My body is my journal, and my tattoos are my story.
Books are to me as homemade tattoos are to an inmate. Can't get enough of them.
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He scanned my face with careful hope in his eyes. “You love me?”
“It’s the tattoos,” I shrugged.
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He whirled in the water and grinned at me. Damn, he was a handsome bastard. I realized he was half-naked. Blue swirls of tattoos painted his chest. When God made that chest, he did to tempt women.
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The cafe was called Tattoos. The fella who owned it didn't have any tattoos... but we never saw his wife.
I had a feeling that Ben Lancaster had just tattooed himself onto my soul and the thing about tattoos? They were painful to remove.
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