Chapter 1

Late Friday evening, J.T. Webster stood behind the counter in his tattoo studio and stared at the stupid nineteen-year-old waiting for an answer. Young and dumb and itching to prove himself to his posse of wannabe bangers watching from a few steps behind, the kid smirked and tugged at his flat-brimmed ball cap. Yeah, because nothing said menacing like the Seattle Seahawks.

“Well?” the kid drawled. “You have the balls to do it or not? I’m for real, man.” The little punk shot J.T. the finger, then lifted his shirt and pointed said finger at the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “I’m not playing. I want the tat. Or is that too much for you to handle?”

His two friends snickered. A bunch of rich kids slumming in the rough section of town, no doubt. Their clothing appeared to be of high quality, intentionally gouged with holes and made to look worn. Every one of them seemed well fed, no signs of hunger or desperation on their faces. And J.T. hadn’t missed the pricey sneakers worn by two of them.

Mr. Armed and Annoying continued to mouth off. “Yeah, you look big and talk tough, but you’re just a scared poseur. All muscle, no guts. And what the hell kind of tattoo artist doesn’t sport any ink?”

J.T. sighed. He’d wanted to close early, but Grim was still finishing up with his client. And honestly, he welcomed an excuse to delay a Webster family dinner. Normally he loved hanging with his family. His dad had found an amazing woman, his cousin always made him laugh, and he loved his bossy little sister. But lately his father was on his ass to find a girl and settle down, God forbid. So J.T. welcomed any distraction to put off more of his father’s haranguing.

Even threats from a kid more likely to shoot off his own dick than hit anything in the shop with that crappy toy tucked in his pants.

God, give me patience. “Look, man, regardless of your toy gun, I’m not tattooing ‘pussy magnet’ on your neck. This isn’t a customer-is-always-right kind of place. Here, I’m in charge. I’ve dealt with my share of customer regret. You don’t look that bright, but there’s always the chance you might grow a brain and realize you’re not going to score with the word ‘pussy’ creeping up your neck.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, his friends waited, looking less than amused.

“And let’s be honest. The jackasses behind you in the Power Rangers shirts—”

“It’s anime, asshole,” one of them fumed.

“—and Bieber haircuts are no more threatening than that pistol you’re trying to pretend is a real gun.” In the next instant, he yanked the kid over the counter, removed the weapon, and shoved the kid back.

He checked the mag, found out the shithead was carrying—for real—then removed the magazine and cleared the chamber before tossing it all into the trash can behind him. The kids looked confused about whether to fight or leave as J.T. hustled around the counter and shoved the gun-toting punk up against the wall.

Infusing his low voice with menace, he growled, “How about instead of ‘pussy magnet,’ I tattoo ‘dead and gone’ on your forehead?”

The kid thrashed as his face turned red. He gasped for air while J.T. held him off the floor with little effort and pressed his forearm into the boy’s neck. A glance over his shoulder showed the idiot’s friends, frozen and scared.

J.T. scoffed. “I can take care of all of you before anyone asks about the noise. And guess what? No one will have seen anything down here. Yeah, there’s a reason we set up shop in this part of town.” Because the rent was damn cheap.

Just then, Grim opened the door. Six five, his head shaved on the sides with a mass of dark-brown hair combed back, Grim sported a trimmed goatee and tattoos all over his body from the neck down. He wore a perpetual glare that said he’d rather kill you than talk to you.

His client didn’t look much nicer—a large biker who’d recently gotten paroled. The guy took in the scene without blinking. He looked down at his forearm. “Good work, Grim.” He nodded to J.T., then left.

The kids not pinned against the wall took one look at Grim, another glance at J.T., and made a mad dash through the door.

Grim stretched his neck. Bones cracked. “New clients?”

“Dickheads with a death wish.” J.T. glared at the boy about to pass out. So not worth his time. He stepped back, and the boy fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

Grim joined J.T. and stared down at the quivering mess of badass. “Want me to get rid of the body?”

Obviously Grim had heard more than he’d let on. Or so J.T. hoped. With Grim, he was never quite sure if the big guy was joking. The locals left their place alone due to the staff more than their clientele. And more than half the guys J.T. worked on had done time at one point or another.

The teenager looked ready to wet himself; his eyes held a suspicious shine.

J.T. crouched to stare into the kid’s soul. Oh yeah, I’m e-vil. The big, scary mother with a score to settle. “We still got that vat of acid out back?”

“I think so.”

“I’m s-sorry,” the boy burst out. “Just a j-joke, man. Kidding.”

“Yeah? I got a gun and bullets in my trash can that say otherwise.”

“They’re blanks. I swear.”

J.T. leaned closer. “Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.”

The boy crawled away and nearly clocked himself running out the door.

Grim walked around the counter and plucked the gun, magazine, and ammo out of the can. He stared at it, then looked to J.T. “I’ll take care of this.” He grabbed his duffel from under the counter and dumped the contraband inside. “I’m outta here. Later, boss.”

J.T. had learned years ago not to ask Grim questions. “See you Monday.”

Grim had the weekend off, and J.T. had decided to take some time off as well. He was booked four months out. Considering he did custom work and commissions by appointment, he didn’t worry about missing a weekend for possible walk-ins. One of the other artists could handle that.

J.T. took great pride in the studio. He’d built it from scratch with money earned by hard work and sweat. He’d sacrificed by selling his soul… Or at least it had felt like it, slaving for his father in his dad’s garage. While working full-time, he’d put himself through tattoo school and a two-year apprenticeship to the Edward S.K. Dude had since retired, but he was a legend in the business and picky about who he took under his wing.

Now the studio had a steadily growing clientele. Plenty of repeats, a growing number of celebrities, and people who were serious about body art. Unlike Pussy Magnet.

J.T. chuckled to himself and locked up, setting the security. His smile faded as he dragged his feet toward his Charger and stared up at the cloudless indigo sky. The late July weather remained pleasant, probably hitting the high sixties later.

The perfect evening to share a meal with the Webster patriarch and family.

He told himself tonight would be different, that Liam wouldn’t be on the love warpath, and forced himself to drive. Good old Dad had the sense to at least let his girlfriend do the cooking.

Much to J.T.’s surprise, the normal traffic he encountered when driving anywhere in Seattle seemed to have vanished, and he made the trip across town to his dad’s in half the time it usually took.

He parked in front of the two-story house aged by time and weather and grimaced at the sight of his sister’s ’69 GTO. He loved Del like crazy, but she could be so annoying when with her behemoth of a husband. Now married and all lovey-dovey about relationships, she was as bad as his dad, constantly on J.T.’s ass to quit his “playboy ways and grow up into a real man.” Such inspiring words. It was a wonder he didn’t already have two ex-wives and six kids.

Shaking his head, he left the car and remembered the way his sister used to be—obnoxious, angry, and bitchy. She was still all that, but now she smiled all the damn time. Which was cute but annoying and, honestly, a little scary.

He’d barely rung the bell before the door was yanked open and his cousin dragged him inside.

“You’re late,” Rena snapped.

So it was going to be like that. He groaned for effect. “Rena, honey, I’ve had a hell of a day. Can you believe a guy brought a gun into the shop?” He blew out a breath. “I just can’t handle any more drama.”

Her expression transformed from raging to horrified. Then, being Rena, caring.

Such a soft touch. He fought a smirk.

“Oh my God. Tell me.”

“Tell us,” Del chimed in before taking a swig of beer and wiping her mouth on her forearm. “It was a client, right? Or your latest one-nighter, more likely.”

“My clients love me.” He glanced around and, not seeing the rest of her family, asked, “Where’s the ball and chain? The kid?”

“Home having a boys’ night.” Without missing a beat, she added, “Had to be a girl, then. Who you bangin’ this week? Gina? Tina? The Farley twins? Not Sue.”

“Please. I’d never date any of the chicks at Ray’s. Mess up hanging at my favorite bar? That’s just stupid. I like my beer flat and cheap but spit-free, thank you.”

Del grinned.

Rena glared. “I never spit in the beer I serve.” She paused. “Though I have purposely confused orders sometimes and maybe spilled a beer or two on rude customers. Mostly women, surprisingly. The problem guys tend to be drunk but nice.”

“Because they want in your pants.” Del snorted. “She’s still delusional about men. Must be all those romance books she reads.”

“You’d know.” He slid his sister a sly glance. “How’s Mr. Sexy, anyway?”

Rena sighed. “So dreamy. I can’t believe you married Mr. Sexy. Voted the hottest cover model ever. He still hasn’t signed all my books.”

His sister marrying an ex-romance-cover model was about the funniest thing ever. To look at Mike McCauley, you’d never know. The guy worked construction, had huge muscles, and glared if you so much as mentioned a book or his embarrassing past making women swoon.

Del laughed. “Mike hates that you know about that. It cracks me up that he gets embarrassed.”

“Which makes my life worth living.”

Liam boomed from the kitchen, “Is that my wayward son I hear? Has he finally come to visit his dear old da?” he ended in a pathetic attempt at a Gaelic lilt.

“Since when are we Irish?” J.T. murmured to Del, who shrugged.

Rena chuckled.

“Liam, stop shouting and go talk to him like a normal person,” they heard his girlfriend, Sophie, scold.

Del and Rena shared a smile with him. Sophie was the best thing to happen to his father in forever. A sweetheart who didn’t tolerate Liam’s crap but loved him for it all the same.

Yet another strike against being here, though. Between Rena, who ate romance books for breakfast, happily married Del, and his father and girlfriend all swoony in love, there were way too many people trying to make sure J.T. found happily-ever-after. Frankly, he was fine with a happy ending, but try telling that to the women in his family. No one understood sex could satisfy, whereas commitments never did.

He’d been drooling over one particular honey for months. Had she been anyone else, he’d have made a real move, not the small flirtations he’d managed on those rare occasions when he saw her. But she was related to those blasted McCauleys. Such a waste of a fine blond.

Liam was grinning when he joined them in the living room. “Ah, J.T., my boy. Where’ve you been hiding?”

“At work. Not all of us can sit back on our fat asses, old man.”

Liam didn’t take offense. If anything, his grin widened. “Jealous?”

“You know it.” J.T. accepted the bear hug his dad gave him. Though most wouldn’t see it, J.T. recognized the familiar bone structure he shared with his father. He had his mother’s brown skin and smile—according to Liam. But J.T.’s larger-than-life personality he’d inherited from the big mouth hugging the breath out of him. Even at sixty, Liam Webster remained a powerhouse.

“Dad, try not to hurt him,” Del said, sounding as if she cared. “You know how frail he is.”

J.T. glared at her over his shoulder before turning back to his dad. “Don’t mind Del, Dad. I’ve heard when women are pregnant, they get all hormonal.”

“I’m not pregnant, doofus,” Del shot back.

“Oh, sorry. I just thought…with that belly…you, um. How awkward.” Considering his sister still looked athletic and toned, he had no reason to think she’d take him seriously.

So when she blushed before turning to Rena to ask if their cousin thought she looked fat, J.T. could only blink in surprise.

“No, Del. Honestly. J.T. is just being himself. A jerk.” Rena stuck her tongue out at him, her bouncy golden curls accenting the cocoa brown of her face. So pretty, she looked just like her mother, only softer. And thank God Rena didn’t seem to have the track record with men her mother did. One drama queen in the family was enough.

Liam frowned. “You seem a bit annoyed—well, more than usual—with your brother. What’s going on?” He stalked to Del, took her chin in his hand, and swiveled her head back and forth.

“Dad.”

“No, you’re different.” He stepped back and looked her over. His eyes widened. “Holy shit. She is pregnant.”

The room turned as quiet as a graveyard.

“She does look a little off,” Rena commented after a lengthy pause.

“I am not.” Del tried to wriggle away from their dad, but he refused to let her.

“Fess up.”

Del turned even redder.

J.T.’s jaw dropped. “Holy fuck.”

Del groaned. “It’s too early to tell anyone yet. I’m not even really sure. I mean, I did one of those stupid tests, and it was positive. Then negative. Then positive again. I see the doctor tomorrow.”

J.T. snatched the bottle from Del’s hand. “No beer for you.”

“It’s root beer,” she snapped.

“Oh.” J.T. took a closer look, saw he’d been mistaken, and handed it back. “So I’m going to be an uncle? Again?” Del had married into a husband and child. Colin McCauley, her stepson, was a cute troublemaker whose pranks made the whole family proud. And knowing the McCauleys, who all seemed to take the word family to heart, Del being pregnant with Mike’s kid would be a huge celebration for months to come.

J.T. asked, just to stir his sister, “Is it Mike’s?”

Del narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Wait, who’s an asshole?” came an amused, husky voice from behind him. The same voice he dreamed about, had naughty fantasies about, and generally obsessed about as he drew picture after picture of the smokin’ blond.

He turned slowly. Damn. Hope Donnigan. Sophie’s niece and a McCauley family cousin. Here, within arm’s reach.

He gave a slow smile, thinking dinner tonight might not be so bad after all.

She saw him, and her eyes widened, the golden brown the same color as the honey he wanted to drizzle over her body, then lick off, bit by bit.

“J.T.’s the asshole, as if that really needed explaining,” Del muttered. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice.” Rena frowned at Del, then turned a welcoming smile Hope’s way. “Your aunt said you needed a break from your mom. Welcome to the beginning of a great weekend. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at Del’s wedding. I’m Rena.”

Hope nodded, her gaze now suspiciously avoiding J.T.’s. “Sure, I remember you. Hi, Liam. Del.”

“Hey there, girlie.” Liam gave Hope a hug, taking the petite blond off her feet. Since he and his dad were the same height, J.T. figured Hope to be maybe a few inches over five feet, if that. Small but curved in all the right places. She’d fit him just right.

J.T. cleared his throat. “Hey, Hope. Remember me?” he teased. “I’m J.T.”

Her gaze returned to his and stuck.

She knew who he was. He just wanted to see her sweet blush before she stammered her response. When she said nothing, he frowned. “You doing okay? Seen Greg lately?”

* * *

Hope couldn’t find it in herself to blink, focused on God’s gift to womankind. Her aunt’s invitation to dinner had come at the perfect time, giving Hope an excuse to avoid her mother’s weekly nagathon. Since her idiot older brothers had hooked up with the loves of their lives, her mother had deemed Hope fair game again. So much for their pleasant détente, when Hope had stopped blaming her mother for her many issues and Linda Donnigan had stopped getting on Hope for breathing wrong.

Yet Hope hadn’t anticipated seeing J.T. Webster. He hadn’t been at the last two dinners Aunt Sophie had invited her to. “Greg?” she asked, her mind on other things.

Like how incredibly J.T. filled out a simple T-shirt and jeans. The man had the prettiest chestnut-brown skin. She could stare at him for hours.

Hope swallowed a sigh.

Liam was white, and she knew J.T.’s mom had been black. She also must have been gorgeous, because J.T. had his dad’s height and brawn, as well as the face of an angel who liked to sin. A lot.

She swallowed a sigh and continued to visually eat him up, wondering if the size of his hands and feet could be correlated to the size of other things.

God, get your mind off sex, Hope. His father is here! Aunt Sophie is here! And you’re off men, remember?

“Yeah, Greg,” J.T. said, looking concerned. “Gas Works Park ring a bell?”

Geez, she’d seen Greg and J.T. just last week. “Oh, no. No problems on that front.” To Liam, who studied her a little too intently, she explained, “Ex-boyfriend. A jerk I ran into. No biggie.” She shot J.T. a look, pleased when he kept quiet.

Last weekend, Greg, a guy she hadn’t dated or seen in over four months, had accused her of using her brothers to bother him. But Hope hadn’t thought about Greg the Cheater since she’d dumped him, so she knew her brothers couldn’t care less about the guy. When Greg had tried to get a little gropey at the park, she’d taken him down, courtesy of the self-defense classes her brothers taught.

J.T. hadn’t had to do more than watch her take Greg out. She’d been so proud of herself…when she’d been able to tear her imagination away from what J.T. would look like naked.

Those images played over and over in her head. So sad.

“Right.” Liam stared from her to J.T., a question in his eyes.

“So who’s pregnant?” she asked, hoping to shift attention away from herself.

Rena squealed. “Del is! A tiny little bun in her McCauley oven.”

Del looked embarrassed, which was funny, because Del could outswear the mechanics she bossed around on a daily basis and took woman power to the next level. She had arms covered in tattoos, funky ash-blond braids, and icy-gray eyes that seemed to look through and not at a person.

Hope could see a faint resemblance from brother to sister, despite their different skin tones. Both J.T. and Del had eyes shaped like their father’s and the same stubborn chins. Only someone as obsessed with J.T. would have noticed that, she realized, and felt like a moron for being so enthralled with the man.

Fortunately, Liam and Rena started badgering Del for details, letting Hope off the hook.

Since she hadn’t yet greeted her aunt, Hope started to turn and found J.T. suddenly in her way. “Oh, sorry.”

He put a hand out to stop her from bumping into him. And sweet baby sexy, she felt the touch go from her arm all the way through her body, centering between her legs. Oy.

“Sophie’s in the kitchen.” Which was about four steps behind him. “I’ll take you.” He wrapped his graceful fingers around her arm, his large hand spanning her wimpy biceps with ease, and tugged her gently away from the others. “You look good.”

Her face felt hot, her entire body like an inferno next to his manliness. “Oh, uh, thanks. You too.”

He chuckled, and that deep rumble had her quelling a shiver. J.T. was huge, his body corded with muscle. His square jaw and high cheekbones—in addition to that dark-eyed stare that seemed to see everything—made him look more like a predator than an even-tempered artist. Though she could totally see that he’d earned his reputation as a ladies’ man.

“This old thing?” J.T. glanced down at his T-shirt. “Took me forever to pick it out. I mean, I want to look perfect for family.”

They’d entered the kitchen, and Aunt Sophie overheard him. She smiled. “You always look handsome, J.T. I’m glad you came for dinner. Hope, you too.”

He left Hope to give Sophie a kiss on the cheek, his big body totally engulfing Sophie’s smaller frame. “What’s for dinner?”

“Always thinking with your stomach. Just like your father,” Sophie teased.

Hope had always loved Aunt Sophie, especially because, like Sophie, Hope didn’t fit the mold her family expected of her. Unlike Sophie’s two older sisters, Sophie hadn’t married and had children right away. She’d traveled the world, fell in and out of love, and enjoyed an art career that had spanned several decades.

She’d always been the fun aunt, with stories that pulled Hope away from life in dreary Seattle and took her into far-off castles and cafés, living through Aunt Sophie’s escapades.

To see her aunt so in love, at her age, gave Hope, well, hope. If her aunt could live a full life without a man by her side, then choose to find someone later in life, so could she. Unfortunately, Hope didn’t have a career she loved or grand adventures overseas. After earning a business degree, she’d bounced from job to job in Seattle for years until finally settling into a cozy role as an administrative assistant at her cousin’s financial firm.

She liked it. She’d become good at it, and she thought she might just have a head for organizing and money matters. Yes, Hope could be just like Aunt Sophie. She wanted to be just like Aunt Sophie.

Yet for all her positive thinking, the job didn’t fill that loneliness inside her.

“Right, Hope?” Her aunt was looking at her with a bemused expression.

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking about something else. Say that again?”

“I was telling J.T. that this recipe is a family secret.”

Hope raised a brow. “Really?”

Sophie gave her a mock frown. “What does that mean?”

“I, er, hadn’t realized our family had secret recipes. Mom doesn’t cook, and Aunt Beth is so-so in the kitchen…but don’t tell her I said that. Since when are you into cooking?”

Sophie blushed. “Liam’s not much good in front of the stove, so I decided to take up a new hobby. We take classes together.”

J.T. stared. “Classes?”

“Cooking classes. It’s fun.” Sophie smiled. “You two should try it. Besides, cooking is cheaper than eating out all the time.”

Which her aunt could well afford. Hope thought the woman just liked cooking for her man. It must be nice to do fun things together. Yet she had to admit she couldn’t see big Liam wearing an apron and taking instruction on how to flambé.

She shared a look with J.T. that told her he thought the same. Wisely, they said nothing.

J.T. squeezed her shoulder. “I’d better go rescue Del from Dad. Did you know she’s pregnant, Sophie?”

Sophie’s green eyes twinkled. “I heard. I’m so happy for her.”

J.T. grinned, and Hope steeled herself to stop mooning over the man. After he walked away, she turned to see her aunt watching her. She prayed her ogling hadn’t been too obvious.

“So, what’s new with you and your mother?” Sophie asked. A familiar topic.

“You don’t want to know.”

Sophie patted her arm. “Don’t worry, sweetie. My mother and I used to argue like cats and dogs too. But as we got older, we put our differences aside. She mellowed out, and we could finally just accept each other for who we are.” Hope just stared at her aunt…who sighed. “Yeah, I don’t see your mother relaxing either. She’s a lot more like our father than Beth or me. You know, I used to think Beth was the worse of the two when I was growing up. Linda used to be the nice one. But as she grew older, she grew more…”

“Aggressive? Hostile?” Hope paused. “Domineering?”

“I was going to say ‘determined.’” Sophie laughed. “Of the three of us girls, she was always the most ambitious.” Her smile faded. “I know you two seem to butt heads more often than not, but honey, she really does love you. She wants the best for you.”

“I know.” Which was what made Hope’s feelings for her mother so confusing. “The problem is she thinks she knows what’s best. But she doesn’t care what I want.”

Sophie nodded. “And that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? What do you want, Hope?”

Hope shrugged, feeling the dissatisfaction she’d been trying to deny for months. “I wish I knew, Aunt Sophie.” Because anything had to be better than feeling so lost all the time.