My latest erotic short, Whirlwind, was recently released from The Wild Rose Press. The story came about when I read in the local paper about a national convention of tattoo artists that was being held in San Antonio. My thought about these practitioners was that they were mostly solo, creating individual designs for their select group of clients. That naïve illusion was smashed as I researched. Of course, an artistic endeavor like this had publications and websites displaying the wonderful, colorful creations. Then I needed characters who were a bit out of the ordinary and my story was born.
Hosting her first booth at a national tattoo convention is nerve-racking enough for artist Senna Whitefeather. But then she runs into another Native American—one with a smoking hot and firm body—a man she soon realizes is following her. Appreciation for art takes on a new meaning when a challenge to unveil their tattoos escalates into a passionate encounter in the back of her booth. But will Senna’s brazen attitude of going after what she wants backfire?
Unveiling tattoos with a stranger has never been so dangerous or sexy.
Senna lifted the plastic badge, angled it toward the security guard then turned toward her designated booth. And bumped smack into a male—solid muscle from chest to knees—and she stumbled.
Firm hands grasped her upper arms and steadied her. “What’s your hurry?”
The deep voice rumbling near her ear resonated through her bones, kicking up her heart rate, and set her further off-balance. Both hands tangled with the supple cotton of his T-shirt and held tight. All she saw before her was a broad expanse of black cloth. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking—” She glanced up—straight into midnight black eyes that seemed to look deep into her soul. Her gaze clung for a long moment then she forced herself to blink.
The stranger smiled and the bronze-toned skin around his eyes crinkled. “Good thing I was, or we’d both have gone down.”
With a quick look, Senna registered the slash of his dark brows, high cheekbones, and long, black hair pulled back along his neck. Another Native American. Strong features balanced by an open smile. Why did she have the sudden urge to sway forward against his broad chest? A chest that appeared capable enough to harbor a woman tied in nervous knots over today’s exhibit.
Spirit of Life, she was late.
“Again, I’m sorry.” She stepped back, away from his broad hands and fought against acknowledging the immediate loss of warmth. No time for distractions, even tall, dark and sexy ones. “I’ve got to get to my booth.”
With a dip of his chin, he swept a hand in the direction she headed. “The right-of-way is yours.”
Senna hustled down the side aisle but couldn’t resist a quick backward glance over her shoulder. The tall stranger dressed all in black had disappeared into the crowd.
About the Author
On a dare from a close friend, Layla Chase challenged herself to explore the steamier side of romance and discovered all sorts of characters whose stories needed sharing. She writes contemporary and historical stories from her mountain home in California that she shares with long-time husband and two dogs.
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