Ink My Heart (Luminescent Juliet, Book Two)

by Jean Haus

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2013 Jean Haus

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Skyscape, New York

  www.apub.com

  ISBN-13: 9781477847084

  ISBN-10: 1477847081

  TO AWESOME READERS EVERYWHERE

  Contents

  Chapter 1 Justin

  Chapter 2 Justin

  Chapter 3 Allie

  Chapter 4 Justin

  Chapter 5 Allie

  Chapter 6 Justin

  Chapter 7 Justin

  Chapter 8 Allie

  Chapter 9 Allie

  Chapter 10 Justin

  Chapter 11 Allie

  Chapter 12 Justin

  Chapter 13 Allie

  Chapter 14 Allie

  Chapter 15 Justin

  Chapter 16 Allie

  Chapter 17 Justin

  Chapter 18 Allie

  Chapter 19 Justin

  Chapter 20 Allie

  Chapter 21 Justin

  Chapter 22 Allie

  Chapter 23 Justin

  Chapter 24 Allie

  Chapter 25 Justin

  Chapter 26 Allie

  Chapter 27 Justin

  Chapter 28 Allie

  Chapter 29 Justin

  Chapter 30 Allie

  Chapter 31 Justin

  Chapter 32 Allie

  Chapter 33 Justin

  Chapter 34 Allie

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Justin

  I need a beer, a shot, and a woman. Or several of each. And not necessarily in that order. After five hours of singing, my voice is hoarse, my throat is sore, and I want to get away from the three other twits in my band. I’ve been playing and arguing with them all day. The van has been tranquil since we left the recording studio. The echoing bump of the highway is the only sound other than snores as we travel north from Detroit to mid-Michigan, where we go to the local university as juniors—well, except for Gabe. The loser goes to community college.

  We’d still be in the recording session if Gabe, Sam, and I hadn’t forced Romeo to call it quits. Romeo the perfectionist, our lead guitar player and my annoying roommate. His fingers should be bleeding after playing the guitar so long, but no, the bastard is one big callus. He could have put in another five hours, but instead, he’s had a pissy look on his face the entire drive home while I’ve been in the passenger seat ignoring him and trying to doze. Snores are coming from behind us. Sam is sleeping on the first-row bench seat. Gabe is passed out next to his drum set on the floor in the back.

  It was Romeo’s asinine idea to make an album of his originals. He hopes it will make us a few bucks on the indie scene. He may be right, but after the hell of a day we had at the studio, we’d better make more than a few bucks.

  A beep from my phone wakes me up fully. I dig it out of my pocket. A picture of Mara, one of my regular girls, appears on my screen, and the text: You coming out tonight? I don’t text back but keep Mara as a reserve while hoping for the possibility of meeting someone else. A sexy new adventure.

  Romeo takes the exit ramp into town, and I drop my feet from the dashboard. “Just take me to Rats.”

  He gives me an irritated glance. “I’m going over to Riley’s. Not coming back into town to pick you up later.”

  I shrug. Though the main strip of bars downtown isn’t as busy in the winter, I can usually find a girl to take me home. If no one else, there’s always Mara. “I’ll find a ride.”

  Waking up, Sam stretches and yawns. He runs a hand over the fuzz of his buzz cut, then punches the back of my chair. “Shit, Justin, you’re a machine. How can you go to a bar after partying last night and working all day?”

  “It’s Saturday,” I say with a tone of obviousness. Sam likes the attention we get from women too. He just likes partying a lot more and, as usual, went overboard last night. His bright blue eyes, which the girls gush over, are bloodshot today.

  “Thought you would have got enough ass last night,” Gabe says from the back.

  “Never,” I say.

  “Well, that was one seriously big ass you went home with.”

  I recall Emily—or was it Emma?—with a slow smile. Gabe’s girlfriend is stick skinny, with huge tits. Nothing wrong with that, but I like all women. I like the way they smell. I like the soft sighs they make. I like how they ease my loneliness, if just for a night. I like them in all shapes and sizes. Toned and angular or round and soft. Lingering on that last thought, I say, “Oh, she was big in all the right places.”

  “Dude, there’s nothing you won’t sleep with,” Gabe says sarcastically.

  “I have standards.” I raise one finger. “They have to be hot.” I raise another finger. “They can’t be wasted.” I don’t take advantage of the incoherent. “And they can’t be a bitch,” I say with the flick of a third finger. Because Gabe is always such a prick about everything, I add, “Which is why I turned down your cousin.”

  “Stay away from Rachel,” he snaps. “But what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, the girl is hot and she didn’t drink too much last night. Figure it out.”

  “Mother fucker!” Gabe yells, and dives toward the front of the van as instrument cases clank and roll around the back.

  While I laugh, Romeo throws up his arm in a clothesline move and Gabe’s lanky body bounces backward.

  He crashes into Sam, who immediately sits up on the first-row bench seat and says, “Shit, Gabe! I was sleeping!”

  “I’m kicking his ass,” Gabe shouts, his longish brown hair falling into his face. “In this van. Now.”

  Sam hauls Gabe back by the sweatshirt, but he kicks at my seat. I keep laughing. I have several inches on Gabe and almost twenty more pounds of muscle. “More like get your little bitch ass kicked.”

  “Fuck, Justin. When are you going to grow up?” Romeo says, clutching the steering wheel. My laughter instantly dies. I’m sick of Romeo telling me I need to grow up. I’m busy staring him down when a fist connects with and then slides from my jaw. “Asshole,” I gasp, letting my seat belt loose and turning.

  “Stop it, Gabe!” Sam yells. “And Justin, shut the hell up!”

  I’m ready to pounce when the sight of Gabe struggling like a hyperactive kid in Sam’s grip makes me pause. I want to punch Gabe back, but I’m not like him. I don’t throw blows when a guy is being held down or not looking.

  Gabe starts repeating, “I’m going to kill him.”

  Sam is becoming red in the face from holding Gabe. Though Sam is the most muscular of us all, Gabe is wiry, pissed-off strength.

  Trying to control my urge to sucker punch him, I glance out the window. I want to relieve Sam. “We’re almost downtown. Just let me out.”

  “Good idea,” Romeo says under his breath, hitting the brakes. I brace myself on the dashboard with a spread hand.

  Sam and Gabe bounce off the back of my seat, then thud to the floor as I jump out of the van.

  Before slamming the door, I say, “Tell Riley I said hi.”

  Ignoring me R
omeo takes off with tires squealing. He’s in a rush to drop Gabe off at his hovel across town and dump Sam at his apartment so he can race to his girlfriend’s house. Romeo’s pussy whipped in addition to being a band dictator.

  The brisk air stings my arms. The cement under my feet is crusted with dirty bits of remaining winter snow. Shit. I forgot my coat in the van. Cars whiz by as I take in my surroundings while rubbing my sore jaw. I’m in a part of town I don’t know well, but I can’t be too far from Rats. Fucktard Gabe. Ever since he joined the band more than three months ago, he’s been a prick because I didn’t pick him to be our drummer when he’d first auditioned. Instead, I’d picked Riley—a girl—and the dude was never going to get over it. The little bitch wasn’t pissed at Sam, who also wanted Riley, just me. Now I’m walking because of his stupid ass, and freezing.

  After trudging through the cold, I get my bearings and realize it should be less than ten blocks to my favorite bar. Two blocks later, a bright neon sign across the street catches my eye—DRAGONFLY INK. I stop rubbing my jaw and stare. Either the tattoo parlor is new or I’ve just never noticed it. In seconds, after waiting for a car to pass, I’m crossing the street.

  My motivation isn’t just to get out of the cold—I’m addicted to ink and body piercings. My body art started as a silent fuck you to my parents, but even though it didn’t get their attention, I continued doing it because I liked it. The sting of the needle and the bold statement of the ink on my skin has become addicting. Adding a bit of tarnish to my pretty boy looks is a bonus.

  I warm up in seconds inside the shop, but it takes my eyes a minute to adjust after leaving behind the cold dusk outside. Track lighting illuminates the framed art on the walls, and the space is filled with glass display cases of jewelry.

  A girl comes out from behind a counter in the back. She’s smoking hot in her slinky half shirt, which shows off the circular tattoo around her pierced belly button.

  “Can I help you?” she asks. Her gaze slides over the tattoos on my arms and pauses at the ring in my eyebrow while she flips her long brown hair behind a shoulder.

  “Maybe.” I give her a slow smile. “I want to check out some of your art.”

  Her hips sway and her heels click on the floor as she steps closer, pointing to framed pictures on the walls. “Those are our most popular basics.” She then points to a rack of laminated images. “These are more intricate.” She taps her nails on the cover of a binder on the counter. “And in here we have the works of art.” She leans with both hands behind her on the counter and sticks her chest out. “Have anything in mind?”

  With her tits beneath my nose, there’s not much in my mind besides what’s right in front of me. “Not sure. Just checking things out.”

  Her frosted lips curve into a knowing smile, and I grin back.

  “Mandy,” a male voice says from the far end of the shop. “You need to schedule Jack’s next appointment.”

  “Give me a sec,” she tells him, still staring at me. She pulls her hands from behind her on the counter. “Take your time—I’ll check on you in a bit.”

  Mandy can check on me anytime. Smirking, I nod and watch her saunter away toward the guys waiting near the counter. I reach for a binder of designs, but really, I’m waiting on Mandy. Appears I may have found my “sexy new adventure.”

  After glancing at the barbells, earrings, and gauges in the glass case, I page through pictures of skulls, stars, crosses, and tribal art designs. Nothing’s really grabbing me, so I open a binder labeled Custom Designs. Inside are a bunch of photos with people showing off their awesome tats. There’s a sexy ’50s pinup girl, a flaming sun setting into its reflection on rippling water, a rose that looks like it’s growing out of a woman’s hip, an arm sleeve of Japanese art…The intricate ink is blowing me away, but I’m brought back to the shop when someone says, “Show me your other side, Paul. Let me see how Todd did on the last one.”

  Though the words are commonplace for a tattoo parlor, the feminine voice grabs my attention—it’s dripping with sex. Low and husky, the voice wraps around me like a lush naked body might, taking me to dark, sweet places.

  Pretending to examine another book, I glance at the owner of the voice.

  She is bending over and staring at the guy’s ribs. Dark auburn curls spill across her profile. I can’t see her clearly, other than her lowered thick black lashes and the pout of her red lips.

  “Very, very nice, Todd,” the voice purrs to the other guy, who I’m assuming is the artist—but fuck, I wish she were talking to me.

  Hell. My hands grip the edge of the glass countertop. If she keeps that purring up, I’m going to get hard just listening to her.

  The guy drops his shirt over his tattooed ribs. “You should design my next one.”

  Nodding, she turns toward the counter and away from me. “Anytime, Paul, just set up an appointment with Mandy.”

  The guy beams at her as I flip through the book of photos absently. I’m guessing the owner of that voice designed the ink in the pictures—and all I can think about is how to get an introduction to her. I haven’t been this fascinated by a girl since…Damn. I don’t remember when. And I haven’t even seen her face yet.

  I’m staring at art that I’m not really seeing when a finger drumming on the counter pulls my attention from the binder. Expecting Mandy, my mouth falls open at the sound of that voice.

  “Finding anything interesting? Anything giving your skin an itch?”

  Her sensual tone shoots lust down my spine and right to my dick. I gradually flip a page, getting control of myself, then at last look up and take in the face that owns that voice.

  Holy shit. She’s better looking than I could have imagined. Two tiny silver stars dangle from the barbells at the end of one eyebrow. A lip ring I instantly want to suck pierces the corner of her lower lip. Her gray eyes fringed in black stare back at me. Those eyes are as erotic as her voice. She’s all contrasts. Pretty, yet edgy with her piercings. Her pale skin and light eyes paired with rich auburn hair and dark, slashing winged brows make another contrast. She’s sexy as all hell. Get a grip, Justin. Do not drool, I think. I tap on the book. “These are really good,” I say.

  She stares at me wide eyed for a moment before coolly saying, “Thanks. I take pride in my work.”

  Standing up straight, I feign stupidity. “These are yours?”

  Her black lashes lower as she glances at the book. “Every one.”

  My eyes wander over her, taking in the loose sweatshirt with the store’s logo and the leaf tattoo that wraps around her wrist. She’s not like Mandy, who is in-your-face hot. Instead, she radiates a half-buried sensuality that has me wanting to peel back her cool demeanor and get a glimpse inside. I want to find out what’s beyond those slate-gray eyes watching me warily. They remind me of mournful lyrics, the way they hint at deeper emotions and pull at your soul.

  “Well, judging from these photos you have to be the most talented tattoo artist I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot,” I say smugly.

  Her smoky eyes narrow a bit before her gaze travels the length of my arm. “Looks like you’re ready for some real ink.”

  As long as you keep looking and talking, you can do anything you want to me, baby. “Yeah, I’m ready for something a little more…in depth.”

  “Any ideas rolling through your head?”

  About tattoos? Not fucking one. Considering what a tattoo artist might suggest, I blurt, “Something more personal?”

  She lets out a low chuckle and leans forward. “So you have no clue?”

  I glance at her short silver nails while I rack my lust-ridden brain. “I’m thinking something relating to music?”

  She cocks one eyebrow, and a silver star jingles. “You’re a musician?”

  “Kind of,” I say, reluctant to admit I’m in a band. I instinctively know that bragging won’t get me anywhere wi
th this girl. I look her over slowly, so there’s no confusion that I’m checking her out. I slide my hand across the counter and flick a finger toward her wrist, nearly brushing the skin. “That your only tattoo?”

  She stands and folds her arms across her chest. “Oh, I have others.”

  “Really?” I gaze at her intently.

  She leans against the wall behind the glass case. My body wants to get closer to hers, and I fight the urge to jump the counter. “They’re not available for stranger perusal,” she says.

  I run my eyes over her body and imagine where the ink might be. When I look again into her gray eyes, they have a sparkling defiance—but I hold out my hand anyway. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “Name’s Justin.”

  Her lips twist into a smirk, but still leaning against the wall, she shakes my hand. Her palm is soft and warm, but I can feel the rough, callused skin along her index and middle fingers, right where a pencil would lie. She must sketch a lot. The contrast makes her even more interesting.

  “Al,” she says in that smoky voice, then she releases my hand. “And the tattoos are still under wraps.”

  “Al?” I say, forgetting about the tattoos for a moment. “That can’t be your real name.”

  “Short for Allie.”

  “Allie,” I say softly, lowering my chin, “is far prettier than Al. But I’m still interested in those tattoos…or maybe in the idea of what inspires you.”

  She lowers her eyelashes. “Since you’re not inking me, let’s stick with what inspires you.”

  Her tone has me changing tactics. Obviously, the traditional smolder that I pull out to make most girls melt isn’t going to work on this one. “Do you only design?” I ask.

  She shakes her head slightly. “No. I ink too.”

  “How…fascinating,” I say. And hot. Propping my elbows on the counter, I lean toward her. “We should go out for a drink and talk about what inspires both of us.”

  She blinks at me with those eyes the color of gunmetal. “Ah, I don’t date potential inkees.”

  Shit. Still trying to move too fast here. “I’m not a customer…yet, but a drink doesn’t mean a date. People do go out to converse—don’t they?”