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s they dipped lower, shadowing her spine and ending in another infinity symbol on the small of her back, right above the matching dimples at the top of her round ass.
She shivered under his fingers. “That tickles.”
“It's so…pretty.” So much for being able to use his Scrabble-worthy vocabulary.
He buried his nose in her soft hair, her curls like silk against his cheeks, and inhaled her amber scent. His cock stirred in response. Ducking his head lower, he kissed the infinity sign's center.
“My friend is a tattoo artist so I get a discount.”
“Did he design this?” Sam kissed the spot on her shoulder blade where the vines passed closest to her freckled shoulders.
She sighed and snuggled her ass closer to his stiffening cock. “Nah. I draw them up and he traces them onto my skin before inking me.”
“Even the princess and the dragon?”
“Yeah. I got that right before my first show.” She laughed, a dry sound with more than a touch of disappointment “I thought I'd finally slain the dragon.”
He pulled her closer to him as they spooned and kissed her shoulder. “What happened?”
“A so-called friend stole my art and the original sketches then passed it off as her own at a gallery in L.A.” Her husky voice went silent.
“Did you say anything?”
“Yeah, not that it did any good. Her rich parents had so many deep connections in that world that no one believed me.” Her shoulders slumped. “You don't want to hear this. We're both old enough to know that life doesn't work out like you think it will when you're young, now does it?”
She sighed and Sam wished he could erase the disillusionment in her voice. “It's not over for you yet.”
“Well, Dry Creek is long gone, that's for sure.”
His pulse hiccupped. “Dry Creek, Nebraska?” Blasting out of his comfort zone with someone like Josie in Vegas was one thing. It was quite another to do that back home in a small town that thrived on gossip—especially gossip concerning the Laytons. Everyone and his mother would be taking notes.
“Yeah, there's an artist colony there. I was going to paint until my fingers fell off, but it doesn't look like I'll be able to go. I'm just hoping they'll refund the money I've already paid.”
He'd no more than released a relieved breath than guilt twisted him. “That's…that's too bad,” he stuttered.
Josie rolled over in his arms, her gray eyes soft. “It would have been nice to go knowing that there was somebody there I knew.” She smirked at him and traced her finger down the scar on his cheek he'd gotten that summer on McPherson's Bluff. “We could have even gone treasure hunting together.”
His entire body tensed. “What are you talking about?” The blood iced in his veins.
He should have known. Treasure hunters had been after the Layton family treasure, Rebecca's Bounty, for decades. They wouldn't think twice about using any means necessary to gather information. Even sleeping with the one family member who'd spent decades looking for it. God knows more than a few had tried to get close to him in hopes of getting a look at Rebecca's diary or other family relics.
“Were you waiting for me, Josie? How long have you been watching me?”
Josie sat up, the sheet falling to her narrow waist. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
Despite the temper building, he couldn't stop his gaze from straying to her pendulous breasts.
“The treasure.” Gold, jewels and who knew what else buried somewhere outside of Dry Creek. He'd been raised on the legend. Lost his belief in happy endings while searching for it the summer he turned twelve. Michael's last August. Regret and anger tag-teamed his chest, squeezing his lungs tight until he could barely breathe.
“You are completely off your nut.” She threw the covers off long legs that had wrapped so tightly around him. “God, why do I always attract the weirdoes?”
He refused to let her off that easy. “Don't try to distract and discredit. Who hired you?” Uncle Harlan was his first suspect, but there were others.
“That's it. Have a nice life.” She jumped off the bed and made a beeline for her clothes.
How could he have been so wrong about her? Usually his instincts were pretty good, but something about Josie had fucked-up his compass as badly as if it had been placed on a slab of iron.
Now dressed, Josie stomped over to the chair and grabbed her backpack. The zipper must have been open because its contents spilled out onto the chair and scattered on floor. Her shoulders shook as if she was trying not to cry.
