Tattoo My Heart (Heroes of Seaside Point, Book 1)

• Title Page
  
• CHAPTER ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWO
  
• CHAPTER THREE
  
• CHAPTER FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FIVE
  
• CHAPTER SIX
  
• CHAPTER SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER NINE
  
• CHAPTER TEN
  
• CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
• EPILOGUE
  

Heroes of Seaside Point, Book 1

By Mia Dymond

Copyright 2012 Mia Dymond

Published on Smashwords

Cover photo: Andrey Armyagov|Dreamstime.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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“No way in hell will I tell him she’s taking off her clothing.”

Sheriff Casey McIntyre paused with his hand on the knob of his best friend’s front door, immediately curious about Travis’ denial.

Somewhere, someone was naked.

“You don’t have a choice.” Casey raised an eyebrow at another man’s response. Dane Wright’s usual voice of reason held a little something more this time. Amusement, maybe. “He’s the only one who can stop her.”

He tilted his head back to gaze at the second story’s bedroom window – habit, he supposed – to see if the occupant just happened to be visible from the street. Not that she would be naked, but instead, making a quick get-a-way down the trellis. Stop her? Fat chance. Besides, the room was dark and the trellis, thorny. He snorted. Like thorns had ever stopped her before.

“Even I wouldn’t attempt it.”

That did it. As soon as Maverick Ryder’s admission drifted out the open bay window, ice water sprinted through Casey’s veins. Never in his life had he known his friend to turn down anything female. Throw in
naked
and Mav was a happy man.

Still, that didn’t explain the subject of their conversation.

Casey moved his gaze from the window, gave the door a sharp knock, stepped inside, and then paused at the abnormal silence. No grunts from a football game on television. No balls cracking as they smacked each other on the pool table.
Oh, man
. He could almost hear the beer bottles sweating.

He frowned and walked through the house, his combat boots heavy with each step, convinced there was doom on the horizon. Once he stopped inside the den, the hair stood on the back of his neck. All three firemen sat quiet, not one of them even offering a simple
hello
. Yeah, someone was doomed.

Against his better judgment, Casey spoke first. “Everything okay here?”

Each one of them nodded, but still no conversation. He glanced at Dane, who tossed his cell phone from hand to hand like a hot potato.

“Important phone call?”

“You could say that.”

“Especially you,” Travis mumbled.

Casey slowly moved his gaze around the den, eyeing each of his friends with suspicion. Never in their twenty plus years of friendship had he ever known any of them to keep their mouths shut about anything. Something told him to turn around and sprint out the front door.

His gaze finally speared Dane, daring him to speak. “Somebody better tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Dane finally exhaled hard. “There’s a disturbance at McGill’s. You drew the short straw.”

Oh, damn
. Casey fought the urge to throttle his friend and forced an unemotional response. “I’m not on duty.”

Not one of them seemed to care but it was Dane who voiced the consensus. “You’re the sheriff. You’re always on duty.”

“I wasn’t here to draw,” Casey drawled.

“You snooze, you lose.” The other man shrugged. “We told you nine o’clock.”

Still not willing to go down without a fight, Casey glanced at his watch then back at Dane. “It’s eight forty five.”

“Doesn’t matter. You were last man in.”

Casey looked at Maverick and Travis, both braced against the pool table, arms folded across their chests. Normally, both of them were pretty easy to read. This time, however, nothing.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let me have it.”

“You get to crash ladies night out.”

Casey’s insides trembled. No way did he have even a remote desire to break up a hen party. Not because they were most likely drunk out of their minds – hell, that could work to his advantage – but one thing stopped him. One five foot, two inch package of dynamite.

He opened his eyes and glared at Dane. “Your fiancée is there.”

Dane smirked. “I promised Vanessa I wouldn’t interfere.”

“Uh-huh. More like she threatened to cut you off if you did.” He directed his attention to Travis. “What about your sisters?”

Travis shrugged. “I learned the hard way.”

He glanced at his third friend, his last chance to pass the buck. “C’mon Mav, you live for this stuff.”

“Not this time.”

“Quit stalling, McIntyre.” Dane gave him a slap on the back. “Besides, you’re a big bad cop. They’ll listen to you.”

Casey smirked. “Since when does Annessa listen to me?”

The room fell deathly still. Casey swallowed hard and silently cursed the slip of his tongue. So much for denial.

Sonuvabitch
.

Dane raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about Annessa?”

Casey ran a hand down the side of his jaw. “She’s there, right?”

Travis nodded. “Are my sisters ever
not
together? Annessa organized the whole thing. Strippers and all.”

Casey squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Strippers?

Damnittohell
.

Slowly he opened his eyes and attempted to try one more time to make sense of the situation. “And, why is it necessary to break up the party?”

Dane motioned to the front door. “You’ll find out soon enough. You have your cuffs?”

Casey opened his mouth to set them all straight and then met Travis’
don’t-even-think-about-my-sister-in-handcuffs
glare. For half a second, that glare almost intimidated him. Almost. Too bad for old Travis, though, Casey found that possibility extremely arousing. If he managed to lock her to him nice and tight, maybe, just maybe, he’d have half a chance to spit out an explanation.
R-i-i-ght
.

He released a hard breath and pushed that ridiculous but hopeful thought to the side. No, once he locked her in cuffs she’d toss him that
just-try-me
smile, bat her baby soft eyelashes, and wrap him around her little finger. All without a single word.

He took one look around the den again and silently tried to reason with himself. He was a cop, for God’s sake, an officer of the law. His past history with Annessa had nothing to do with arresting her – if it came to that – and she had no choice but to cooperate if he gave her an ultimatum. That thought caused him to bite his tongue.
Idiot
. Even as his hostage she would make him beg like a starved puppy. Especially since using Annessa and handcuffs in the same sentence caused some pretty dirty images in the depths of his brain.

Okay, she might submit – but only long enough to find a way to make him regret ever thinking he could subdue her at all.

Ten minutes later, Casey sat in his sleek, black, Chevrolet pick-up truck in the parking lot of McGill’s Sports Bar and Grill and listened to the sound of the idle while he contemplated his next move. He knew as soon as he stepped inside that building, things would go completely haywire. If they weren’t already.

He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel and tossed ideas through his brain. Drunk women usually made him smile. Once alcohol warmed a woman’s veins, her lips loosened and pieces of clothing tended to peel right off. No doubt he could clean the place out with little effort, but once Annessa turned on him there would be no escape. He squeezed the steering wheel hard as reality threw a major kink in his plan. Since when had he become such a coward? He knew exactly when – seven years ago.

He laid his head back against the seat and pushed the urge to surrender to the side. Seven years was a long time. The past was the past, water under the bridge and all that psychological bullshit. Not that
he
didn’t buy into that mantra; someone needed to convince Annessa. To her, seven years might as well have been yesterday. He raised his head and let a weak smile split his lips. No sense putting off the inevitable. Determined to face his fear once and for all, he slapped on his Aviators and left the safety of his truck.

Once he stood just inside the door, he knew exactly why his friends sent him; he was the only one with half a chance at bringing order. The place swarmed with female bodies, several different shapes and sizes, all squeezed into clothing designed for a manhunt or the thought of one anyway. Loud, heavy rock music blared while women wiggled to the beat in various stages of undress, and what men he did see, sat at tables while throwing back beer. He didn’t blame them. No sober man in his right mind would even attempt to break up this party. Except one with a set of handcuffs and a gun.

He paused a moment and allowed his gaze to sweep the room. A feminine mob crowded around the stage area, focused on a male stripper whose g-string was held in the grip of several bright fingernails. Rather than grateful, he looked panicked while bouncers attempted to untangle him without causing an all out riot. Casey actually felt sorry for the poor sap, even if he did bring it on himself.

Now convinced he was stuck smack dab in the middle of a spinning tornado, he fisted his hands in an effort to remain calm and attempted to control his temper. He took several deep breaths. In through his mouth, out through his nose. His conscious balked; even his inner voice knew all he really wanted was to reach for the weapon tucked in his waistband and fire several shots into the air. Raunchy catcalls and obnoxious whistles caused his eardrums to vibrate, so much so that he was almost positive they would bleed before the end of the night. No way in hell would any one of these women give up without a fight.

Casey shook his head and plowed his way past several groping hands before he finally managed to reach the bar. Blake McGill stood behind the beer taps, cornered like a rabbit.

“Where should we start?” Casey tossed his sunglasses to the counter and glanced around at the chaos. He would most likely need more than the bartender to control this crowd.

“Probably there.” Blake motioned with his thumb. “She won’t come down.”

Casey moved his gaze over the thick packs of women until it stopped on the catwalk attached to the stage. Even in the dimly lit interior, there was no mistaking the main attraction. His tongue grew numb while he zeroed in on his target. The sight of pale pink panties and a barely there, matching, sad excuse for a bra made his cock twitch. Firm, creamy breasts spilled over the top, just a hint of dark nipples beneath. Curvy, lace-wrapped hips gyrated to music he couldn’t even hear at that exact moment. Smooth, tan legs twisted and turned, showcasing several views of a body that caused him to drool like a rabid dog.