by Dean, L. C.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Bella Ink
Copyright © 2013 by L.C. Dean
ISBN: 978-1-61333-474-4
Cover art by Angela Anderson Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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www.decadentpublishing.com
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Other Stories By L.C. Dean
Ginger Snaps for Two
Too Hot to Handle
1Night Stand Series
Mountain Claiming
The Edge
Runaway Virgin
Whipped Puppy
Public Adoration
Beautiful Ink
Bella Ink
Sturgis Rally Riders - Book 5
1Night Stand Series
By
L.C. Dean
~DEDICATION~
To my friends and my editors who have traveled this journey with me.
I love you.
Chapter One
Jet Ryan sat back in his chair and stared at the image filling his computer screen. Bella, aka Ink Monroe. The woman who’d swept through his life in a single night of passion and lingered to haunt his dreams day and night. Even after half a year, his mind missed her spitfire attitude; his body still ached at the thought of sinking into hers. And his heart…it had claimed her for some reason and would not let him forget.
He closed the laptop and turned to stare across the snow-covered pastureland surrounding his home. Eleven thousand acres filled with American bison and longhorn cattle. Lean meat and hell on the hoof. Few women, especially ones like Bella, wanted to settle down as a rancher’s wife these days. Endless winter nights with nothing to do but snuggle by the fire. Long summer days riding a fence line or working cattle. Calving, vaccinating, de-horning, rotating grassland, tagging, weaning, all took hard work and dedication. A rare thing in this world.
Turning back, he opened the article again. “Top Twenty Tattoo Artists in the Nation.” Ink’s name and photo fell in at number eight. The reporter had clarified Bella Ink’s work was unbeatable in quality and originality. But the fact she had no permanent residence, nowhere for customers to find her other than a cell number and an internet site, made it impossible to rank her higher.
With an unsteady hand, he clicked on the link to her site. Rich, colorful artwork filled the screen, but no more pictures of the artist, only the one in the article. He switched back to it. God, she’s beautiful. She appeared tired and defensive, just as she had that night, but beneath it all lay an evident and painful vulnerability. Her obvious stress weighed on him. Bella deserved to be protected, treasured, and sheltered from the things tormenting her.
Attempts to contact her had gone unanswered. She didn’t want to see him or reconnect. He had to accept it and walk away. You need to get laid. The simple comment from his friend had started it all, but maybe he was right…burn off some tension with someone as hot as Bella. The main drawback to such a plan lay in location. He knew nearly every woman over the age of consent in the area. Fucking one to get a stranger out of his head would come back to haunt him in a big way. Doing so would be like pissing in a public pool: everyone around him would know, and he’d have to stew in his own mess.
“Not happening.”
An IM from an unknown party flashed just then on the side of the open article. Jet, follow this link, s’il vous plaît. I get a feeling someone special will be looking for a man like you.
He clicked on the link before he thought. “1Night Stand dating service. No strings. Participants vetted with care to ensure satisfaction and safety for all involved. In a single night, Madame Eve will make your wildest fantasy or your most secret dream come true.” He looked around as if his conservative neighbors might catch him contemplating something so preposterous, but his kitchen remained empty.
The right side of the site assured customer satisfaction.
Eve overcame what we wanted and gave us what we needed—one another.
From Pompeii to today—love and timeless gratitude.
Thanks for showing us that the night stars can last a lifetime.
You always have a place at our table. Thanks for everything.
Together we can surmount any challenge, thank you, Eve.
The praises went on and on, each more sincere than the previous.
Jet stood and grabbed a cup of coffee then settled in front of the computer once more. It made sense. His dating pool grew smaller each year as his friends and acquaintances married or moved away to more exciting places. “What can filling out the application hurt?” He didn’t have to send it. “It sure as hell beats sitting around talking to myself.”
He clicked on the form and quickly filled in all the easy stuff like name, date of birth, physical description. From there the questions got harder, but the last one threw him.
Describe the perfect partner for your date. Be specific.
How did a man describe perfection? He wanted Bella. No one else would do. If he really intended to get her out of his system, he needed to see her, or a reasonable facsimile of her, again. Except in his fantasy, she’d long for a more peaceful life, want him as much as he desired her, and dream of the kind of love to outlast harsh weather and cure bone-crushing loneliness.
He smiled as he read over the details of what he wanted his date to look like. She’d have Ink’s petite form, her gorgeous chestnut hair, high rounded ass, full lips designed to make a man’s cock sit up and beg, and an attitude that demanded he steady her without breaking her spirit. He’d described a mustang filly and would settle for nothing less. If he found her, he’d guarantee she was never lonesome or hurt again.
Chapter Two
Ink Monroe gritted her teeth and reminded herself not to tell the whiny fuck on her table to suck it up and be a man. How the hell could someone who looked so tough be such a baby? It never changed no matter what part of the coun
try she traveled to. Daytona Beach to L.A. or even Sturgis, every stop had a whiner or two. She wiped away the blood on his chest and dipped her stylus into the black. “The outline is the hardest for some. A few more minutes and I’ll be done with the most painful part.”
The customer groaned. “You haven’t even finished the outside? Oh my God. What kind of amateur are you?”
If her reputation didn’t ride on every bit of artwork she sent out into the world, she’d have stepped away and told him to have someone else finish it. Few artists could do justice to the fine-lined detailing of the intricate design. She held the needle in one place to vibrate a little longer than necessary just to watch the big bastard cry like a child.
“God damn it, you stupid bitch! It feels like you sliced me open.”
Drawing a deep breath, she laid her tool aside and stood. Enough was enough. “Get out.”
“What?”
Ignoring the panic in his voice, she stripped off her gloves and washed her hands. “I don’t know who taught you how to speak to people, but I don’t care for your mouth. You may go.”
He grabbed a hand mirror off her work table and held it where he could see his chest. Ink hid a smile. When the arrogant dick had come in the door, she’d gotten the vibe she might have problems with him. The intricate weaving of smoke and flame would eventually spell out, “badass mother-fucker.” Unfortunately, if he walked away without allowing her to finish, he would boldly proclaim himself an “ass fuck.” As he stared at the tattoo, anger followed hard by humility flowed over him in a gratifying rush.
“I apologize, Ink. I was out of line.”
Leaning against the counter, she fought the urge to make him grovel. “How so?”
He hesitated, his self-hatred for being a wimp battled with his pride. Finally, his head bowed in contrition. “Don’t leave it like this. No one else will make it as cool as you can, and I can’t walk around branded this way.”
To see the guy humbled was apology enough. She reached for another pair of gloves. “No more whining and bitching?”
“I swear.”
“All right. Sit down and I’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”
“Thank you.” He sat still for a while before he began to chatter. “Another reason not to have a half-finished tat. I have a date next week.” He chuckled. “It’s sort of a big deal.”
“What’s so special about it?” She wiped across the art piece and studied the outer swirl of flame to ensure it looked ready to flare off his chest, noting the minor areas needing further attention.
“My sister set me up with 1Night Stand.”
She hesitated, stylus poised above his skin. “Excuse me?”
“Naw, it’s not like that. This classy service promises to find the perfect match for your fantasies.”
“So what would yours be?”
“For me? Uh…well, you know. Big boobs, hot ass, great mouth.” His pectorals twitched as she hit a sensitive spot, and she smoothed her hand over him. The lie showed in his eyes, the chauvinistic response a desperate attempt to save face.
“What about you, Ink? What would you ask the amazing matchmaker Madame Eve for if you could have your perfect date?”
“Never thought about it.” She had no illusion anyone even faintly resembling perfect existed.
“If you did?”
She grinned and studied the finished outline. Satisfied, she changed her tip and loaded the first color, blazing red. “I don’t know. Someone different, I guess.” A shiver ran through her at the distorted yet delicious image that often flitted through her mind. She couldn’t remember his face, or even his name, but she would never forget his strong hands on her body, the comfort of his steady heartbeat as he cradled her through the night. Sometimes his unique scent filled her head—leather, spice, and something earthy and clean teased her to find him. “I think I might have had it once, but I was exhausted, on the verge of breaking down. I can’t recall much about him except he made me feel safe, and I slept better in his arms than I’ve ever slept alone.”
Her cheeks heated and she looked down. “I can’t believe I told you all that.”
He touched her wrist and then dropped his hand back to the position she had placed it in. “Don’t worry about it.” He wiggled around, digging in his pocket until she sat back with a sigh.
“Unless you want to look like you have a permanent infection running across your chest, hold still.”
“Give me a second.” The worn wallet he clasped fell open on its own. “Here.” He handed her a business card.
She held up her gloved and ink stained hands. “What is it?”
He chuckled. “Madame Eve’s ticket to paradise.”
With a smile, she returned to her work. “Lay it on the table.”
1NS shimmered in a classy embossed symbol on the upper corner of the card. What if the man was right? What if the service could make her fantasy come true? What if Madame Eve could recreate the peace and passion of the shadowed memory? She caught back a laugh of self-disgust. What if monkeys fly out of my ass?
Chapter Three
Jet paced the elegant cabin on the northern edge of the Black Hills National Forest. Why the hell had he come? No way would a random dating service find Ink or even a reasonable duplicate. Not that he really wanted someone like her. He needed the original.
Stepping outside to the balcony overlooking a wooded ravine, he allowed the quiet of the forest to calm him. The scent of pine mingled with a hint of birch. Damp cold weighted the spring air, but still it felt damn nice for the first week of March in South Dakota. Calving season would start in a couple weeks, leaving him no time to slip away again until mid summer.
A squirrel balanced on the fine tip of a branch and chattered hello then scurried off. The beauty of the area, so different from the rolling grasslands and random buttes comprising his place, soothed his frayed nerves.
He leaned on the handrail surrounding the balcony and checked his watch for the twentieth time. Late. Maybe she wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d asked for too much. Maybe…. He shook off his doubts and pulled a lounge chair into the sun, dropping into it and propping his feet on the deck railing.
He’d driven the two and a half hours to the cabin with a small packet of photos on the seat beside him and a solid knot in his stomach. Madame Eve had assured him he could have exactly what he wanted—a gorgeous woman who could stand on her own but needed someone beside her now and again. Someone as independent and sexy as Ink, but one who dreamed of a retreat to run to when the realities of the world became too much. He could offer such a place, wanted to be the man a woman could lean on or rely on to step back when she needed to handle something her way. He wanted it all, but he wanted it long term.
Madame Eve had assured him she’d found his perfect date but refused to give particulars, stating his date insisted they meet without expectations. Seemed crazy to him, but something Ink would want. He shook off the flicker of hope that she had agreed to give him a chance. He didn’t know her, not really, and he needed to quit leaping to conclusions based on speculation and first impressions.
Still, no matter what, he had expectations for the evening, high ones, but 1Night Stand only guaranteed the night. A meeting—a beginning—but one night could lead to more. So many of the recommendations had insisted it could. Why shouldn’t he have forever too?
Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and let himself drift. A wife, a home, kids, a lasting partnership…he could have it all…the site had promised his greatest fantasy—too bad his extended far beyond a night.
***
From the driver’s seat of her four-by-four diesel truck, Ink stared at the impressive cabin. It seemed to have sprung from the rocky hillside with the same tenacity as the trees around it. An elongated roof cantilevered over a wide porch, and a smooth river rock chimney dominated the end, stretching toward the massive exposed logs forming the rafters. Who would have guessed something so stunning would be hidden miles from t
he main road, civilization more memory than fact.
A sleek 1960-something Chevy pickup sat near the front steps. Its minimal chrome glinted in the sun filtering through the trees. Her date had already arrived. Not surprising considering she’d missed the turnoff three times and had to go miles out of the way to find someplace big enough to turn her fifth-wheel camper around. She hopped out of the truck and quietly closed the door before approaching her date’s vehicle. Uncluttered and long, the classic pickup screamed “traditional.” But it said other, more important things about its owner, as well. Dark green paint decorated only by a broad white stripe declared him a guy who liked things understated, uncomplicated perhaps. The bench seat was protected by a sturdy wool cover. Nothing fancy or flashy. The signs of use were there, wear marks on the steering wheel and shifter knob, a ding on the driver’s door, worn but not worn out. The man obviously had little time or patience to spit and polish when he could be doing something else. Still, the entire thing had a muted gleam, well cared for despite being half a century old.
What the hell would somebody like him—who obviously appreciated the simple things—want with a crazy person like her? She carried more baggage than someone who appreciated classic and low maintenance would ever want. Maybe he hoped to break away from the normal for one night, needed someone different to prove the girl next door was really who he’d wanted all along.
Her stomach twisted at the thought, but then again, she’d asked for a lover to replace the cloudy images in her head. One who would make her feel safe and cherished like the guy from the Sturgis Motorcycle Classic had. Exhaustion, coupled with a caffeine and sugar crash, had stolen all but the essence of the man. But, even if she could remember, he’d have moved on in the morning. No one hung around her for long. The fact Madame Eve had placed their date in South Dakota certainly hinted she might have found the right type, at least. Solid and reliable. Maybe all the men in the state had that same sexy way about them.