The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) by Scarlett Cole Read Free Book Online

are those?” Her lips moved against his as she spoke, and he resisted the urge to dive in and devour her on Main Street, U.S.A., or wherever the fuck they were, despite the fact he could feel her breasts pushed up against his chest.
    “The kind that could change the direction of your life if you let them.”
    And with that, he kissed her like both of their lives depended on it. Savored the way her lips parted for him, the way she tasted of saki and sweetness.
Holy shit,
those fucking eyes pinned him, laid him bare to her. Allowed him to be exactly who he was, or who he
had
been . . . before.
    A good man.
    Not a coward.

CHAPTER TWO
    There it was, in glorious Technicolor. The complimentary newspaper on the hotel’s front desk revealed her father’s first volley into the gubernatorial conversation with a swipe at the current governor’s plans to grant clemency to a number of prisoners.
    “Was everything okay with your stay, Ms. Carlisle?”
    She looked to the young man who held her credit card toward her. “Yes . . . fine, thank you.” Lia tucked the credit card back in her wallet and waited for her receipt.
    It was an odd choice, a criminal defender speaking out against clemency, but her father had always chosen to define his role as holding up the pillars and due process of justice rather than protecting the guilty. The only humor to be found was that the paper found it just as ironic as she did that Franklin Woodrow Carlisle, wannabe Republican nominee, was named after two Democrats.
    She was in full avoidance mode as she traveled by taxi to the expo. Her father’s calls had become more and more irate over the course of the evening, which made sense now that his intention to run was plastered all over the local news. His last message had been a litany of instructions.
“Don’t talk to the press, don’t comment on the article or my opinions, please dress in a more conservative fashion, cover up your tattoos.”
The last one had been her favorite. Tattoos ran the full length of her arm and down one leg. The ink was nearly all American Traditional, and she had spent a small fortune flying out to see Oliver Peck, arguably the best in the country at the style. It was the end of August, but temperatures were well into the nineties. What did he expect her to do? Wear a pantsuit and broil to death—or worse, a muumuu?
    Thank heavens she was financially independent of her father, thanks to Granny Emmeline having given her the proceeds from the sale of a small Jackson Pollock. If it weren’t for her promise to Granny to look out for her mother, she’d never set foot in her father’s house again.
    In the morning she simply wandered around the expo. So many amazing artists were doing unusual things. She watched a young woman go through a scalpel scarification, and tried to decide if it was something she wanted to do, but concluded the move into more extreme body modification wasn’t for her. A Russian artist was completing a beautiful watercolor tattoo, and she asked some questions about how he ensured durability for lighter shades given that the less saturated colors tended to fade. It was a rookie mistake to not ask talented people questions about their art, because she’d learn from anyone who could teach her how to hone her craft.
    When she’d arrived at the main stage for her presentation on the history of American Traditional tattoos, there had only been about twenty people sitting and waiting. But by the time she finished, there were closer to a hundred and fifty people.
    Lia sat in the greeting area, shaking hands with fans of the show and clients of the studio, while answering questions about her presentation and her career. She’d even been asked for autographs and photographs, which was very surreal, and a photographer with a reputation for taking amazing shots of tattooed women had asked if she’d consider being in a book he was writing about the evolution of tattooed women. All in all, the day had been a