Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy Series Book 2)

“We’re off to Las Vegas, Kitty-Kat,” Mason Kincaid said as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Sin City is the perfect place to get down and dirty and have some fun. What kind of trouble do you think we can get into while we’re there?”

Katrina Sands buckled her seat belt and settled more comfortably in the first-class leather seat next to Mason—her best friend since they were fourteen and freshmen in high school. She wasn’t at all surprised that he was already making a mental list of all the wild and reckless adventures that awaited him in a no-holds-barred place like Las Vegas. Mason Kincaid was a rule breaker, a thrill seeker, and a self-indulgent bad boy who was all about pleasure and instant gratification. From everything she’d heard about the city that never slept, he’d be right in his element.

Oh, joy, she thought with a resigned sigh. It wasn’t as though she was a prude. Far from it. She just wasn’t thrilled about watching her best friend’s man-whoring ways in action in Vegas. She spent enough time seeing it up close and personal on a day-to-day basis.

She turned her head and met Mason’s bright blue gaze. “You do realize that this trip isn’t all about you and your dick, right? That we’re heading to Vegas because your brother Clay is marrying Samantha?” she asked, reminding him of that one important detail.

The corners of his mouth curved with an indulgent grin. “Of course I realize my brother is strapping on the old ball and chain tomorrow afternoon. But that doesn’t mean the entire weekend is going to be all wedding, all the time. In fact, tonight Levi and I plan to take Clay out to make sure he spends his last evening as a bachelor in style.”

Which gave Mason the perfect opportunity to carouse for a willing female to take back to his hotel room for the night. It’s what Mason did. For as long as she’d known him, he’d had a hit-it-and-quit-it motto when it came to women, and he always made sure they knew the score up front. He didn’t make promises or do commitment or anything longer than a one-time fling.

And each time Katrina watched it happen, a little bit of hope died inside of her. The hope that one day Mason would see her as more than just a best friend and the woman who managed to keep his personal and professional shit together. But the man was oblivious to her deeper feelings for him, and she wasn’t willing to tell him and risk certain painful rejection. It was much easier, and safer, keeping them both squarely in the friend zone.

She’d known him for twelve years, and had truly come to believe that Mason Kincaid didn’t have the ability to commit to any single woman. And it really wasn’t hard for her to figure out why considering the kind of childhood he’d had—no father figure to speak of and a mother who cared more about her next fix than her own kids. Mason might be a master at giving off a carefree, I-don’t-give-a-crap attitude, but Katrina was one of the few people who knew just how much pain and resentment that laid-back demeanor really masked.

The commercial plane they were taking to Las Vegas finished the boarding process, and one of the cabin crew started closing the overhead luggage bins, while another made an announcement to set all electronic devices to airplane mode. A pretty brunette flight attendant stopped next to Mason’s aisle seat and set her hand on his shoulder.

He glanced up at her, and the woman smiled, her complexion flushing a bit as he turned all that potent male sex appeal her way. Yeah, Mason had that kind of breathtaking effect on women. Between his gorgeous features, that sexy, panty-dropping smile, and his sleeves of bad boy tattoos that wrapped around both muscled arms, he was an irresistible force to the female gender.

And the jerk knew it, too, and didn’t hesitate to use that charm to his advantage.

“Sir, I need you to put your seat belt on, please,” she said oh-so-sweetly as her hand gave his solid shoulder a noticeable squeeze.

“Absolutely. And call me Mason,” he said as he buckled the belt around his waist, his tone as light and flirtatious as the wink he gave the woman. “Since I’m in first class and you’ll be servicing me, we might as well be on a first-name basis.”

Katrina rolled her eyes, but the flight attendant laughed at his double meaning and gave him a blatant once-over before moving on to the chairs in front of them, where Clay and Samantha were seated. Straight across the aisle from Mason was his youngest brother, Levi, along with Tara, who was a bartender at Clay’s bar, Kincaid’s. The upgrade to first class had been Clay’s doing, as were the individual hotel suites for each one of them that awaited their check-in at the Bellagio Hotel.

As the attendant walked down the rest of the aisle, hips swaying, Mason craned his neck to stare at her ass until he couldn’t see her anymore.

Then, he glanced back at Katrina with one of his typical wolfish grins and a shameless gleam in his eyes. “Do you think she’d be willing to induct me into the mile-high club?” he asked, and Katrina knew he wasn’t completely teasing.

She narrowed her gaze in warning, because the mere thought of Mason banging some chick a few feet away from her wasn’t something she cared to endure. “Don’t even think about it.”

He leaned in close so that his shoulder rubbed against hers and his lips were near her ear. “You’re no fun, Kitty-Kat.”

His warm breath stirred the purple-tipped ends of her blonde hair, and she barely managed to suppress the shiver of awareness tickling down her spine and causing her nipples to tighten uncomfortably.

“Having sex in a cramped bathroom in an airplane is not my idea of fun.”

Jesus, maybe she was a prude, she thought with a frown. Or maybe it had just been too long since she’d indulged in sex of any kind. It had been nearly a year, and even that last time with the guy she’d been dating had left her unsatisfied and wanting.

“Things could get tight and hot,” he agreed in a tone that was both amused and suggestive. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

She shook her head. “You’re such a—”

“I know, I know,” he said, cutting her off before she could finish. “I’m a manwhore.”

He was a male slut, and he didn’t even bother to deny it.

“But just for the record, you know I have way more fun than you.” He settled back into his seat as the plane started moving away from the gate, his features suddenly turning serious as he studied her.

“What have you done for fun lately?” he asked, as if he believed she wasn’t capable of having a good time. “And for that matter, when was the last time you got laid?”

Her mouth dropped open at the unexpected question, and she snapped it shut again and glared. Screw him for being an asshole and going there.

He smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Her fingers itched to smack that smug look right off his face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve just been really uptight lately,” he said with a shrug. “On edge and a little short and snappy with me.”

Oh, yeah, the idiot was so damned obtuse. Her being uptight had everything to do with his womanizing and inability to see what was right in front of his face.

She was his best friend, and knew everything about his shitty past, his less-than-ideal childhood, and his abandonment issues. And though she’d proven over and over again that she wasn’t going anywhere and would always be there for him, no matter her own personal demons and pain, he took her for granted, never seeing her as anything more than good old Kitty-Kat.

Then again, was it really his fault that she loved him with more than just friendship or sister-like affection? That he wasn’t capable of returning those feelings for a variety of reasons—the main one being that he was emotionally damaged and didn’t know how to let someone intimately close? No, she couldn’t blame him. At least he was honest about who he was and what he was capable of.

It wasn’t his fault she wanted more. It was hers, for holding out hope.

Maybe that was part of the problem, she thought as she searched on her phone for an audio book to listen to during the flight. It was so easy for Mason to take advantage of her always being around and at his beck and call. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d made it easy for him, and maybe it was time that she reevaluated her feelings for her best friend, and the fact that they weren’t reciprocated.

Because there was one thing she knew for certain—unrequited love sucked big hairy balls.

He placed his hand on her bare arm, and her traitorous pulse sped up a few notches as she glanced at his strong forearm and the dark brown braided leather bracelet that was wrapped twice around his solid wrist. She’d given it to him for his most recent birthday, and it looked sexy as hell on him with all his tribal tattoos.

Ignoring the way her body warmed in all those neglected places, she lifted her gaze to his, and he gave her a playful smile.

“You know, maybe you ought to take advantage of Sin City, find some random guy who does it for you, and work out some of that tension you’re carrying so you can loosen up and relax.”

Katrina wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious, but she bit back an irritable retort that would give way too much credence to his uptight opinion of her and instead dished it right back to him. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that,” she replied enthusiastically.

Screwing a random stranger so wasn’t her style, but he didn’t need to know that.

He blinked at her in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to so readily agree to his indecent suggestion. That shock was quickly followed by a slight frown, as if he wasn’t sure how he felt about her having a one-night stand, despite the fact that he’d brought it up.

Whatever, she thought as she tamped down her frustration.

Done talking, she glanced away from Mason, put her earbuds in, and closed her eyes as the plane raced down the runway and lifted off the ground. Her stomach dipped at the initial ascent, and she breathed slowly and deeply while coming to a very difficult decision. One she’d been struggling with for the past few months but that was suddenly becoming much too clear.

After the happy couple was married and they all returned from Vegas, Katrina needed to make life-altering changes. It was becoming increasingly hard and painful to be around Mason day in and day out and watch him go from one woman to another. It was time to reevaluate her life, as well as her job as manager of Mason’s tattoo shop, Inked.

And that meant moving on from the one man she wanted but would never have beyond the friendship and the secrets that they shared.

*     *     *

What the hell? With a perplexed frown, Mason watched and felt Katrina’s silent withdrawal from their conversation, and him, as she pushed in her earbuds, closed her eyes, and blocked him out in the process. One minute he’d been teasing her, and then the next, bam, he was being silently dismissed—this after she’d much too eagerly agreed to have a fling in Vegas.

Females, he thought with a shake of his head. God, he’d never understand them.

Okay, that statement wasn’t entirely true. He had no problem relating to women when they were on their knees sucking his cock, or begging him to fuck them harder, faster. Hot, mindless sex and mutual pleasure—yeah, those things he had no problems comprehending. Hell, he understood that language without speaking a word.

But this increasing moodiness of Katrina’s over the past few months? Jesus, he felt as though he were tiptoeing through a minefield, and he had no fucking idea how to deal with the situation, or her, without everything blowing up in his face.

Despite all the rough and terrible things she’d gone through in her life, she’d always managed to keep that shit buried deep inside and maintain an upbeat facade. She’d always been the one to make him smile on a bad day, or talk him out of a funk, or crack a joke when he, himself, was in a pissy mood.

Not so much lately.

So what the hell was going on with her? Katrina had never been one to show signs of PMS, so that theory was out. She wasn’t in a relationship, so he didn’t have to worry about some guy treating her badly. Then again, her irritation was always directed at him, and no one else. She was polite and cheerful with clients at Inked. She even joked around and teased the other employees in the shop, but when he attempted to join in on the fun, she shut him down and shut him out.

Just like now.

Jamming a hand through his hair in frustration, he glanced at her as the plane finally leveled out. Her eyes were still closed, giving him free rein to really take in her appearance. He loved her blonde hair that was tipped in purple and fell around her shoulders in soft waves. The funky style matched her unique personality, as did the clothes she wore. Today she was dressed in a pair of acid-wash jeans and a long gray tank shirt that was accented with black lace trim for a bit of an edge. The sleeveless top exposed the array of colorful butterfly tattoos covering her entire arm and all the way up the side of her neck.

Being a tattooist himself, he could honestly say that the female artist who had inked Katrina’s skin had done a stunning job—with the artwork and tattoo itself, and for giving Katrina back her sense of self-worth. Mason was one of the few people who knew of the physical and emotional scars the intricate design concealed, and he often wished that he’d been the one to lay that ink on her instead.

His gaze traveled back up to her face, leisurely taking in her delicate features—the sweep of her long, dark lashes, her cute, pert nose, all that creamy skin, and those soft, full lips that were made to cushion a man’s cock.

Yeah, he fucking went there.

He swallowed back a groan as a blast of heat and the secret desire he harbored for his best friend made his dick twitch with awareness. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d thought of Katrina in a sexual way. Hell, she’d flip out if she knew that she was his go-to fantasy when he woke up in the morning with a hard-on and wrapped his fingers around his cock. As he stroked himself, all it took were erotic mental images of her moaning and arching beneath him as he sank deep inside of her tight, slick flesh to get him off every single time, and quickly, too.

He was a goddamn pervert for thinking of her that way. She was his best friend, for crying out loud, and there was no way he’d ever fuck that up with sex. Ever. Katrina meant way too much to him to ever cross that line, no matter how much his dick protested his decision. She was his rock, the one person he always knew he could depend on to be there for him, no matter what. She knew things about him that no one else did and accepted him despite his flaws and weaknesses.

Most importantly, she was the one and only woman he’d ever trusted—fucking mommy issues, he thought bitterly—and he’d never do anything to jeopardize what the two of them had been through together, and what they shared as best friends.

Which was why her odd behavior lately piqued his concern, and he certainly didn’t like how it felt as though she was distancing herself from him. Something was definitely off, and he had to admit that the thought of losing Katrina in any capacity scared the shit out of him.

He rubbed his clammy palms down his jean-clad thighs, hating the uncertainties that were growing stronger and stronger with each passing day. He didn’t want to panic, but something was up with Katrina, and the fact that he couldn’t pinpoint the issue was driving him nuts. When they returned from this trip, he planned on finding out what, exactly, was causing her mood swing.

Being in first class, the passengers had their own attendant, and Mason turned his attention to the woman who’d flirted with him earlier, who was now taking refreshment orders and working her way down the aisle toward his row.

When she reached him, he read her name tag—Tawny—as she gave him an inviting smile. “So, Mason, here I am, at your service,” she said, taking her cue from his earlier flirtatious comment. “What can I get for you?”

He didn’t miss the way she’d deliberately left out the words to drink. Oh, yeah, she was definitely playing his kind of game, and since Katrina was giving him the cold shoulder, he welcomed the distraction. “What would you recommend, Tawny?”

She licked her glossy lips, her brown eyes all but eating him up. “What I’d like to recommend isn’t on the airline’s menu.”

He chuckled, recognizing an overture when he heard one. “In that case, I’ll take a Sprite . . . for now.”

She wrote his order on her note pad, then glanced past him to Katrina—who was oblivious to everything except what she was listening to through her earbuds, her eyes still closed. “Would your girlfriend care for anything?” Tawny asked with a curious raise of her brow.

Girlfriend. The word was so foreign to him, not just in terms of Katrina, but because he’d never stayed with a woman long enough to get romantically or intimately involved beyond sex, which was what that word implied. But he knew what Tawny was getting at, even if she didn’t seem overly concerned if he was taken.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he assured the pretty flight attendant, though with Katrina sitting by his side, he felt an odd and unexpected moment of regret that made absolutely no fucking sense to him.

Tawny grinned at him. “That’s good to know.”

“I’m not sure what she wants, so I’ll have her press the service button when she wakes up.” Or whatever Katrina was doing. She’d been the one to blatantly ignore him, and he wasn’t about to disturb her and risk rousing the shrew again.

Tawny turned to Levi and Tara and took their drink orders, too, then headed back toward the galley at the front of the plane. A few minutes later, she appeared again holding a tray with everyone’s drinks, and starting with the first row, she passed out the refreshments until she reached Mason again.

She placed a note on his tray and tapped it with her finger, drawing his gaze to the digits she’d written on the piece of paper. “I’m laid over in Vegas for the weekend, so if you’re up for some fun, give me a call.”

“I might just do that,” he replied with a wink. He was certain that, after the wedding tomorrow afternoon, he’d have plenty of free time on his hands, and it was nice to have a sure thing lined up.

Once she was gone, Mason lifted the note so Levi could see the phone number and gave his brother a smirk. “I haven’t even gotten to Vegas and I’ve already scored.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Seriously, dude?”

“I can’t help it if women want me,” Mason said with a shrug. “No need to be jealous just because I get laid on a regular basis.”

“You’re such a cocky bastard, and I’m far from jealous,” Levi replied, his always serious tone tinged with humor. “It’s called being discriminate, not that I expect you to understand what a big word like that means.”

“Ha ha. It means you’re boring as fuck.” He couldn’t resist goading his by-the-book, rule-abiding, straight-laced cop brother. While Mason had been a hell-raiser and defiant during his teen years—and still had his moments of being wild and impulsive—Levi had been a quiet kid who’d been much too serious and never gotten into trouble. He thought about consequences before he acted, he never drank alcohol, and he obviously didn’t let his dick lead him astray.

Which meant Levi missed out on a whole lot of fun, and wasn’t that the point of going to Vegas? Other than his brother getting hitched, of course.

“Are you going to be a Debbie Downer on this trip?” he asked Levi.

His brother drank the last of his orange juice before responding. “Just because I don’t chase after everything in a skirt like you do doesn’t mean I’m a Debbie Downer.”

Mason decided to test that theory. “So, that means you’re up to taking Clay to a strip club for his last night as a free man?”

Before Levi could reply, Clay leaned over the armrest, his head popping into the aisle as he jumped into the conversation he’d obviously been listening to. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mase, but we’re not going to a strip club.”

Mason threw his hands up in the air, disappointed in both of his brothers. “See, now this is why I don’t do serious relationships. Being pussy-whipped just sucks all the fun out of what a true bachelor party should be.”