by Lindsey Hart
She found herself wishing he wanted something covered up that involved stripping off a few of those layers of expensive looking clothing. She gave herself a mental shake. Wake the hell up. Guys like him, whether he’s dressed nicely or sporting leather and chains, mean vibrant nights, fumbling interludes and years of regret.
“My back,” he finally said. She was again struck by how powerful, deep and rich his voice was.
“Your back?” Luna realized how breathless she sounded and quickly forced herself to get a grip. She gathered up what little composure she had left. “Yes… well, do you want to show me? I can give you an idea of whether I can do it or not or how long it would take.”
His eyes darted around the shop, storm tossed and frantic like she’d just offered to knife him. Jesus, the guy was cagey. Just another indication that he was trouble, or at the very least, troubled, which was no better. Probably far worse.
“Is there somewhere more private?”
Hmmm. Mr. Modest. He obviously didn’t know how this worked, which meant he was probably a first timer. But no, that didn’t make sense. He wanted a cover up. “Yah.” Luna turned slowly, cautiously, and indicated the private booths at the back. “I have rooms back there where we tattoo. If you come out back with me I can take a look.”
Cue the darting eyes again. She was shocked to realize they held a glimmer of fear. What the hell did he think she was going to do to him back there? Attack him? She nearly laughed at the thought. She was half the guy’s size. If she was stood, shoulder to shoulder, four of her probably wouldn’t be enough to match the girth of his chest.
“Fine,” he agreed slowly.
Luna lifted up the section of counter beside the reception desk that unlocked and let him pass through. She was painfully aware of how he nearly didn’t fit. God, that opening was wide enough to admit three of her holding hands side by side.
She waited, breath baited. Half hoping he would follow her back, half hoping he would turn and walk out that door. Silence filled the shop. A small noise drifted from the back where Adrianna was probably either cleaning equipment or setting up a room for a client due to arrive.
One more pause, a few hard heartbeats, and the man followed her.
CHAPTER 2
The guy trailed behind Luna, down the hall to the first room on the right, without incident or comment. She opened the door and the man stood there, eyes doing that shifty, darting move again. The room was filled with the usual arsenal of inks and stands. The walls were covered with drawings, paintings and past sketches she’d done for clients. A large chair, the kind like you’d see in a dentist office sat in the middle of the room and off to the side was a table, almost like what you’d find at any doctor visit, minus the creepy stirrups at the end of course. The one position she’d never had to ask anyone to get into for a tattoo was spread eagle. Thank god for small mercies.
She finally turned and found that the guy was studying her. He hadn’t stepped foot into the room. He stood there like an impenetrable force. A brick wall? A granite mountain? If he went by a code name, Luna imagined that would be it. She could just hear him on one of those radios, Granite Mountain, over and out. She nearly grinned before she realized what a crazy fool she’d look like. She composed herself quickly.
“So. If you want to step in and take off your shirt, I can see what we’re working with.”
Though the man’s face remained carefully composed, his eyes changed. They took on a wild look, where the whites nearly ate his irises. Finally, he seemed to give himself a mental kick in the ass and decided the only way to go through this was to shed that damn shirt of his and expose whatever was underneath to her prying eyes.
How bad could it be? Something sure as hell wasn’t right about any of this.
Whatever battle he was fighting, he clearly decided that the cover up must be worth it. Hands the size of hams came up to his shirt, chest high. They fumbled with the buttons, struggling to undo them. Finally, after an eternity of tense breathing and even heavier anticipation, he shrugged out of the shirt and whirled, all in a motion so graceful, Luna almost couldn’t believe it had happened at all.
Holy Hannah. If backs could be gorgeous or even sexy as hell, his certainly was.
The taut, rippling muscle under that layer of bronze, silky looking skin were tense, strained even. His was not the muscle of a body builder or someone who pumped iron and steroids. No, his muscles were streamlined and beautiful. She was willing to bet that wherever the guy worked out it wasn’t at the friendly neighborhood gym.
Seeing him half naked, all animal male did something to Luna’s body. She reacted with raw, powerful lust to seeing all that latent power simmering just below the surface. The man looked dangerous and not just because of his size.
Marring a surface that would have been utterly glorious, was a hideous tattoo. It took up most of his back, starting just below his shoulder blades and ending right before the swells of his hips. There were scars too, short ones, long ridges, rounded circles, jagged lines. The tattoo made no sense. It didn’t have any graceful lines or flowing rhythm. It was just… figures, slapped on. What looked to be a wolf’s head crested his shoulder blades. Beside that was a sick looking grim reaper holding a scythe. At least, that’s what she guessed it was, but only because that blade in hand was a dead giveaway. The lion head below that was larger, taking up most of the back, or at least, what was left. It too looked half carved in, as though whoever had done the work meant actual harm, not art. Clearly they’d wanted that ink to stick.
“You’ve had it lasered.” It wasn’t a question. Luna could tell from the fading that he’d probably endured a couple blistering sessions. Ouch. She felt for him. The removal generally hurt far more than getting inked in the first place.
Luna should have known better. She should have stopped her trembling hand from reaching out, but her body reacted on a base level, without thought. Her index finger traced one particularly long, ragged scar right below his shoulder blade. A tremor ripped through her hand and it took Luna a second to realize it wasn’t her body’s reaction, but his. He uttered a shaky, raw breath and she had the feeling it took all his willpower not to move.
“Feeling up your client is part of the job?” The man growled. He whirled, the look on his face so sinister and angry that Luna quickly jerked away. Her hand burned and a vibrant, nearly painful electrical sensation buzzed up her arm. She couldn’t even pretend that her breathing was anything short of erratic.
This man fairly exuded danger. Worse, and far more damaging, the air was heady with a primal sexual aura that was completely raw, undeniable and far more captivating than it should have been.
“It is when I have to tattoo over it.” She stood her ground, trying to draw air into her burning lungs on a shaky inhale. “How many laser sessions?” God, if she was him she’d want that tattoo covered up too.
“Three. They said it’s never going to be lighter than it is now. I need it covered up.”
“And the scars?”
“What about them? I assume you can tattoo over them?”
“I suppose I could. Yes. It might not be pretty, but I can do it.”
The blackness in those icy blue eyes stopped Luna’s heart mid-beat. “They said you were the best. Anyone I talked to and I’ve done my research. I’ve seen your work. Will you take me or not?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She knew she shouldn’t get involved with this guy. In any capacity. The fact that her body was already heating painfully and her heart beating out a hard, double time rhythm didn’t bode well. Apparently, her body and brain weren’t on the same page. Her brain told her to stay the hell away, but her body said a big fuck you to that logic.
“Yes. I can do it.” She winced. I’m going to get exactly what’s coming to me.
“When?” His eyes searched hers, locking, green meeting blue like hot and cold air clashing.
What’s the darn hurry? She’d wager her last months’ salary that a
ll that ink had been with this guy for a long time, probably at least a decade. “Probably six months wait at least.”
“I can’t. I can’t wait that long.” His voice held that strange, wild edge, the tone that indicated he was close to coming undone. “You don’t have anything sooner? I’ll pay double. Off the books.”
“Make it triple,” Luna blurted, as usual her tongue skipping ahead of her brain.
“Triple it is.” The man reached down, grabbed up his shirt in a fantastic display of rippling muscle. He shrugged it on in a movement far too agile for someone so big.
Whoever said the male form isn’t art was a moron. Luna tried not to stare at his chest but he gave her a few seconds worth of the glorious display before his fingers, suddenly far too nimble, closed up his shirt. The image of his godlike chest was burned into her brain. Crisp, blonde hair smattered over pectorals so hard you could probably crack a beer open in the valley between them. Abs so defined he could have been a poster child for fitness equipment. And scars. Jesus, the scars. They crisscrossed the golden skin that could have been utter perfection.
What kind of life had he known? Luna was familiar with scars. She’d tattooed quite a few. She knew from experience that some of those jagged lines were at least a couple decades old.
Why did the guy insist on looking so clean cut on the outside? Anyone who looked twice could tell that he wasn’t who he said he was. No amount of pressed clothing or expensive, Italian leather shoes could soften those eyes of his. Eyes that had seen far too much of life.
“Tomorrow then?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“We start tomorrow?”
Nothing like getting right down to business. It was utterly shameful, but Luna found that she wanted to see more of his chest, more of that gorgeous broad back and that marred skin. Fuck, she didn’t want it, she craved it. Say no. Say no and run. This guy is just another Jordan. Worse. He’s far more dangerous. Overriding all her good sense, was her unabashed desire to put her mark on his skin. To cover – no. To fix his back.
“Yah. Tomorrow. Send me your ideas tonight, to my email and I’ll draw you something in the morning. The shop closes at seven. Come by then. To the back door.”
He nodded sharply and disappeared, nearly frantic, like someone drowning who sensed the surface was close.
Luna sat down slowly on that bench where she’d tattooed so many people. Where she would tattoo him. It wasn’t only fucked up that she wanted to see him again, it was worse that over twenty-four hours seemed too long to wait. Her fingers itched to touch him, to caress that heated skin again.
The worst part of it all was that she realized the next time she felt that skin she was going to be wearing gloves. It felt like a monumental loss, not to be able to touch him. A man who at this point, didn’t even have a name.
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HER CAPTOR
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Cameron Spade is used to making it on his own. He built his entire empire from nothing and earned the reputation of being a black hearted devil for ruthlessly dealing with anyone who got in his way. His only soft spot is his younger sister, Veronica, who is all he has left in this world. Cameron would do anything to protect her … even if it implies striking back by kidnapping the sister of the man blackmailing Veronica.
The deal was fair. Sarah Redden in return for those racy pictures of his sister.
What was supposed to be even easier was keeping his little prisoner captive on his private island. What he never expected was to have a wildcat bent on escaping at each and every turn.
And what was even worst … he could not resist her. The more she battled him, the more attracted he was with his fiery little prisoner. But she was so off-limits … he did not sympathise with the enemy. EVER.
Preview
CHAPTER 1
Cameron Spade was a busy man. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth so nothing he had was handed to him. He and he alone was solely responsible for the fortune he’d amassed and the empire he’d built.
His little sister, Veronica, normally stayed out of his business. She let him support her but then she’d always looked to him for guidance, long before their mother died. And Cam had been forced to become a man early on to shoulder the family’s responsibility.
“Veronica!” Cam pushed back his leather office chair and stood. The massive mahogany desk and floor to ceiling book shelves in the lavish, high rise office failed to dwarf his own intimidating size. Veronica hardly noticed. He could make a grown man tremble in fear with just a dark look but his sister, a dark haired, blue eyed petite beauty who stood hardly five feet tall and looked like she would blow away in a strong wind, didn’t see him that way and she never would. “This is a surprise.” One look at her face told him something was wrong.
Her blue eyes, normally alive and sparkling, glistened with tears. She blinked them away quickly, knowing how Cam hated weakness. “Cam… I need to talk to you about something.” She clenched her hands in the folds of her flowing yellow maxi dress.
“Sit down then.” He indicated one of the high-backed chairs in front of his desk. The things looked more suited to an evening by a fireplace than an office, but he liked them.
“No. I’d rather stand.”
Cam swallowed hard as his throat closed a fraction. This wasn’t Veronica. His sister was always full of life. She was as headstrong as she was carefree, but she was joyful by nature. “It’s Redden isn’t it?”
Her head whipped up and Cam knew that he was right even before she nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was tiny and lost.
“What’s that bastard done this time?” Cam’s hand balled into a fist at his side. He imagined Trace Redden and longed to smash his fist right into the bastard’s face.
“Cam please!” Veronica rushed to his side and took his hand. Forced his hand open and tangled her fingers in his. She rarely touched him, and he startled at the contact. They weren’t a family who displayed emotions easily; not the loving kind at any rate. Anger, rage, offense, grudges… those came much more naturally, at least to him.
“What’s he done? I warned you about seeing him. He’s a low life scum who didn’t even deserve the opportunity to kiss the soles of your shoes let alone date you. I told you nothing good could come out of it. He used to steal cars, run with gangs. God, he’s probably dealing illegal substances though I couldn’t find anything when I dug up dirt on him. He’s a sneaky son of a bitch. More snake than man.”
“Cam!” Veronica cut him off. Her beautiful, baby face twisted with sorrow and rage of her own. “Please! I know what you think. The whole damn world knows what you think.” She gripped his hand so hard it actually hurt. A tremble ran through her slight frame. “You were right.”
“What’s he done?” He asked again. The words were hard and grounded out as Cam struggled to control himself.
“He… oh Cam! I can’t tell you! It’s going to break your heart!”
Cam untwisted his hand from his sister’s death grip. He led her over to the chair he’d asked her to take earlier and forced her to sit. He hunched into the other one, trying to appear understanding though the only thing he felt was potent rage. “Tell me.”
Another tremble ripped through Veronica. “He has- pictures- of me. Naked. He told me that it was over between us and that he was going to sell them to every media outlet he could find. That failing, he’ll post them online himself and the damage will be done from there. Unless- unless we agree to pay him ten million dollars. He gave me five days.”
Cam’s rage was instant and so forceful that black spots danced in front of his eyes. What he felt could no longer even be described as rage. Trace Redden was little more than a bug; a roach that needed to be squashed under the heel of his boot.
“Cam please! Tell me you aren’t going to hurt him.” Veronica’s pleading voice startled him out of the revenge plan he was already formulating.
“
No. Of course not. I don’t go around hurting people. Jesus, Veronica, you of all people should know that those stories aren’t true.”
Those angelic blue eyes never wavered from his face. “I know you don’t, Cam. You don’t, but you have men who do. I know what happens to the people who owe you money. I know that some people think you’re a bad man; a loan shark with no scruples. You’re not afraid to tear people’s lives apart, to take their houses, or instill the fear of god in them.”
Cam bristled. “That’s what happens when you borrow money and don’t pay it back. People know the risks and the consequences before they come to me. We are a legitimate business.”
“So, I suppose your goons are legitimate as well. The threats and intimidation and broken bones…”
“Veronica!” She trembled again, and Cam moderated his voice. Icy tendrils of guilt spread through him. He was never harsh with his sister. He loved her far too much for that. “I don’t break people’s bones. Clint broke someone’s finger once without my permission. The guy owed a substantial amount of money. Clint went there to convince him to pay. It was actually an accident. He went to bend the guy’s hand back and the man’s finger snapped. The stories snowballed after that. I thought you knew that. My men, despite the fact that they spread threats and intimidation when and where it’s needed, would never physically harm someone.”
“Intimidation and threats are just as bad.”
“Some would break every bone in a man’s body or worse. People still disappear in the middle of the night.”