Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)
Release Date: February 12th, 2015
I’ve always known she was too good for me, but that never stopped me from wanting her.
And then I finally had her for one night.
A night I don’t remember.
I figured I’d blown my shot.
But now she’s walked back into my life, and this time, I have the upper hand. I want my second chance.
Will she be able to see the man beneath this ink?
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About the Beneath Series
Beneath This Mask (Beneath #1)
He loves me, and he doesn’t even know my real name. The
limelight that follows him could expose everything I’m hiding. But even
knowing the risks, I can’t force myself to stay away. I’m going to break his heart, but mine will shatter right along with it. Will we lose it all when I reveal what’s beneath this mask?
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22458416-beneath-this-mask
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22458416-beneath-this-mask
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“Con, can you take this walk-in?” Delilah called from the front of the shop.
I
pushed back from the desk and shoved my hair away from my face. It was
too damn long. I needed to get it cut, but the girl I’d been going to
for the last year had basically fallen onto my cock last week, and I
wasn’t going to be letting her near my jugular with scissors any time
soon. She wasn’t enamored of my, ‘I don’t go there twice unless there’s
something worth going back for’ mentality. I probably could have phrased
it a little nicer, but why give the girl false hope when I’d all but
forgotten her as soon as I’d slid the condom off my dick? I didn’t have
time for bullshit, and I didn’t like to be misunderstood when I spoke.
So I was firmly in the ‘tell it how it is’ camp. Women didn’t seem to
appreciate my particular brand of honesty. Mostly because it didn’t line
up with what they wanted to hear. Not my problem.
I stood and headed for the door of the break room. Time to meet my newest walk-in.
If
I had to tattoo one more “YOLO” on some idiot kid, I might hang up my
tattoo gun and call it a day. Thoughts like that made me feel older than
thirty-one.
I
scanned the shop, looking for my next client. If I hadn’t learned a
hell of a long time ago how to lock down my reactions, I might’ve missed
a step.
It was no kid.
And
if she wanted YOLO tattooed on that body, it’d be a crime against
nature. Anger flared within me at the sight of her. I might not remember
the night we’d spent together, but I sure as hell remembered the
morning after when I’d interrupted her escape from my bedroom. We’d
thrown words like grenades, and it was a miracle we’d both walked away
without bloodshed. Even with that memory vividly replaying in my head, I
still had to tell my dick to calm the fuck down.
Vanessa
Fucking Frost was still out of my league. Hell, out of my fucking
universe. She’d been too good for me in high school, she’d been too good
for me two years ago, and as sure as she was standing in my shop today,
she was still too damn good for me. And I bet she’d be the first person
to say it. I still couldn’t figure out how she’d ended up in my bed
that night. Not because my bed didn’t see action with rich chicks—it saw
plenty—but not like her. Classic elegance like Grace Kelly. Joy Leahy
used to make me watch To Catch a Thief with her, and that’s exactly who
Vanessa reminded me of.
Her
platinum blond hair was twisted up into some fancy ass bun, and her tan
skirt suit clung to her curves in all the right places. One perfectly
manicured hand toyed with the gold bracelet on her wrist. My jeans
tightened uncomfortably at the peek of a lacy pink bra from beneath her
pink silk blouse.
My reaction to her pissed me off.
Do you know what it’s like to finally get something you’ve always wanted, but not remember a single fucking detail?
It
ate away it me. The not knowing. Part of me wanted to tell her to get
the hell out of my shop, but the other part of me wanted to drag her
upstairs, strip her naked, and tie her to my bed so this time she
couldn’t leave until I was damn good and ready. Which might be never.
And that thought—that weakness—infuriated me.
“Never thought I’d see you darken my doorway again. What can I do for you, princess?” A mocking edge colored my words.
Her
nervous twirling of her bracelet halted, and her blue eyes, several
shades lighter and more vibrant than my own, met mine. Her pink tongue
darted out over her perfectly plump bottom lip slicked with gloss. This
nervous, off-balance look of hers raised all my red flags. I was used to
the quiet, sexy-as-all-hell confidence that had always drawn me in. At
least until she’d opened her mouth that infamous morning and told me
what she’d really thought of me.
“I need a few moments of your time.”
I raised an eyebrow. Now that was a new development. She’d never sought me out.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, if you could spare me five minutes.”
Some
of her words from that morning, which I might as well have tattooed on
my skin, came back to me: Do this again? Are you crazy? I must have been
insane to do this the first time. This can never happen again. And no
one can ever know. No one.
And now she wanted a favor?
“In
this shop, the only way a woman gets my time is if she’s getting a
tattoo, or is on her knees or her back.” I knew my answer was crude, but
that was what she undoubtedly expected from me. And I hated to
disappoint.
A
flush of color hit her cheekbones, and I wondered for a brief second
whether she was remembering what it had been like to be on her knees in
front of me. Fuck. I wish I remembered. Then I could just fucking move
on.
I waited for the clipped go to hell and an abrupt exit. But instead of turning and walking out, she surprised me.
“A tattoo it is, then.”
About Author
Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had.
Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had.
Website: http://www.meghanmarch.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MeghanMarchAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Meghan_March
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8184875.Meghan_March
$150 Gift Certificate to your favorite local tattoo shop
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