Chapter One
Abigail Hart leaned over the man’s back, her implement jumping, vibrating in her hand as the needle pierced his tanned skin. She enjoyed this, the mostly irreversible quality of her work. This ability she had to leave a mark on humanity that wasn’t easily brushed aside like the marks of devotion, lust, love.
She leaned closer still, feigning the need for a more detailed inspection and taking the opportunity to blow a hot, moist breath across her captive’s abraded skin. A swell of chill bumps blooming across his broad, muscled back was her reward.
“Almost done.” She straightened, sensing the man’s restlessness.
Jed Weston, the resident piercer at Hart’s Ink, turned his head so his right cheek was pressed flat against the table.
Abigail leaned back, lifting the needle from his skin and angling her head so she could make eye contact. “You doing all right?”
One finely arched, masculine brow raised over a gem-green eye in question.
There was no need to ask Jed if he wanted a break from the tattoo being etched into the skin between his shoulder blades. His hard, muscled body had quite a few tattoos already, not to mention more than a couple piercings—some in very interesting places.
“Fine. You know I can go for hours, sweetheart.” Those dark-blond brows wagged and half a grin crept up on the side of his face not pressed against the table.
“Hmph…” Abigail leaned forward and started the needle gliding across his skin once more. Actually, she had no idea how long Jed could “go”. He was only joking, but it drove home the point that she didn’t know near as much about him as she’d like to.
Jed had worked at Hart’s Ink, Abigail’s tattoo and piercing parlor, for three years, and in all that time, things between them had never gone beyond friendly teasing. Not that Abigail hadn’t noticed Jed’s aw-shucks cowboy charm, tightly packed abs or ruggedly handsome face. She’d noticed, of course. The man was well over six feet of all-American, naughty temptation. She’d just never found herself reacting to him as she did now, today, with his lean but muscled, tan body stretched out on her table.
A pair of well-worn jeans were pushed low on his hips, the sensitive, tantalizing skin of his lower back begged for a tongue to trace over it. She licked her lips, pretending they were the sweet spot peeking just above the waistline of those fine jeans. She’d like to be touching him all the places those jeans currently rested.
Fuck, I’m jealous of a pair of pants. Abigail shook her head. This was a new low. And Abigail knew a thing or two about lows.
She swiped a piece of sterile cotton over the barely bleeding patch of newly inked skin on Jed’s back. The design, one he’d drawn himself—and how sexy was that?—had turned out better than she’d imagined. Perfect, in fact, despite her lusty thoughts and preoccupied mind while she’d worked.
“All done. I’ll just put a coat of Tattoo Goo on here and bandage you up. You know the drill.”
“That I do, sweetheart.” Jed turned his face so it was cradled in the shelter of his arms, making his expression unreadable.
Not that Abigail expected to find anything of consequence there. This was business as usual for them. She’d inked him a dozen times over the last three years. So why was it different for her today? Why did having her hands on his hot skin make her squeeze her thighs together, just to find some relief?
She considered taking a photo of it for her collection while the design was highlighted by the sheen of ointment brushed over the surface. Jed had drawn a picture of a spur like you’d find strapped to the heel of a cowboy boot, but he’d tweaked it, adding a steampunk flair that looked both whimsical and masculine. Abigail had never seen anything like it—beautiful, unique—and she’d had a hand in its creation as the one to immortalize the design on his skin.
No, she wouldn’t take a picture. Not
Abigail Hart leaned over the man’s back, her implement jumping, vibrating in her hand as the needle pierced his tanned skin. She enjoyed this, the mostly irreversible quality of her work. This ability she had to leave a mark on humanity that wasn’t easily brushed aside like the marks of devotion, lust, love.
She leaned closer still, feigning the need for a more detailed inspection and taking the opportunity to blow a hot, moist breath across her captive’s abraded skin. A swell of chill bumps blooming across his broad, muscled back was her reward.
“Almost done.” She straightened, sensing the man’s restlessness.
Jed Weston, the resident piercer at Hart’s Ink, turned his head so his right cheek was pressed flat against the table.
Abigail leaned back, lifting the needle from his skin and angling her head so she could make eye contact. “You doing all right?”
One finely arched, masculine brow raised over a gem-green eye in question.
There was no need to ask Jed if he wanted a break from the tattoo being etched into the skin between his shoulder blades. His hard, muscled body had quite a few tattoos already, not to mention more than a couple piercings—some in very interesting places.
“Fine. You know I can go for hours, sweetheart.” Those dark-blond brows wagged and half a grin crept up on the side of his face not pressed against the table.
“Hmph…” Abigail leaned forward and started the needle gliding across his skin once more. Actually, she had no idea how long Jed could “go”. He was only joking, but it drove home the point that she didn’t know near as much about him as she’d like to.
Jed had worked at Hart’s Ink, Abigail’s tattoo and piercing parlor, for three years, and in all that time, things between them had never gone beyond friendly teasing. Not that Abigail hadn’t noticed Jed’s aw-shucks cowboy charm, tightly packed abs or ruggedly handsome face. She’d noticed, of course. The man was well over six feet of all-American, naughty temptation. She’d just never found herself reacting to him as she did now, today, with his lean but muscled, tan body stretched out on her table.
A pair of well-worn jeans were pushed low on his hips, the sensitive, tantalizing skin of his lower back begged for a tongue to trace over it. She licked her lips, pretending they were the sweet spot peeking just above the waistline of those fine jeans. She’d like to be touching him all the places those jeans currently rested.
Fuck, I’m jealous of a pair of pants. Abigail shook her head. This was a new low. And Abigail knew a thing or two about lows.
She swiped a piece of sterile cotton over the barely bleeding patch of newly inked skin on Jed’s back. The design, one he’d drawn himself—and how sexy was that?—had turned out better than she’d imagined. Perfect, in fact, despite her lusty thoughts and preoccupied mind while she’d worked.
“All done. I’ll just put a coat of Tattoo Goo on here and bandage you up. You know the drill.”
“That I do, sweetheart.” Jed turned his face so it was cradled in the shelter of his arms, making his expression unreadable.
Not that Abigail expected to find anything of consequence there. This was business as usual for them. She’d inked him a dozen times over the last three years. So why was it different for her today? Why did having her hands on his hot skin make her squeeze her thighs together, just to find some relief?
She considered taking a photo of it for her collection while the design was highlighted by the sheen of ointment brushed over the surface. Jed had drawn a picture of a spur like you’d find strapped to the heel of a cowboy boot, but he’d tweaked it, adding a steampunk flair that looked both whimsical and masculine. Abigail had never seen anything like it—beautiful, unique—and she’d had a hand in its creation as the one to immortalize the design on his skin.
No, she wouldn’t take a picture. Not
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