Renee LeBlanc is taken by surprise when her old love walks back into her life. She’s no longer the insecure girl who pushed him away. Renee wants a BDSM-filled fling to work him out of her system. At least that’s what she tells herself. Deep down, she knows Kit will leave to follow his dreams and tattoo in big cities, while she remains the bedrock of her family.
As Kit and Renee fall for each other all over again, they embark on a journey, healing the past and carving out new future that just might be the right fit for two.
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An Excerpt From: BOUND MEMORIES
Copyright © SIDNEY BRISTOL, 2014
All Rights Reserved, Inked Press
Renee LeBlanc unhooked her passenger side seatbelt from around the pet carrier, careful to keep her hands far away from the slots, lest sharp, feline claws rake her flesh. Peaches was normally a very sweet natured boy, except when his insulin levels got out of whack and then he might as well be the mini furry incarnation of the Devil himself.
“I know, I know, you don’t feel good,” she whispered to the cat as she hauled the carrier out of her car and bumped the door with her hip. “If you hadn’t bitten me when I tried to give you your last dose, this wouldn’t have happened. I’ve told you over and over and over again, I’m sorry you bit me. It was an accident.”
She was beyond caring if people gave her weird looks for the constant chatter with a cat. If someone had told her at twenty when Peaches was scooped out of a trashcan behind the tattoo parlor where she was apprenticing that she’d be a thirty-something cat lady, she’d have flipped them off and told them to go fuck themselves. She was going to be the greatest female tattoo artist ever.
My, how her aspirations had changed.
These days, she just wanted to give Peaches his insulin on time, keep the pantry stocked with enough food to get her through a few days and never run out of art supplies. To say priorities had shifted was an understatement.
“Here, let me get that.” A man sitting on the bench in front of the little animal clinic stood and reached past her for the door.
That voice was awfully familiar…
“Thanks.” She sighed and glanced at her momentary champion.
And just kept staring.
Six feet tall, wide shoulders, a trucker hat perched at a jaunty angle, hair shorn short, and a thick, reddish-brown beard obscured the lower half of his face; the beard made his bright gray eyes stand out from all that face fuzz. The rest of him she could fill in from hours of watching Tattoo King, a tattoo artist reality show she’d never admit to being hooked on, but this last season had her on pins and needles.
Because he was on it.
She shivered and her body reacted as if she hadn’t missed a day without him.