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sense of humor and was warm and outgoing. He was
entertaining and fun to be with, and their personalities were well matched. If
she weren’t harboring illicit fantasies about Jericho, she wouldn’t have any
reservations about dating Will.
    That sounds so pathetic , a voice inside her head
snapped. Here is a perfectly fabulous guy and you’re holding out because you
have the hots for a tattoo artist who probably hasn’t given you a second
thought since he mowed you down on the sidewalk two weeks ago.
    Happy to let her rational side duke it out with her
impulsive side later, she decided to let things unfold naturally.
    “If you’re asking me out for a date, I accept.” This time
there was no mistaking the tickle of anticipation in her belly.
    “Jolly good! What about dinner on Saturday?” He beamed at
her.
    Laughing a bit, Amanda nodded. “Saturday is fine. Do you
really talk like that back home?” she asked.
    “Good god, no! My mates would think I’m daft.” He
exaggerated his British enunciation. “It’s these ’ere American skirts. Without
me accent, I’m just another bloke.”
    “Well you’re safe with me.” She returned to her seat and
sipped the lukewarm tea.
    “On that encouraging note, I’ll take my tea and crumpets and
leave you to your work.” At the door, he paused. “Saturday. Shall I pick you up
at eight?”
    “I’ll be ready,” she promised.
    As the door closed, she folded her hands over her stomach
and reclined in the chair. The move to San Francisco had so far exceeded every
one of her Ohio farm girl dreams. Opportunities she’d never even imagined were
being offered to her, making the possibility of even greater adventures seem
likely.
    A delicious shiver undulated from head to toe, and she
maximized the computer display, revealing several tattooed female figures. She
scrolled through the images until one caught her eye, and instantly she knew
she wanted something similar.
    Unable to wait, hoping she wouldn’t be interrupted, Amanda looked
up the number of the tattoo studio, dialed and waited for someone to answer her
call.

Chapter Seven
     
    Jericho couldn’t wait to get home, have a few beers and
catch something on TV. If he was honest with himself—a brutal habit he forced
himself to maintain—he knew he wouldn’t make it through one beer. The
titanium-cored resolve that kept him focused and dedicated enough to build a
one-of-a-kind career as a tat artiste had also kept him from hanging out in
front of his shop each morning in hopes of seeing the woman he had come to
think of as His Blonde. Instead, after each night’s restless sleep, he was up
by six and at the gym until nine. He got to the studio around ten and worked in
his office until one, when his client hours began. Vix had no trouble keeping
his schedule full until nine, meaning it was after ten by the time he closed up
shop. A month of rigorous self-control was starting to wear on him, and tonight
he wanted nothing more than to get drunk enough to forget the woman driving him
insane.
    “That’s nice work, J. How many more sessions before we’re
done?” Alfonse “Nickelback” Jimson posed in front of a full-length mirror.
Peering over his shoulder, he examined the tattoo stretching across his back. A
tight end for the San Francisco 49ers who’d earned his moniker after scoring
five touchdowns during his inaugural game, Al had become a good friend during
the hours spent together while Jericho worked on him.
    “Three, maybe four more.” Jericho motioned for his client to
turn around. “Let me get it cleaned up.”
    While Jericho washed the area with antibacterial soap and
applied a thin layer of antiseptic ointment, Al talked.
    “It would be nice to have it finished in one or two. The
only reason I can get it done during the season is because this ligament thing
has me out of commission for the next few weeks.”
    “You know the drill. Four hours is my max.” He secured a
bandage over the freshly inked