Sinful Southern Ink

Sinful Southern Ink

S.J. Drum

Jed Weston is a tall, hard country boy with dangerous cowboy charm and piercings in
all
the right places. As Abigail’s employee in her tattoo and piercing shop, he’s kept things between them on a strictly professional level. Until Abigail’s violent past catches up with her and she seeks his comfort—comfort that leads to an intense emotional and sexual connection neither can ignore.

Jed’s jealous ex-girlfriend, a nosy reporter, and a potential father-in-law in prison won’t keep him from the woman who makes him hard at the very sight of her. Nothing will keep Jed Weston from catching—and keeping—the woman he loves.

Sinful Southern Ink

S.J. Drum

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 this time. This time, she wanted this one thing to be just between the two of them. Placing a picture of it in one of her books for the whole town to flip through in the lobby would cheapen it somehow.

She pressed a flat square of sterile gauze over the tattoo and secured the edges with medical tape to keep it in place. Snapping her rubber gloves off, she watched the play of muscles moving up Jed’s arms, down his back, and over his sides as he pushed up to a sitting position and faced her. “You want a couple ibuprofen? I have some in my desk.”

“Nah, it’s nothing. Won’t bother me a bit.” He pulled a white T-shirt over his head and settled it before grabbing his blue flannel shirt and sliding it on, working the buttons between long fingers.

You know what they say about big hands… Why had she never noticed how large his hands were before?

Her gaze finally made its way to his face to find him staring back at her in amusement. She cleared her throat, feeling a blush stain her cheeks. “So, you booked up this afternoon?”

Nice, Abigail. Might as well ask him about the weather. You’ve seen Jed almost every day for three years! Stop making everything so damn awkward!

“Yup.” He glanced at the old-fashioned, saloon-style clock on the wall. “First appointment will be here in about fifteen minutes, then I’ve got someone scheduled every half-hour until close.”

Jed slid off the table, his knees brushing against Abigail’s, the brief contact enough to make her shiver. She stood, stretched, retreated to the other side of the small room, turned away from him and proceeded to busy her hands by preparing for her next client.

“Anything interesting?” she asked without looking at him.

Jed’s days were usually filled with mundane piercings—ears, nose, tongue. Occasionally he’d get the more interesting requests—nipples, clitoral hoods, penis. A few guys had even come in to get their nuts pierced.

“I’ve got a surface piercing scheduled—back of the neck—at eight. You should come over and watch. Not many people ask for those around here.”

“I’d love to.” Abigail winced, thinking her words might have sounded a bit too eager. She owned the damn shop, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t watched him work before. In an attempt to tone it down, she added, “If I don’t have a client or anything—” She glanced over her shoulder to judge his reaction.

Jed was already gone.

* * * * *

Abigail stood in the half-opened doorway at exactly 7:55, jaw clenched, watching as Jed’s large hands cupped and lifted Sherrie’s breasts, caressing the plump undersides with his thumbs. Normally, clients requested to keep the doors closed when any of their private parts were exposed, but not Sherrie.

Why Sherrie felt the need to come into the shop every damn time she wanted the rings in her nipples changed, Abigail didn’t know. The vapid woman was already screwing Jed—or “dating” as Sherrie liked to say—it wasn’t as if she had to put up a pretense to get his hands on her big tits.

It was all Abigail could do to not jerk the woman away from Jed and drag her by her teased bleached hair right out the door. Even as she fought the compulsion, she knew her reaction made little sense as she had no claim on Jed. Not yet, anyway.

Sherrie moaned, arching her back to thrust her huge breasts an inch closer to Jed’s face.

Oh, come on.

Jed gave one silver ring a small tweak, then sat back and placed his hands on his knees. “There ya go, sugar. All done.”

Sherrie spotted Abigail in the doorway, meanness glinting in her contact-enhanced blue eyes. Her gaze moved back to Jed. A practiced pout formed on her painted red lips. “You’re still coming over tonight, right?” She practically purred with invitation.

Abigail thought she might be sick.
What the hell does Jed see in this Barbie Doll?

Wanting to avoid any further torture, she cleared her throat, drawing Jed’s attention.

He looked up from the clipboard he now held across his lap, scribbling notes about the session in his chicken-scratch handwriting.

Abigail had always appreciated Jed’s meticulous recordkeeping and professional work ethic. Maybe that was why she was so damn irritated seeing him fondle his fuck buddy’s breasts in the shop. Not that he’d done anything too over the line. Still, it started a cold knot coiling in the pit of her stomach at seeing his hands on another woman.

She’d never had anything beyond a professional relationship with Jed, so her reaction to seeing him with Sherrie was unexpected. In fact, until a few weeks ago, she’d never considered Jed as a potential lover, only a friend. Then, a few Saturdays past, she’d run into town to do some errands and had seen Jed’s old, white dually truck hooked up to his beaten-down stock trailer parked in the lot of the community center.

Curious, Abigail had parked across the street and walked over for a closer look. Before she’d reached the rig, Jed led a group of teens through the doors of the community center and directed them to stand aside as he unloaded two docile quarter horses from the trailer and tied them to the outside. As Jed had begun explaining facts about the animals—what they ate, how to care for them, how often they needed ridden—he passed out brushes and instructed the kids on how to groom the two quiet mares.

Abigail’d slipped inside the community center to the information desk, without being spotted by Jed, and asked what was going on.

“Mr. Weston leads an at-risk youth group on Saturday mornings. The kids love it. He’ll bring horses for a few weekends in a row, then goats, chickens, even brought a llama once.” The octogenarian secretary flashed her dentures in a smile and tilted her headful of springy gray curls. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you thinking of helping out? Plenty of kids out there in need of a good role model.” Then she’d eyed the tattoos peeking out from beneath Abigail’s sleeves and raised a brow.

Abigail hadn’t been able to beat feet out of there fast enough.

She herself had been an at-risk youth, she had no desire to revisit that life. But seeing Jed with those kids, doing something so selfless and freakin’ heroic…it’d changed something about the way she saw him.

“—coming in?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, wondering how long Jed had been speaking to her while she stood in the doorway like an idiot, lost in thought. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were coming in.” He motioned to a chair in the corner used for anyone wanting to observe a procedure. “Or are you just gonna stand there all night blocking the door?”

Sherrie had her shirt back on—thank God—and stood next to Jed’s chair with her fake-nailed hands curled into fists on her skinny hips. She looked smug, the bitch. “Well?”

Fuck. She sounded smug too.

Abigail wanted to wipe that smirk off her glossy red lips.

Jed gave Sherrie a pat on the ass, presumably to get her moving toward the door, as Abigail entered the room and headed for the chair in the corner. Sherrie looked as if she wanted to say something else, but the next client was moving into the room and just like that, Jed dismissed her as if she was no longer there.

In a huff that sent a thrill of satisfaction through Abigail, Sherrie swept out of the room, her tacky Payless stilettos click-clacking down the hall to the front door.

Abigail sat silently on the chair in the corner, observing Jed as he readied his client—a twenty-year-old male college student—for the surface piercing about to be administered to the back of the kid’s neck. She was humbled again by Jed’s easy confidence and the way he put the client at ease with a perfect mix of facts, humor, instructions and banter.

When he looked over his shoulder, a smile she’d like to see up close and personal—in private—stretched across his firm lips, and he gave her a wink.

Abigail thought she’d melt right there. Her heartbeat sped and she felt a flush creep up her neck.

After he turned back to his client and began placing the clamps at the back of the kid’s neck, she realized she’d scooted forward on the seat so her butt perched on the very edge, her back straight as a board.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She slumped back and attempted to concentrate on the procedure taking place and not the tight ass perfectly showcased in well-worn jeans or the flex of her new obsession’s biceps as he worked.

Damn, it was gonna be a long night.