seemed louder. His deeper one carried just as much weight, even if he didn’t yell as much.

  Barely.

  Sure, he wasn’t as loud as Maya, but he got his point across when needed. His voice held control and authority.

  He picked up a juice box for Rick from their mini-fridge and turned down the music on his way back. Sloane scowled at him, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if he held back a laugh.

  “Thank God one of you has a brain in his head,” Maya mumbled in the now quieter room. She rolled her eyes as both he and Sloane flipped her off then went back to her sketch. Yeah, she could have gotten up to turn the
music down herself, but then she couldn’t have vented her excess energy at the two of them. That was just how his sister worked, and there would be no changing that.

  He went back to his station situated in the back so he had the corner space, handed Rick his juice, then rubbed his back. Damn, he was getting old. Thirty-eight wasn’t that far up there on the scales, but ever since he’d gotten back from New Orleans, he hadn’t been able to shake the weight of something off of his chest.

  He needed to be honest. He’d started feeling this way since before New Orleans. He’d gone down to the city to visit his cousin Shep and try to get out of his funk. He’d broken up with Shannon right before then; however, in reality, it wasn’t as much a breakup as a lack of connection and communication. They hadn’t cared about each other enough to move on to the next level, and as sad as that was, he was fine with it. If he couldn’t get up the energy to pursue a woman beyond a couple of weeks or months of heat, then he knew he was the problem. He just didn’t know the solution. Shannon hadn’t been the first woman who had ended the relationship in that fashion. There’d been Brenda, Sandrine, and another one named Maggie.

  He’d cared for all of them at the time. He wasn’t a complete asshole, but he’d known deep down that they weren’t going to be with him forever, and they thought the same of him. He also knew that it was time to actually find a woman to settle down with. If he wanted a future, a family, he was running out of time.

  Going to New Orleans hadn’t worked out in the least considering, at the time, Shep was falling in love with a pretty blonde named Shea. Not that Austin begrudged the man that. Shep had been his best friend growing up, closer to him than his four brothers and three sisters. It’d helped that he and Shep were the same age while the next of his siblings, the twins Storm and Wes, were four years younger.

  His parents had taken their time to have eight kids, meaning he was a full fifteen years older than the baby, Miranda, but he hadn’t cared. The eight of them, most of his cousins, and a few strays were as close as ever. He’d helped raise the youngest ones as an older brother but had never felt like he had to. His parents, Marie and Harry, loved each of their kids equally and had put their whole beings into their roles as parents. Every single concert, game, ceremony, or even parent-teacher meeting was attended by at least one of them. On the good days, the ones where Dad could get off work and Mom had the day off from Montgomery Inc., they both would attend. They loved their kids.

  He loved being a Montgomery.

  The sound of Sloane’s needle buzzing as he sang whatever tune played in his head made Austin grin.

  And he fucking loved his shop.

  Every bare brick and block of polished wood, every splash of black and hot pink—colors he and Maya had fought on and he’d eventually given in to—made him feel at home. He’d taken the family crest and symbol, the large MI surrounded by a broken floral circle, and used it as their logo. His brothers, Storm and Wes, owned Montgomery Inc., a family construction company that their father had once owned and where their mother had worked at his side before they’d retired. They, too, used the same logo since it meant family to them.

  In fact, the MI was tattooed on every single immediate family member—including his parents. His own was on his right forearm tangled in the rest of his sleeve but given a place of meaning. It meant Montgomery Iris—open your eyes, see the beauty, remember who you are. It was only natural to use it for their two respective companies.

  Not that the Ink vs Inc. wasn’t confusing as hell, but fuck, they were Montgomerys. They could do whatever they wanted. As long as they were together, they’d get through it.

  Montgomery Ink was just as much his home as his house on the ravine. While Shep had gone on to work at Midnight Ink and created another family there, Austin had always wanted to own his shop. Maya growing up to want to do the same thing had only helped.

  Montgomery Ink was now a thriving business in downtown Denver right off 16th Street Mall. They were near parking, food, and coffee. There really wasn’t more he needed. The drive in most mornings could suck once he got on I-25, but it was worth it to live out in Arvada. The ’burbs around Denver made it easy to live in one area of the city and work in another. Commutes, though hellish at rush hour, weren’t as bad as some. This way he got the city living when it came to work and play, and the option to hide behind the trees pressed up against the foothills of the Rocky Mountains once he got home.

  It was the best of both worlds.

  At least for him.

  Austin got back on his stool and concentrated on Rick’s sleeve for another hour before calling it quits. He needed a break for his lower back, and Rick needed a break from the pain. Not that Rick was feeling much since the man currently looked like he’d just gotten laid—pain freaks, Austin loved them—but he didn’t want to push either of them too far. Also, Plus Rick’s arm had started to swell slightly from all the shading and multiple colors. They’d do another session, the last, hopefully, in a month or so when both of them could work it in their schedules and then finish up.

  Austin scowled at the computer at the front of shop, his fingers too big for the damn keys on the prissy computer Maya had demanded they buy.

  “Fuck!”

  He’d just deleted Rick’s whole account because he couldn’t find the right button.

  “Maya, get your ass over here and fix this. I don’t know what the hell I did.”

  Maya lifted one pierced brow as she worked on a lower back tattoo for some teenage girl who didn’t look old enough to get ink in the first place.

  “I’m busy, Austin. You’re not an idiot, though evidence at the moment points to the contrary. Fix it yourself. I can’t help it if you have ape hands.”

  Austin flipped her off then took a sip of his Coke, wishing he had something stronger considering he hated paperwork. “I was fine with the old keyboard and the PC, Maya. You’re the one who wanted to go with the Mac because it looked pretty.”

  “Fuck you, Austin. I wanted a Mac because I like the software.”

  Austin snorted while trying to figure out how to find Rick’s file. He was pretty sure it was a lost cause at this point. “You hate the software as much as I do. You hit the damn red X and close out files more than I do. Everything’s in the wrong place, and the keyboard is way too fucking dainty.”

  “I’m going to go with Austin on this one,” Sloane added in, his beefy hands in the air.

  “See? I’m not alone.”

  Maya let out a breath. “We can get another keyboard for you and Gigantor’s hands, but we need to keep the Mac.”

  “And why is that?” he demanded.

  “Because we just spent a whole lot of money on it, and once it goes, we can get another PC. Fuck the idea that everything can be all in one. I can’t figure it out either.” She held up a hand. “And don’t even think about breaking it. I’ll know, Austin. I always know.”

  Austin held back a grin. He wouldn’t be surprised if the computer met with an earlier than expected unfortunate fate now that Maya had relented.

  Right then, however, that idea didn’t help. He needed to find Rick’s file.

  “Callie!” Austin yelled over the buzz of needles and soft music Maya had allowed them to play.

  “What?” His apprentice came out of the break room, a sketchbook in one hand and a smirk on her face. She’d dyed her hair again so it had black and red highlights. It looked good on her, but honestly, he never knew what color she’d have next. “Break something on the computer again with those big man hands?”

  “Shut up, minion,” he teased. Callie was an up-and-coming artist, and if she kept on the track she was on, he and Maya knew she’d be getting her own chair at Montgomery Ink soon. Not that he’d tell Callie that, though. He liked keeping her on her toes. She reminded him of his little sister Miranda so much that he couldn’t help but treat her as such.

  She pushed him out of the way and groaned. “Did you have to press every button as you rampaged throu
gh the operating system?”

  Austin could have sworn he felt his cheeks heat, but since he had a thick enough beard, he knew no one would have been able to tell.

  Hopefully.

  He hated feeling as if he didn’t know what he was doing. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to use a computer. He wasn’t an idiot. He just didn’t know this computer. And it bugged the shit out of him.

  After a couple of keystrokes and a click of the mouse, Callie stepped back with a smug smile on her face. “Okay, boss, you’re all ready to go, and Rick’s file is back where it should be. What else do you need from me?”

  He bopped her on the head, messing up her red and black hair he knew she spent an hour on every morning with a flat iron. He couldn’t help it.

  “Go clean a toilet or something.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go sketch. And you’re welcome.”

  “Thanks for fixing the damn thing. And really, go clean the bathroom.”

  “Not gonna do it,” she sang as she skipped to the break room.

  “You really have no control over your apprentice,” Sloane commented from his station.

  Because he didn’t want that type of control with her. Well, hell, his mind kept going to that dark place every few minutes it seemed.

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  “I see your vocabulary hasn’t changed much,” Shannon purred from the doorway.

  He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. Okay, maybe he’d lied to himself when he said it was mutual and easy to break up with her. The damn woman kept showing up. He didn’t think she wanted him, but she didn’t want him to forget her either.

  He did not understand women.

  Especially this one.

  “What do you want, Shannon?” he bit out, needing that drink now more than ever.

  She sauntered over to him and scraped her long, red nail down his chest. He’d liked that once. Now, not even a little. They were decent together when they’d dated, but he’d had to hide most of himself from her. She’d never tasted the edge of his flogger or felt his hand on her ass when she’d been bent over his lap. That hadn’t been what she wanted, and Austin was into the kind of kink that meant he wanted what he wanted when he wanted. It didn’t mean he wanted it every time.