Breaking A Bad Boy Read online

  He stood alongside his parents. “Thanks. Hope to be as happy as you two have been on Evermore.”

  “Son, just remember that life is a journey,” Wade remarked. “Worth every step with a good woman. You bringing Sommer out here to take a look?”

  “As soon as I can,” he replied.

  Sarah patted his arm. “She’s a lovely girl and I bet she’ll adore this place.”

  They all returned to the main part of Evermore, dropping his mother back at the house, and then he and his father parked at the main barn. “I’ll catch up with Brandon’s crew and deal with the vaccinations.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Wade said, then he turned to Rory. “Son, I have no doubt that you’ll be as content as I have been by setting down your own roots. You’ve always had a surefooted approach to life. Don’t veer from what you hold in your heart. You hear me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Rory said, pulling on a pair of worn leather gloves and adjusting his hat on his head, all the while thinking of Sommer. “I fully intend on going after what’s important.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “HEY, RACHEL,” Sommer called out, walking into the back room of the tattoo parlor and lifting her bag off her shoulder. She hadn’t stopped for coffee, opting to grab a quick shower before racing over to work and right now, she could use a cup. Hooking the strap of her bag onto a peg on the wall, she noticed the tightness of her muscles all over her body. No mistaking the sensation of being swollen between her legs, and the echo impression of Rory’s hands and mouth on her skin. For a second, she closed her eyes and relished remembering her gorgeous boyfriend’s face…his tongue and lips taking her around the bend.

  If her first customer was running late, she’d make a caffeine run down the block. God, thinking about customers, she considered texting Jen and making up an excuse about not being available for Drew. But that would mean she couldn’t help Vince, either.

  Only one way to deal with a guy like Drew was by maintaining a totally professional persona. She’d encountered his kind before. He’d better not show up, thinking she was interested in him. She’d set him straight in record time, if he did.

  Rachel, the owner of Tattooed Rose, stuck her head in and laughed. “You’ve got some business today. We might need to give out numbers.”

  “How’d you know?” she asked, coming into the reception area, then noticed a set of broad shoulders—minus a shirt—and long blond hair reclining in her chair. Her eyes focused on Vince’s tattoo unimpeded by clothing for a couple of beats before gravitating to his motorcycle boots, crossed at the ankles. His boots dipped off the end of the recliner, but didn’t move—his whole body was completely still. He had sunglasses on, but she bet he was deep asleep.

  “How about if I take your touch-up?” Rachel suggested with an arched brow.

  “Thanks. I owe you,” she whispered, leaning over and waving to her other client. “Ed, step this way. Rachel will get you fixed-up.”

  Her client nodded. No way was he about to argue if Rachel agreed to work on him. Dressed in motorcycle leathers, Rachel featured her body as the daily version of a bad girl to the core. At thirty something, she was single and had a partner…or a couple. Rachel like Sommer wasn’t inked to the max, but teased her skin with trailing tattoo, the most delicate rose she’d ever seen inked. The design wound around Rachel’s wrist and trailed up her arm, wove into a band around her boss’s neck, reminding Sommer of a delicate collar, then disappeared, an inked vine running down her back.

  Today, Rachel wore a tiny leather vest and Ed’s eyes veered to Rachel’s chest when she tapped his arm. “Right over here if it’s okay that I work on you?”

  “Sure. I mean Sommer is great, but I’m flexible. I didn’t follow her directions, so thanks for helping me out.” Ed coughed, his face turning bright red. He did accounting for one of the ranches outside of Clarkesville—a referral from another one of Sommer’s customers. More and more, she received word-of-mouth recommendations, and her client list was growing.

  “Girl, we came early,” Ivy announced.

  Sommer swung her focus toward her friend coming out of her inking station, a small alcove in the corner of the shop, and she returned Ivy’s broad smile. “Hey. So I see.”

  “Did we cramp your schedule?” Ivy asked in a low voice, her dark hair picked up in a messy bun and her equally dark eyes flashing from behind a pair of Ray Ban’s.

  “Absolutely not!” She burst out, surprised to see Ivy here, but also pleased, considering last night and all the mojo going on. In the daylight, things had a way of settling down, yet still, she was glad Ivy was here with Vince. Then she cut a glance around the shop. “Just you two?” Sommer asked.

  “Yeah. Jen and Drew are still back at the hotel. Vince said he could sleep anywhere. We were up all night,” Ivy snickered.

  “State of the nation,” she replied and finger brushed her hair into a high ponytail. She separated the beaded curtains that she’d strung, giving her a little bit of a boundary for her corner within the tattoo parlor, and waited for Ivy to enter. They both tiptoed over to the recliner, and stared down at Vince’s sleeping face.

  “If you’re tired, you can lie down in other chair. It’ll be empty this morning.” Besides Rachel and her, another ink artist came in and held court in the late evening hours. Jeremy. His clients were serious tattoo consumers in the narrow Gothic vein that ran through this part of Northern Texas.

  “I’m good.” Ivy leaned over, whispering into Vince’s ear. “Vin, it’s time.”

  The striking contrast of her friend’s dark hair and smooth olive skin against her newest client’s golden glow, both in hair and tan, beckoned notice. They looked amazing together; something definitely seemed to click, at least visually between Ivy and Vince.

  He reached out and wrapped his hands over Ivy’s hips, his fingers grazing lower, and he smiled with that same Adonis grin he’d worn last night. “Really, gorgeous?” he questioned in a gravelly voice.

  Well, maybe in the light of day, some things didn’t exactly fizzle out. Ivy brushed her mouth against his. “How about some coffee?” Ivy asked him.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic idea,” he replied, cupping Ivy behind her head and bringing their mouths back together.

  Sommer wondered if it would be like that with Rory. The spark growing even hotter after sex. Underneath her skin, instead of her hunger being sated from last night, her whole body was coiling into a hot mess of ache and need in wanting more of what Rory had dished out, over and over, all night long. She turned away from Ivy and Vince, picking up her drawing pad and flipped through to a blank page. Several ideas popped into her head about the archangel design to compliment Vince’s tattoo. Reaching for an ink pen, she sat on her stool and made a few rapid sketches, eyeing the existing ink art on Vince’s neck and shoulder. She studied the tattoo and noticed areas that would look amazing with the idea of taking the linear motif and softening the artwork to meld with the natural contours of his body.

  “Morning,” Vince said.

  “You made it,” Sommer replied, bouncing up from the stool and coming over to him and Ivy. “Take a look.”

  He lifted his shades and took hold of her drawing pad. “Yep. Wanted to give you as much time as possible.”

  Their eyes met and he smiled—a genuine expression—and she felt her lips spread and curve upward. His gaze dropped to the pad and his brows drew together. He was below her field of vision and she couldn’t see into his eyes, except that he blinked rapidly.

  “Something’s wrong?” she asked, watching the way a muscle clenched and unclenched along the side of his jaw. “I can rework the design—”

  “Don’t,” he said then coughed. “Let’s do this. Can you do the feathers like wind is moving through them?”

  “Oh yeah. Less static. Great idea.”

  Ivy leaned over and looked at the design. “Sommer, this is really good. And right off the top of your head.”

  “I was thinking about the design since I saw you
r tattoo last night. Glad you like it. I just need to transfer it to your body and then we can get started. Let me refine the design. Won’t take long.”

  “I’ll go get us some coffee,” Ivy said. “Any takers?”

  Vince reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, holding it out to Ivy. “Got cash or a credit card. You need me to pay upfront?”

  “Nope,” she said and pointed to the sign that had her hourly fee. “I work by the hour. All I need is your signature on a couple of forms and for you to sit up so I can take a look at your back and shoulders.”

  “Vince, what do you want?” Ivy said, slipping his wallet into her purse.

  One night and Ivy already had wallet privileges. How far did things go last night?

  Sommer pursed her lips. Soon this guy would be out of here and on the road, going all the way to Los Angeles. But what about Ivy? Sure her friend acted all cool, but she hadn’t seen Ivy this…quiet was the only description that came to mind. Subdued was the sassy and snarky side of Ivy, and in its place was a soft and vulnerable one.

  Holy moly! Her heart hurt for her friend.

  “Latte. Two cubes of ice?” Ivy looked over at her while lowering the pair of sunglasses from the top of her head.

  “Please. You’re a lifesaver! Let me grab my purse.”

  “Forget it,” Vince said. “It’s on me. Ivy, don’t take her money.”

  “Sorry, chica!” Ivy replied. “You heard the man.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Sommer sat back down, ready to get this show on the road.

  Ivy ended up with an order that included a double espresso for Rachel and a tall black dark roast for Ed. When the bell to the front door chimed, she turned back to Vince and handed him her pad. “This is the final version.”

  “Serious stuff. How do you turn out a design like this so fast?”

  “That’s just how my brain works. Wish I could control what catches my motivation. If it doesn’t interest me or if there’s…too much pressure, I procrastinate something terrible.”

  Vince nodded. “Been there. Most people’s story, from what I have seen.”

  “Guess it’s easier to fly free,” she said softly, thinking about how sure Rory seemed in wanting to get married, and how she was the one dragging her feet.

  Why though? She should be racing down the aisle toward the finish line in how much she loved, lusted, and was driven to the brink by him.

  But with her mom’s constant nagging about making the right decision, the stress dampened her desire to take a chance. It wasn’t like marrying Rory was buying stock in the right company. Not to her. Marriage was the ultimate risk. A risk that just thinking about made her stomach somersault.

  “What’s your story?” Vince asked, jarring her wandering thoughts.

  “Nothing earth shattering. I grew up around here. Went to art school, but I didn’t like the despondency of cubicle created art, so I opted out of going the corporate route when I graduated. Tried one small firm, but that didn’t work out and around here, there aren’t that many artistic opportunities.”

  “Part of the small-town package. The big city isn’t any easier. I know from experience. Yep. I graduated from Berklee and after a few gigs, found it wasn’t what I was really into. I needed to get away from being pegged into a slot.”

  “Last night, you guys really kicked it up. You’re an incredible guitarist,” she said.

  “Classically trained. Like my sister. We were child prodigies and started a small rock band out in Boston. Just us two. But that didn’t fall in line with our parents’ way of thinking. They just about blew a gasket on that one.”

  She handed him a clipboard with the customer permission forms. “I don’t mean to pry, but you said your sister…passed away?”

  Vince glanced down at the forms, then slowly upward as he exhaled a breath. “She died in an automobile accident. Immediate. My parents blamed…still blame me. I don’t have any other sisters or brothers, but they act like both their kids died in that crash.” He closed his arctic blue eyes for a second and dipped his head back against the neck rest.

  “Parents can put a load of undue pressure on kids. I don’t know why they can’t see the effects. Even if it’s grief, if parents get stuck in it and take it out on their kid, it’s pretty intense. It sucks; at least it does for me.” She slipped on some gloves and came over to his side, gently moving his chin so she could see the tattoo and begin transferring her design.

  “Sounds like you know where I’m coming from,” he replied, leveling her with a serious look.

  “My parents divorced when I was in high school. It got ugly and it’s still not over,” she said, shrugging, not about to share the real issue of Momma’s bipolar episodes with him. “I can’t get my mom to see that it’s time to move on—or at least get some help that works.”

  Vince nodded while keeping his face turned to the side. “That’s it. So fucking hard to get them to climb out of a dark and dismal hole. I don’t know…maybe I deserve some of my parents’ anger. I was driving when another car sideswiped us. Hit the passenger side. It’s shitty how things turn out.”

  “Hopefully, today won’t add to that list.” She studied each of the outer lines running over his skin. “The original tattoo for your sister is really impressive. Photo realism.”

  “Done in San Diego. Not the same ink work as what surrounds it. I should have waited until I returned to L.A. to deal with the tattoo. But hell, I got a distinct impression last night, and here I am.”

  “I won’t disappoint you. I don’t have any siblings and would have liked to have one. Still, I get how important this is to you.”

  AFTER working non-stop for hours on Vince’s tattoo, the muscles between shoulder blades burned. She rotated her neck that had grown stiff and pumped the ink gun. Not much more to do, other than instruct Vince on her specific protocol for how to care for his tattoo. Part of the problem with Ed had been that he’d gone fishing too soon. No sun. No water. No rubbing. Ed had done all three and was right back here for a touch-up. Vince would be out in L.A. and she didn’t want to risk this being a bad idea for someone who already had tons of crap piled on his plate.

  The front doorbell chimed, and Ivy stopped flipping through a magazine and looked up. The corners of her mouth flared. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Naw. No cat would dare touch me.” A man’s voice answered. Vaguely, if not irritatingly, familiar. “I’m here for my body art appointment.” She flinched at the intonation in Drew’s tone.

  It was near to twelve and she’d give him points for arriving before noon. She prayed to hear Jen’s snarky commentary, but there was dead silence except for the low hum of her gun. She looked over her shoulder and her mouth hardened into a line. Drew stood in the outer room, watching her, or a part of her anatomy that was well below her head. Again.

  Good thing she’d dressed in jeans and a band T-shirt today. Nothing outlandish. No hidden messages that she was trying attract anyone’s attention. “Hi, Drew,” she said.

  Instantly, his eyes snapped to hers and he smiled. Not the free and open grin that Vince let go, but the type that made a Cheshire cat seem modest. He bit his lip and nodded to her. “Sommer, how goes it?”

  Ivy rose and came to stand next to Vince. “Amazing work, girl.”

  “Almost done,” she said, wiping the back of her wrist over her forehead.

  “You gotta see this.” Ivy turned toward Drew and waved him over. “B.T.W…where’s Jen?”

  “Don’t know. She split and I came here.”

  “I’m taking off in a minute,” Rachel said from behind her. She heard the cash register and guessed Rachel was gathering the morning receipts, probably going to make a deposit.

  She inhaled and replaced the gun in the holder, blotted Vince’s shoulder blade, and then looked over at Rachel. “You going to the bank?”

  “Nope. It’s the holiday. They’re closed.”

  “Oh right,” she said, noticing that Drew wasn’
t staring at her. She breathed easier without his dark eyes constantly following her, and after last night with Lonny, she felt like snapping if he tried something. Calm down, Kincaid.

  Drew had his arms crossed in front of his chest as Rachel bent over the counter, trying to catch a receipt that flipped out from her fingertips. She watched as Drew knelt and picked up the receipt, holding it out to Rachel, as her boss’s eyes glided over him.

  Please! God, she knew she shouldn’t, but she wished that Drew would find an excuse to leave…say, with Rachel. Did that make her a horrible backstabbing bitch? It wasn’t like he was Jen’s boyfriend. If anything, Drew was a manslut, and no ordinary woman around here needed that type of idiot problem.

  “So you’re here for a tattoo?” Rachel asked him in her velvet voice.

  “Or something,” Drew replied.

  “It’s always the ‘or something’ that gets a person into trouble.” Rachel cocked her head. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Up from Austin. Hellhound—our band, is on the way out to the West Coast.” Drew jerked his head over toward Vince, without breaking eye contact with Rachel.

  Her boss nodded. “Best to keep moving then.”

  Aw nuts! If Rachel passed on him, it meant he was too hot to handle.

  Drew laughed. “Is that right?” Then he swung his glance over to her and she stiffened as though caught in a snare. “You almost ready for me?”

  Sommer had a choice. Either make up some excuse, or set the tone for how this inking was about to go down. Allowing him to have the power to unnerve her wasn’t an option. Rachel would understand if she turned away an obnoxious client. Sommer looked over to Ivy. “Give me a second.”

  “’K,” Ivy answered, her eyes wide.