by the unimaginable pleasure that I get from hearing that you love my work, that it’s touched you in some way or that your life seems a little bit better for having read it. So it is from the depths of my soul, from the very bottom of my heart that I say I simply cannot THANK YOU enough. I’ve added this note to all my stories with the link to a blog post that I really hope you’ll take a minute to read. It is a true and sincere expression of my humble appreciation. I love each and every one of you and you’ll never know what your many encouraging posts, comments and e-mails have meant to me.
http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com/2011/06/when-thanks-is-not-enough.html
I’d also like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you who has taken the time to leave a short, honest review of this book, or any other for that matter. Reviews are more important to authors than you could imagine and I’m forever grateful to all of you who have shared your thoughts. This seemingly small mechanism is second only to word-of-mouth in ways that you can profoundly impact an author and a book. So thank you. So, so much.
Again.
Always
All the Pretty Lies
Her…
Sloane Locke has led a sheltered life. However, with a history like hers, she can understand why her brothers and her father want so much to protect her. She has gone along with it for twenty long years, but those days are over. For the girl who never makes promises, Sloane has made a pact with herself that things will change on her twenty-first birthday. So when the clock strikes midnight, Sloane strikes out to spread her wings and break a few rules.
Him…
In addition to inking skin, Hemi Spencer possesses many talents. Controlling himself has never been one of them. It’s never had to be. He’s lived a life of indulgence for as long as he can remember. Right up until tragedy struck. Now, he’s nothing
Them…
Nothing in their lives could’ve prepared Sloane and Hemi for what they’d find in each other— distraction and obsession, love and possession. But the one thing they can’t find is a future. Neither one has been totally honest. And they’ll soon learn that the devil is in the details. In the details and in the lies.
How far will two people go to live in the now when the now is all they’ve got?
CHAPTER ONE- Sloane
“Ohmigod, I can’t believe you’re going through with this,” my best friend Sarah says as I pull open the glass door to the tattoo parlor.
Although I would never admit it to her, I actually get a little chill when I step over the threshold. I’ve never been into a tattoo shop before, so I don’t know what the others are like, but this one is pretty intimidating. The music is loud, the counter is black and every fixture in sight is chrome. I swallow my sudden burst of nerves and push myself forward.
It’s reassuring that this place, The Ink Stain, comes very highly recommended. And it’s easy to see why when I let my eye run over the amazing art work that covers the walls.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Sloane? I mean, your dad will kick your ass if he finds out,” Sarah continues. When I stop suddenly to look back at her, she nearly runs into me. “Shit!” she exclaims, pulling up before we bump chests. She was busy examining the walls, too.
“Number one, Dad can’t kick my ass. As of …” I glance around the neon-lighted interior of the shop, looking for a clock. When I find one that’s in the shape of a skull with cross bones for hands, I squint to read what it says. “Seven minutes ago, I’m officially beyond the control of the thick-headed Locke men. And this is my first act of independence.”
“More like rebellion,” Sarah snorts.
“Semantics,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Either way, I’m getting this damn tattoo and nobody’s gonna stop me.”
“Are you sure it’s…safe? I mean…”
I see the concern in her eyes and I love her for it.
I give her my softest smile. “It’s fine, Sarah. Seriously.”
With one final, reassuring nod to her, I move forward to approach the shiny black counter. I ring the bell for assistance.
While we wait for someone to come to the front, I walk along the borders of the room, admiring the sketches on display. As someone with the heart of an artist, I can even better appreciate the skillful hand and eye behind the charcoal renderings.
A deep voice interrupts my study. “Can I help you?”
I turn toward it, ready to explain what it is that I want, but the words die on my tongue. Of all the works of art on the walls, none compares to the one I’m staring at now.
I see his features in separate bursts, like strobes of light striking the backs of my eyes. Angular, masculine features seem to be carved in stone—slashing brows; luminous eyes; high cheekbones; chiseled mouth. And it’s that mouth that I’m looking at when his lips curl up at the corners. I’m staring. I know it and he knows it. “See anything you like?”
My eyes fly to his. They’re dark and teasing, and I blush accordingly. “No,” I say automatically. When I see one pierced brow shoot up, I realize how my answer must’ve sounded. “I mean, I already know what I want.”
His other eyebrow rises to meet the first and I feel my cheeks burn. I have no doubt they’re the color of ripe apples by now.
“I love a woman who knows what she wants.”
My mouth drops open. No one has ever flirted with me. All the guys I’ve ever known have been terrified of my family, so I have no clue how to react to banter like this. Other than to blush, much to my dismay.
Obviously amused by my discombobulation, he chuckles. The sound is like black silk, sliding over my skin in one cool, smooth swipe.
More heat rushes to my face. I’m honestly afraid of what I must look like at the moment. I don’t know what to do other than look away, so that’s what I do. I glance down, breaking contact with his disconcerting eyes as I reach into my purse for my sketch. I take a deep breath, using the search as an excuse to regain some modicum of composure. When I locate the piece of paper I’m after, I walk wordlessly toward him and hand him the folded square.
He takes it from me, his eyes touching mine for a fraction of a second before he turns his attention to the paper. I watch as he unfolds it then studies it for a heartbeat before he notices that it’s upside down. After he rights it, he pulls it in for closer examination.
The overhead light shines down on his face, hiding much of his expression. His long, thick lashes cast a shadow over his eyes and his brow is puckered in concentration. I wait patiently for him to finish.
With a single nod of his head, he glances back up, his eyes clicking to a stop on mine. From across the room, I couldn’t see what color they were, only that they were dark and compelling. But now I can see them
