Pamela Macaluso - Christmas Wedding

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For: Tom and Cleo Barnes,

Dad and Mother,

who were married on Christmas Day

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Was she seeing things? Or did the two-way mirror looking from the tattoo parlor office into the display area need cleaning?

Holly Bryant was used to seeing attractive men. But this guy was a major hunk. From his dark brown hair to his dusty black motorcycle boots—and all parts between. Including his enticing backside, which was displayed to absolute advantage in snug, faded denim.

In keeping with the warm October day in Daytona Beach, Florida, the top half of the man was decked out in a black leather vest. As he turned and walked farther into the shop, Holly could see that the vest showed off his broad shoulders, muscular chest and arms. The V neckline exposed a triangle of dark, curling hair.

And there wasn’t a tattoo in sight.

He was looking at the sample tattoo drawings and photographs displayed on the walls.

“Well, what are you waiting for? The guy’s a customer and Dad’s on lunch break,” Holly muttered to herself under her breath. She hoped she could wait on the guy without staring...or drooling all over him.

Opening the door into the front of the shop, she put on her best salesperson smile and walked out. “May I help you?”

He turned and looked at her with intense green eyes, but he didn’t smile.

Unusual. She was used to men smiling and flirting with her. Especially when she was decked out in the provocative outfits she wore to work in the tattoo parlor.

She’d been designing and making her own clothes long before she’d started taking fashion design classes at a local art school. For “Daytona Bike Week” and “Biketoberfest” she had a special biker-look wardrobe. It was sexy and daring. She thought of it as costuming for her job...playing a part.

Obviously the part of flirting temptress wasn’t working on this customer.

Up close Holly thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t place him. Of course, during Daytona Bike Week every March and the more recently added Biketoberfest in October, there were large numbers of repeat visitors year after year and also an occasional celebrity.

This guy was handsome enough to be an actor, but nothing clicked. Or maybe he was one of those cover models from the romance novels her friend Ellen read.

“I don’t see anything for Yankee riders,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth—the kind of voice that made you think about maple syrup.

“Most of these samples went up ten years ago, when my dad moved to this location. Yankee wasn’t around at the time, but he has done Yankee tattoos. If you’ll step over here, I have a book showing some of them. Plus, he’ll do custom designs, drawn to order or copied from something you bring in.”

He flipped through the book, glancing a little longer at the designs showcasing Yankee. Some were renderings of the Yankee logo, others declared the names of different models in decorative lettering: Yankee Clipper, Yankee Spirit, Yankee Pride.

“I take it you ride a Yankee,” Holly said.

He kept his position, but he glanced up at her. “Yes, I do.”

“They’re starting to be more popular. I’ve seen more on the road this Biketoberfest than at any biker event in the past.” Didn’t this guy ever smile? “It must be all the excitement over the Yankee Hunks.”

Now he was really frowning. “Or it might be that more people are starting to realize what great bikes Yankees are.” He closed the book.

“Did you see anything you liked?”

“Actually, I was looking for a specific tattoo I saw on a guy this afternoon. He said this is where he’d gotten it done.”

“Well, maybe if you described it for me.”

“It showed a caricature of a biker and he was holding a picket sign that read Yankee Go Home.” If there’d been the smallest hint of good nature on his face, it was gone now.

“Was the guy’s name Tiny?”

“Yes.”

It seemed like a strange choice for someone who rode a Yankee, but Dad’s first rule was that the customer was always right. “Tiny’s was the first of that design, and it was just done last week so it’s not in the book yet. But I can hunt up the original drawing.” Holly kept a perfect poker face as she asked, “And where were you thinking about having it placed?”

He had gorgeous muscular arms that could accommodate a tattoo. Plus there was plenty more body currently hidden from view by denim and leather.

“I was thinking about one of two places. Either the trash can or my attorney’s desk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Either the design goes, or you’ll find yourself being sued.”

Holly shrugged, hoping that if she looked calm this whole thing would turn out to be a practical joke or one of those hidden video shows. “I’m sorry you don’t like the tattoo, but I’m sure there’s no copyright on the phrase ‘Yankee go home.’”

“Not the phrase, but that particular rendering of the word Yankee is a registered trademark.”

“Are you a lawyer or something?”

“Or something.”

Holly realized why he looked so familiar. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Yankee Hunks.”

He folded his arms across his chest with a rippling of muscles that made Holly’s breath catch in her throat. “We prefer to be called co-founders or co-owners.”

She pointed to the book. “The other tattoos probably fall under the same trademark laws, do you want them removed, also?”

“I have no objection to the others.”

“Because they don’t knock your bikes?”

“Exactly.”

Holly didn’t know enough about the laws to argue with him. “I’ll talk to my father about it.”

“Is he the one who did the tattoo?”

“He did the tattoo, but I drew the design.” Tiny had come in on a busy afternoon. While he was waiting, he’d described what he’d wanted. Holly had made some sample sketches to give her father a general idea to work from. As it turned out, her sketch was exactly what Tiny had wanted, so her father had used it.

“You designed the tattoo?”

“Yes. Now, do you want a tattoo, or not?”

“Not.”

“Okay. Well, then, if there’s anything else I can do for you, ring the bell on the counter.” She turned and went back into the office, muttering under her breath about hunks who thought their good looks gave them a license to be grouchy.

* * *

Jesse frowned. His partners, Rorke O’Neil and Alex Dalton, and Yankee’s corporate attorney, Chad Ralston, were sitting around the table in a hotel suite overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

After they went over the daily agenda of their public appearances, Jesse told them about Tiny—who hadn’t gotten his nickname for any part of him that showed—and his tattoo. Jesse also told them about his trip to the tattoo parlor.

While he wanted to go for blood, the others didn’t seem as incensed by the tattoo as he was. Rorke and Alex actually thought it was funny.

Chad said, “Whether we have a chance of winning a lawsuit is not the issue, Jesse. What we have to consider is what the media will do with it. They’ll make it look like three big bad guys are picking on one poor artistic waif.”

“This waif is about five foot nine, dressed in black leather and built like a centerfold.”

Not to mention her long, luscious legs that made a man wonder how it would feel to have them wrapped around him. Or the long, strawberry-blond hair he would love to see spread across a black satin pillowcase. And the full, pouty lips, which under normal circumstances he would have wanted a taste of.