One Taste of Sin
A One Taste Novel (Book 4)
By Amanda Siegrist
Copyright © 2018 Amanda Siegrist
All Rights Reserved.
This ebook may not be re-sold or re-distributed to another person unless consent is given by this author. If you wish to share this book, please purchase an additional copy. It may not be re-produced in any format for your own rights. If you did not purchase this book, please return to the retailer to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this book are a product of the author’s imagination. Places, events, and locations mentioned are created to either help inspire the story, or are real and used in a fictitious manner.
♡ Warning: This novel contains a sexy tattoo artist. Get ready for lots of heat and a dose of angst, because Stitch is about to make your heart swoon. Happy reading! ♡
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
He set his machine down and stretched his arms, then stood up with a sweet ass grin. Damn, he was good. “Take a look.”
The burly guy in the chair, Richard, stood up and turned his back to the mirror as he peered behind his shoulder. His nod said it all. He agreed. He just tattooed the most kick-ass tattoo.
A black and white dragon filled Richard’s entire back. It took several sittings, but it was worth every second. The dragon’s mouth was wide open, baring its frightening teeth, with his claws ready to attack. The lines were all perfect and precision straight, as he always did. He had a steady hand. Most days.
Shit. He didn’t want to think about the pain he’d been experiencing lately.
“Looks amazing, dude.” Richard turned in his direction and smiled wide. “Totally rad, Stitch. Thanks for doing this.”
“Anytime. You were thinking something on your leg next, right?”
“Yeah. My girl’s working on a sketch. I love the creative shit she does.”
Stitch couldn’t disagree with that. She drew the original sketch for the dragon piece. He tweaked a few things more to his liking, but overall, she had talent.
“Can’t wait to see it.”
Stitch motioned him to come closer so he could clean the tattoo before placing a thin wrap over it to protect it, then gave him aftercare instructions. Richard knew everything he needed to do, but Stitch always—and he meant always—followed his routine. When he didn’t, shit always went sideways. Richard was used to the spiel, but he still listened and nodded as if he didn’t. Most people listened when he spoke. The ones who didn’t usually paid the price, coming back in because they screwed up their tattoo.
As soon as Richard walked out of his room, he pulled off his gloves and threw them into the trash can near his drawing table. Ignoring the slight pain in his wrist, he sat down to work on a drawing for another regular who wanted his tattoo done next week. He had plenty of time to finish it, but he always preferred to get things out of the way instead of procrastinating. Biding one’s time never got a person very far. Getting shit done right away proved very beneficial for him.
Look at his life now.
He had a successful tattoo business, doing something he loved every single day. He had a wait list two months out, proving how high in demand he was. Because he rocked at what he did, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. To anyone.
How many people could say that? How many people could say they were happy with their life, their job?
Well, he knew one person.
Throwing his pencil across the desk, he backed away and stood up, irritated at himself for letting his thoughts drift to her. The one woman he told himself repeatedly to stop thinking about since the night he walked out on her.
Susan.
Just thinking her name sent a chill down his spine, a tingling sensation of anticipation of what he would do if she stood in front of him.
Devour her from head to toe and never let her go.
Shit, so all aspects in his life weren’t exactly fine. His professional life he couldn’t complain about. His personal life, well, he didn’t know what to say. It lacked something. He didn’t realize it lacked anything until he met her.
At one time, he was happy. Dating here and there, scratching his itch when he felt the need. It wasn’t too difficult to find a beautiful woman willing to share his bed until he got bored. Yeah, that sounded arrogant, but the women he took to bed knew the score. They knew he wasn’t into long-term.
He was fine with that. He didn’t need the whole white picket fence sort of life. He knew at a young age, he wasn’t destined for that kind of life.
Then he met her.
Everything he thought he believed sounded like total bullshit. Yet, as tough and dangerous as he liked to make himself appear, something he needed to do at times to make people see reason, he knew he wasn’t strong enough to attempt a future with her. Not even something as simple as a sexual relationship.
Well, except that one night.
To distract himself from his wandering thoughts, he started to pick up the mess from his latest client, something he should’ve done right away. The ringtone from his phone broke his disastrous thoughts.
Swiping his phone from his pocket, the number staring back at him put a smile on his face.
“Hey, Doll. How’s it going?”
“Like shit. I need a favor.”
Deena, his best friend from childhood, could always manage to brighten his mood. They lost touch for quite a few years, but a few months ago, she walked back into his life. Now she called him every so often, or him vice versa, and they talked. Her husband, Sauer, seemed like a decent guy, but he didn’t hang around her if he was there. Her husband was a cop and he wasn’t a big fan of cops. Deena knew. She understood. Just one of the many reasons they were best friends.
She sounded stressed, though. Not a normal thing he heard from her often, and it worried him.
“Anything for you, Doll. What’s the matter?”
She sighed heavily, then started talking like a racecar driver going two hundred miles an hour. “Rina’s surprise baby shower is tonight, and I’m stuck at work, which is not where I need to be right now. I have so much I need to bring to the party and I can’t leave work yet. I need to leave now or the entire party will be ruined. Ruined!”
Well…okay.
This was awkward.
He never in his life heard Deena sound melodramatic. Right now she sounded like a drama queen hyped up on speed.
“What do you need from me?”
“Aren’t you listening, Stitch? Why do men never listen?”
What was going on? She sounded almost…hysterical. Was she having problems with Sauer? He hoped not. Because then he’d have to do the best friend duties of beating the shit out of him.
His mind raced through everything she said, and then made the only deduction he could, since she didn’t actually say what she wanted him to do.
> “I can bring the stuff to the party and…” Oh, shit, he didn’t want to help set up a baby shower, but for Deena he’d do about anything. “…and help set up.”
“I knew I could count on you. Everything you need is in the foyer of my house. There’s a bunch of bags and a few cases of water and pop. There’s a key under the flowerpot on the front porch, and the code to the alarm is 6969.”
He snorted, figuring Deena had to have set the code. “Are you sure Sauer doesn’t mind I know how to get into your house? How come he can’t help right now?”
“Why would he care? He’s busy interviewing some witnesses or something. I already tried him. Are you leaving yet? Are you in your car?”
Time to end the call. He couldn’t stand to hear her hysterics, when generally, she wasn’t a hysterical woman. Tough. Strong. In your face. But hysterical? Never.
He debated asking whether things were going okay between her and Sauer, but the words wouldn’t come. “Where am I taking all this stuff?”
Good thing he didn’t have any more clients for the day, although, he would’ve figured out a way to help her. He always did. With a waiting list two months out, he had three other tattoo artists that worked for him, and he was extremely picky about who he took on as a client. Most clients went to his other artists. He only picked the tattoos he could make into a masterpiece. He saw every tattoo he did as that. A masterpiece. A work of art. A piece of his soul etched on another’s skin. Tattooing a random butterfly or a flower or something simple wasn’t something he enjoyed. He liked the challenge of creating something magnificent. If someone wanted a badass tattoo of a butterfly that had some meaning behind it, then he’d tattoo that shit without an issue. If it was some idiot doing it on a dare, or just because, they never stepped foot in his office.
“Susan’s house. I’ll text you her address.”
His knees almost buckled. Her words were like a sucker punch to the gut.
Susan’s house.
Holy. Shit.
“Stitch? Did you hear me?”
“On my way.”
He said a quick goodbye and hung up, sliding his phone back into his pocket before he blurted out he couldn’t help. He’d never gone back on his words before, especially to Deena, and he wasn’t about to start now.
But Susan’s house…
Thinking her sweet name once again caused his gut to churn like a rough current.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t bother taking it out. He knew it was a text from Deena of Susan’s address. Something he didn’t need. He knew it by heart. He’d been there once, a few months ago, and since then, he’d echoed her address over and over in his head, thinking, debating, aching to go there. But he never did.
He had to stay far away from her. From temptation.
Now he had no damn choice but to see her.
Making good time, considering he sped the entire way to Deena’s house, he quickly made entry into her home, feeling odd doing so even with her permission, and grabbed everything. He reset the alarm before leaving and locked up the house tightly before replacing the key back under the flowerpot. What a terrible place to hide it. Anybody smart enough would look there first. Did Sauer know about this? He had an inkling Sauer had no clue his wife hid a key there, because it didn’t seem like something a detective would approve of.
Not his problem.
He took a deep breath before starting up his 1969 Chevelle SS that was his pride and joy. It took over a year for him to save up enough money to start his business, tattooing on the side until he could finally purchase his own shop, then another few years of searching and buying this baby. Probably the only thing in his life that he loved more than anything.
Sure, he loved Deena like a sister. But this baby. This beautiful, red baby that always gave his heart a little jolt when he turned the key, well, he loved her like he hadn’t loved anything in his life. She was his everything.
Cool leather seats, all original. Crimson red. A 396 V8 engine that purred like a newborn kitten.
He loved his car. With a passion.
The same could not be said about a woman. He had never loved a woman like he loved his car.
And Susan…well, he couldn’t say he loved her, but she was something else.
What did it matter? She probably hated him.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into her driveway, his nerves jangling forth like never before.
What the hell?
He never got nervous over a woman. He wasn’t about to start now. Smoothing his hair back, he blew out a breath and got out of the car.
Grabbing a few bags from the trunk, he tried to appear nonchalant as he headed for her door. He would not let his nerves show. What was there to be nervous about? She was just a woman. Just another woman he slept with. No big deal.
Taking a moment, because he knew he needed it, even as pansy as that sounded, he then hit the doorbell.
When the door swung open to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he couldn’t stop the little dance his heart played out. Her light blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, little wisps of hair framing her face. Her hazel eyes, so sweet and innocent, looked at him with shock. He could still picture how gorgeous she looked lying on her bed, her hair fanned out across the pillow after he helped take out all the pins she used to secure her hair into an elegant updo she wore to the ball. He loved her hair flowing freely around her. Temptation pulled at him to yank the ponytail out.
“Hi, Susan.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly surprised to see him, which surprised him. He figured Deena would’ve called her. Why didn’t she? He could see by the strain between her eyes and the stiffness of her posture, she wasn’t happy to see him.
“Deena asked me to drop some things off for the party because she’s stuck at work.” He lifted the bags in his hands to show the evidence.
He figured Susan could appreciate that, eyeing the evidence to back up his words, considering that was her line of work. She worked at the police department in the forensics lab. One of the reasons he walked away from her that night.
“I had no idea. She didn’t tell me, but please bring it in. What’s in those bags?” She stepped back a good distance, obviously not wanting to get too close to him as he walked inside.
“Some food and napkins and whatnot. There’s more in my car.” He took a small breath, holding in the urge to drop the bags to the ground and pull her into his arms. Of course, she didn’t look too receptive to that gesture, but it didn’t stop him from aching to do it. “Where should I put these? Go do whatever you were doing and I’ll bring it all in.”
She nodded, clearly loving that idea, too. Anything to get away from him.
Damn. He did that. He created the huge distance between them.
“On the kitchen table is fine. It’s—”
“Down the hallway and to the right. I know.”
Her jaw clenched, then her features smoothed out as if nothing bothered her. “Well, then. I’ll let you get to it.”
She headed to his left into the living room. He couldn’t be sure where she had been working in the house to set up the party before he arrived, but he didn’t think it was the living room by the way she glanced around the room figuring out what to do. When he stepped into the kitchen and saw the vegetables on the counter, a knife resting on a cutting board by some carrots, he figured she had been working in the kitchen. Obviously, she didn’t want to be in the same room as him.
He could only blame himself for making her feel that way. It didn’t make it hurt any less. Regardless of the tension between them, he couldn’t change it. He wouldn’t. It was for the best. She had to accept it.
Shit. So did he.
He worked as fast as he could, carrying in everything from Deena’s house, trying his damndest not to peek into the living room every time he walked by. He failed every single time. One time he almost stopped to help her hang a banner that she was struggling with. She barel
y made it to his shoulders, considering he was much taller than her, and she was trying to hang a banner to the entry of the living room that almost touched his head.
When he walked out of the kitchen after unloading his last load of supplies, he couldn’t leave without helping. She was still struggling to hang the banner, reaching on her tippy toes. When she jumped, attempting to connect the piece of tape strapped across the corner of the banner to the wall, he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Then a full burst of laughter let loose as he watched the tape slide easily off the wall and the banner fell to the floor.
“So glad you find this humorous.”
“I can help.”
Her head snapped to him. “I don’t want your help. But thank you.”
He enjoyed how, even though she hated him, she couldn’t help but be polite by adding in a thank you. As if her parents had ingrained in her the importance of always being respectful. And his Susan was the sweetest woman he ever met. She treated everyone with respect, at least from what he remembered from that night.
One night with her and he thought he knew her. His Susan—
Wait…No. Not his Susan. Just Susan. He couldn’t call her his, even if he wanted to.
“Why not? What’s so wrong with me helping? I helped bring all that shit in the house.”
Her eyes blazed with fire. His body responded in the wrong way, a way he needed to suppress, but damn he loved seeing the fire in her eyes. Perhaps that’s why he did it.
Plus, he honestly wanted to know why. So they had sex once. So he left the next morning...really, really early in the morning. Without saying goodbye. And never calling her once as he said he would. It still didn’t mean he couldn’t help hang a dumbass banner.
“Like I said, Stitch, I don’t want your help.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek at the way she said his name. With disgust. “At least grab a chair, then. It’ll help, shorty.”
Her mouth dropped open at the way he said shorty. The anger in her eyes intensified. It ignited his desire even more. Damn, she was sexy as hell all flustered and angry.
“I’m not that short. I’ll get it without a chair or your help.”
One Taste of Sin (A One Taste Novel Book 4) Page 1
