Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1)

by Heidi Joy Tretheway

  “Have you ever been on a private jet before?”

  “Oh, yeah, hundreds of times. It’s, like, so boring.”

  Gavin laughs and tickles me, forcing me to admit the truth—the only time I’ve flown in an airplane since my dad died was the commercial flight to New York.

  “Would you take me to Oregon with you? I could get us a private flight.”

  “You really want to go?” Gavin takes my hand to help me out of the town car and leads me to his apartment.

  “Are you kidding? After the way you described it, I’m ready to move there.” We hold hands and say goodnight to Charles as we pass him. He returns our smiles with a huge grin.

  “Right.” I say.

  “OK, not really. Not with the band here in New York. But I’d love to visit. Are you OK with introducing me to your mom?”

  I tell him I will, and then ask if we can bring Dan with us on the flight. I explain that he and my mom are rekindling a relationship from long ago.

  “If Dan comes, I probably can’t get away with doing naughty things to you on the flight, huh?”

  “I think that would be too weird,” I say. “But don’t worry. We’ll go to the beach or the mountains. I promise we’ll get plenty of quality time alone.”

  “Then we’re on,” Gavin keys into his apartment and Jasper baroos a greeting. He closes the door and immediately presses me up against it, his mouth hot and hard against mine, his hands tracing every curve of the saucy black dress.

  “Oh, we’re most definitely on.”

  I wrap my legs around Gavin’s hips and let him carry me to the living room, where he peels my dress off me, inch by inch, planting a kiss on each part of me as my skin is bared to him.

  I feel his unhurried hands trace my curves, slower and more reverent this time. I watch as his black-on-black shirt and distressed jeans hit the floor, followed by my bra and panties. Gavin pulls me down on the couch and trails slow kisses across my collarbone where the beryl necklace hangs, then down my breasts and stomach.

  I inhale sharply as his stubble tickles me. His kisses move lower and grow more fervent, teasing me and drawing out sensations that make me forget where I am, the sounds of the city below, and how I’m naked and exposed as he explores my body.

  I can forget everything, except him.

  “Gavin,” I say urgently, my head swimming as he coaxes a shower of sensations that race from my core to the tips of my fingers and toes. “Gavin, I have to tell you.”

  It’s the thing that I wanted to say when he gave me the necklace. I wanted to say it when he held me after we first made love. And it’s the thing I’ve known ever since the night he wrapped me in his shirt and his bed and comforted me the way no one else could, even from thousands of miles away.

  “I—I’m crazy about you,” I finish lamely.

  Gavin draws back, sitting on his heels, watching me intently. “Try again.”

  “What?”

  “What you were going to say? Before you chickened out?”

  “I didn’t chicken—”

  Before I can get the lie out, Gavin’s on top of me, growling, possessing me with a fiery passion that takes my breath away. “Don’t you dare run away from that, Beryl. You promised. If we’re going to run, we run toward each other.”

  I struggle to catch my breath as Gavin drives into me, filling me, melting me with a scorching look. My body betrays me, clenching and shuddering as Gavin sends me flying. He paces his strokes to the spasms inside me, each time sending me further into the stratosphere.

  “Tell me how you really feel, Beryl, but don’t tell me some half-truth. Don’t tell me you like me a lot when I feel so much more for you. Don’t tell me you’re just crazy about me when I love you like my life depends on it.”

  And with that, Gavin’s plunge takes him over the edge with me, drawing an open-mouthed groan of pleasure that is so wild, so untamed, that I’m not sure if it’s him or me or both of us.

  He collapses on me, panting and sated. I feel tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes, running down my cheeks. A tiny whimper escapes my mouth.

  “I do, Gavin.”

  He raises his head and looks in my eyes. I try to wipe away the tears and I rub my red nose on the back of my hand. I don’t sleep pretty and I don’t cry pretty, either.

  “You do what?”

  “I do love you, Gavin. I fell for you and I care about you and I’m crazy about you and I love you.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Every word.”

  EPILOGUE

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Gavin and I are playing hide-and-seek with the paparazzi but I think we’ve given them the slip. Still, baseball hats and glasses aren’t exactly a spy-worthy disguise and we jump out of the car at Forty-Third and Ninth, looking over our shoulders as we walk two blocks to the heart of Times Square.

  It’s there—the three-story-tall billboard for Tattoo Thief’s new album released today. The cover art is stunning and I can hardly believe it’s me—just the silhouette of my bare shoulders, waist and hips dividing two scenes, a forest and a windswept beach.

  The album title Wilderness is scrawled across the composite.

  We took those photos together on our trip to Oregon, and now it’s surreal to see them juxtaposed against the electric bustle of Times Square.

  Gavin pulls me close and kisses me hard, reminding me of our kiss in front of the paparazzi when we left Late Night two months ago. We have another date with Fallon tomorrow night, this time with Tattoo Thief performing their new single.

  My mom and Dan are coming to the show—she’s out here for another visit and finally admits that he’s her boyfriend. I try not to make gagging noises when they kiss, but seriously, people, get a room.

  Are Gavin and I this mushy? OK, probably.

  I’ve quit house sitting but I still work for Dan, focusing on building Keystone’s short-term property management business with the three house sitters I manage.

  Joel’s one of them. After he earned enough to replace the vase and his parents came home, he confessed what he’d done and started to mend their relationship. I had to admire him stepping up, and thanks to Dan’s mentorship he’s making noises about switching his major to accounting with the aim of becoming a property manager.

  Phillip and Rebecca James haven’t hired us again to house sit because they’re busy—not with travel or the biological baby they kept trying for, but with two toddlers, brother and sister, whom they are in the process of adopting. I’ll bet childproofing their artifact-filled apartment took weeks.

  But Keystone gets plenty of house-sitting work thanks to Greta Carr’s connections and the Safe Haven Network committee. They listened to Greta and it worked—we pulled off the most successful fund-raiser in Safe Haven’s history.

  Peter Todd didn’t attend, but his mother is now one of my clients. Greta claims she’s indebted to me for life for finding her a perfect date for the charity ball—Anthony.

  And as far as I can tell, Greta hasn’t gone under the knife. I introduced her to Gavin at the ball and he regaled her with stories of his trip. The emails I get from Greta lately gush about the warm and generous people in Kenya, and I think she has her sights set on making a difference there rather than padding a plastic surgeon’s pockets.

  And Stella? That’s a whole different story.

  This was my story—real and raw, warts and all. I did some stupid stuff. I made bad choices, and, thankfully, some good ones. I fell in love. And with Gavin cheering me on, I wrote it all down.

  Ta-da. I might end up being a real writer after all.

  But Stella’s story starts here. And I’ll let her tell it herself.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I am indebted to many friends and loved ones who cheered me on during the writing, editing, and launch of this book, especially the exceptionally gifted authors Denise Grover Swank and Cynthia L. Moyer.

  Editor Jim Thomsen and beta reader Tami Wood offered pivotal fee
dback to flesh out the story. Many other beta readers contributed ideas to bring Beryl and Gavin into sharper focus—thank you to these fantastic friends, and to Cynthia L. Moyer and Amy Duryea for proofreading.

  My husband Derek and our folks helped tremendously by entertaining the little people (my kids) when Mommy needed time to write.

  This writing thing? It’s hard. It’s lonely. It’s a rush. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Heidi Joy lives in Happy Valley off Sunnyside Road. She swears she did not make that up.

  Heidi’s obsessed with storytelling. Her career includes marketing, journalism, and a few delicious years as a food columnist. Media passes took her backstage with several rock bands, where she learned that sometimes a wardrobe malfunction is exactly what the rock star intends.

  You’ll most often find Heidi Joy with her husband and two small kids fishing, clamming, exploring the Northwest, and building epic forts in their living room.

  She’s currently working on a sequel to Tattoo Thief through a very different pair of eyes. Stella promised Tyler anything to get the inside scoop on the making of the band, but Tyler doesn’t want anything. He wants everything—and that’s more than Stella’s prepared to give.

  Find out what’s behind the secrets and lies, the making of the band, and the real story of Tyler’s stolen tattoo.

  A preview is at Heidi Joy’s website:

  www.heidijoytretheway.com.

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