Body Of Art
Body of Art
By
Nikki Winter
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Body of Art © 2013 Nikki Wnter
Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Art: Marteeka Karland
Books are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.
Dedication
Shara made me do it. No seriously. I was
literally
harassed into this (sniff). It’s like she’s my pimp, man. Oh, and I think you all should be aware that Janet has firmly planted her flag in Sully’s ass.
~Nikki
Contents
He couldn’t believe he was doing this shit. Granted it was more than a little necessary but still. He was a man! And he’d announced that when he’d been talked into this too! He’d said it as loudly as possible, was one step from beating his chest but he’d been laughed at. Laughed at!
Him!
Sullivan “Sully” Byrne! The man whose name was whispered in fear and awe. The man whose named was both revered and respected. The man whose name was...
“Sully! Get your giant ass out of the car!
Now!”
He jumped as though someone had pulled the trigger of a gun right next to his head. “No respect.” Sully muttered as he finally opened the door to his younger sister’s tiny, impractical, embarrassment of a vehicle. Frackin’ mini coupe. How did
anyone
drive a mini coupe and not feel as though they were being buried alive?
“Ow, ow, ow,
ow.
What the hell Rhona?”
The brat finally stopped twisting his ear as he made it out of the tight confines of the car. She shoved a manicured finger in his face. “Do you want me cranky Sully? Is that your ultimate goal here?”
His brow quirked. “You mean you’re not
already
cranky?
Ow, ow, ow.
Would you stop doing that?”
Rhona let go of his ear once more. “I have listened to your goddamn lamenting for the last goddamn forty-five minutes on the goddamn drive over here through some of the worst goddamn traffic I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Not to mention I have our goddamn mother breathing down my goddamn neck along with my goddamn soon-to-be mother-in-law. So if you want to see another goddamn day, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth and walk into that goddamn building and learn the fine art of the goddamn waltz. You got me, goddammit?”
He bit his lip so hard that tears of pain mixed with the tears of amusement crested his lids and simply nodded his head, a small squeak that sounded anything
but
manly leaving his throat.
Satisfied for the moment, his sister spun on the heels of shoes that he was sure cost his future brother-in-law a pretty penny and marched through the parking lot, head held high, shoulders back, auburn hair twisted regally at her nape. “Sully!” Rhona snapped and he followed in a military-esque fashion, determined not to get his throat slit today because he’d pissed off a stressed bride-to-be.
“No respect.” He muttered again following her inside the huge building she’d dragged him to in downtown Seattle, Washington. He very rarely made the trip up from California during the summer, being that this was the busiest time for his tattoo shop, preferring to pay for Rhona and their mother--Fiona--to catch a quick flight down to him. But his sister’s wedding was more important than his business. What she’d requested from him was the greatest honor and despite his
goddamn lamenting
he’d do it a thousand times over if she asked him to.
She peered at him over her shoulder, bright blue eyes narrowed on him in a challenge. “What was that?”
Sully swallowed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
With an arch look of disapproval fit for a feline, she continued her walk. He made a face behind her back.
“I saw that.”
He mocked her silently.
“Sullivan...”
“Oh get the stick out of your arse!” She was irritating him. When she irritated him, his accent came back. When his accent came back, he hated it. They’d grown up in Dumfries, Scotland with their mother and father, not coming to the states until Ewan Byrne decided to move his wife and kids for a job opportunity in L.A. at a law firm that dangled a money and a better lifestyle in his face. Sully and Rhona’s father only enjoyed a few years of that opportunity before the stress of his job took a toll on his health and he had a heart attack.
It had taken Sully years to shake his accent, Rhona on the other hand had been rid of hers not even two years after their move to the states.
The brat snorted.
“And stop yer laughing!”
She chuckled harder. “All you need is bagpipes and a kilt and you’d feel right at home.”
His eyes narrowed on the back of her shirt, wondering if the hem would stretch well enough up over her head.
“Don’t even think about it, Sully.”
“Stop irritating me!”
“Now you sound like Fat Bastard!”
Oh that was it! Sully reached for her. Rhona ducked out of the way just as a door swung open in between them, blocking him from getting to shake her around the way he discovered he could the summer he had his first growth spurt.
“Help! He’s trying to kill me!” His sister cried dramatically, peeking just around the edge of the door.
“Something tells me you had it coming.” A voice replied softly, the husky tone momentarily taking his focus away from the need to strangle his sibling.
Sully looked down at the owner of that voice and his whole body just kind of jerked.
May the good Lord forgive my thoughts.
He mentally prayed, his eyes catching sight of a toned tummy, a small diamond winking at him from an adorable little navel. It made him question if there were anywhere else on the body before him that had small treasures for him to find.
“Channing,” Rhona was saying in the distance. Or at least it
felt
like the distance because he had tunnel vision. “This is my brother Sully. He...oh for Christ sake would you stop staring man!”
His head snapped up, just to catch the hard glare his sister was shooting him, arms folded impatiently across her chest. He swallowed, muttered, “Sorry.” Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets and desperately tried not to stare. But fuck, it wasn’t like he could help it.
She had to be at least five foot nine to his six foot four height. Her form was amazingly proportioned. Her breasts weren’t too full but just heavy enough to press enticingly against the ribbed tank covering her upper body, decolletage teasing him; waist was small enough to span with his hands but her hips were generously curved. Skin was the shade of rich coffee with just a touch of cream. Her eyes were large, catlike and a coppery brown that sparkled. Jet black hair was cut into the feminine version of a mohawk, trimmed closely on the sides but left several inches longer and slightly curled on top.
Over the last few years since Rhona had moved to Washington with her fiance Keith and Fiona, he’d heard the occasional mention of Channing Harris but he’d never actually gotten a glimpse of her. She’d apparently become his little sister’s best friend when the two had a near brawl over a pair of sandals in the middle of a popular shoe store in Tacoma. Women were weird, was the conclusion he’d come to after absentmindedly listening to the story. At the time he’d been tattooing the thigh of a very flexible brunette so he’d only heard the brief description that
Channing’s gorgeous, Channing’s a dancer, Channing’s incredible
, blah, blah, blah.
Now standing in front of her, Sully damn well understood why Rhona had made friends with her. Shit,
he
wanted to make friends with her. Or preferably, her ass. Because really, they could talk later right? Like after he fucked her silly and put a ring on her finger with a diamond the size of quarter. In his mind, there was no way this woman would ever be with anyone else again.
If Rhona sung her praises so highly--whether Sully paid attention or not--it let him know two things; Channing truly
was
amazing and that if she weren’t already taken, she damn well would be by the time his stay in Seattle was done.