Kissing Kennedy (Claimed 4)

Chapter One

Asher

"Jesus," I mutter, stopping just inside the door of the venue where my foster brother, Elliot Tricine—Trick to his friends—and his fiancée, Sophie, are holding their rehearsal dinner. The place is packed full of people…and Trick does not like people. Especially when they come in crowds. He may have gotten softer since finding his girl, but I don't think even she's capable of working that kind of miracle.

I glance around the crowded room, spotting the man in question at a table set up so his back is to the wall and the whole room is visible. His girl is seated beside him, with other members of the wedding party spread out around them. Most everyone is finished eating. I guess they're all waiting on me so we can get to the rehearsal part of this rehearsal dinner.

Shit.

My gaze lands on a brunette standing beside the table and I falter in mid-step, losing track of everything as my thoughts scatter and my field of vision narrows in on her. She's tiny, but she isn't a kid, no fucking way.

Her pretty green dress clings to her soft curves, showing off her gorgeous body. Her tits are incredible, way too big for her small frame. Her hips flare out from her trim waist in a way that makes my hands clench with the desire to grip them tight while she's riding me. She has her head thrown back, her long brown hair tumbling down her back as she laughs at something Sophie is saying to her. Her smile lights up the entire room.

My hand twitches with the desire to capture her on paper and immortalize her in ink. The soft curve of her cheek, the stubborn tilt of her chin…the delicate slope to her collarbones. Innocence drips from her, but she isn't fragile or breakable. She's malleable, like hot iron on a forge.

She's maybe twenty-one. At thirty-six, I'm too old and jaded for her. Try telling my dick that, though. He's stiffening in my pants as I watch her like a Grade-A creep, transfixed by the way her body flows from one small movement to the next. It's effortlessly graceful and artless, as if she's wholly in the moment and oblivious to how captivating she is.

There's something fascinating about her that has my full attention. My dick isn't the only thing reacting to her. My skin feels stretched as I watch her, my body buzzing with an energy I've never felt before. My heart actually races as desire screams through my veins, setting my blood on fire with a powerfully potent mix of need and base lust. In all my life, I've never experienced anything like it. I've never reacted like this to a woman, period.

They're irritants in my life, bringing drama best avoided. They find their way into my chair time and again, hoping for more than my art inked into their skin. I never give them what they want. Most of the time, they get offended and stomp out. Sometimes, they come back. Sometimes, they don't. I don't care one way or another. My art speaks for itself. I don't need their praise. Mixing business and pleasure is a train wreck waiting to happen, and I have no interest in going for that ride.

I may not look like the traditional businessman thanks to my ink and piercings, but I'm not fucking stupid. I know my shit. Crimson Ink is the premier studio in Nashville. Our clients wear our ink with pride. Everyone from musicians to politicians seek us out when they're craving the thrill, and we deliver. Every damn time.

No pussy is good enough to risk that reputation.

Until the little brunette turns her head and our eyes meet. A jolt ricochets through me, rattling me all the way to my core. My entire system overheats, fireworks exploding like rapid fire inside me. She's not just beautiful, she's fucking gorgeous, with full lips, dimples, and high cheekbones. Even from all the way across the room, I can see the intelligence glinting in her big green eyes. I also see the way they widen as she stares at me.

Her laughter fades, her lips parting slightly. "Wow," she mouths.

I grin, loving that she likes what she sees. I'm six-four and broad through the shoulders, with gray eyes and a mean stare I gave up trying to gentle long ago. I look like I'd be more at home in boxing gloves and a ring than a family-friendly restaurant. I don't know who she is, but most girls who look like her run from guys who look like me. That she isn't afraid reinforces my earlier opinion. She's innocent as an angel, but she's not fragile.

Color blooms on her cheeks, staining them red. Her shoulders curve as if she's trying to hide herself from me. Her hair falls over her face like a screen, hiding those eyes. Is she shy?

Fuck, I bet she'll blush everywhere when I'm eating her cunt.

She peeks at me again. Her tongue rolls across her bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. I groan, precum dripping from my cock and my balls aching.

Somehow, I manage to rip my gaze away from her long enough to discreetly readjust myself in my pants. If I don't, there's no way I'm going to make it to the other side of this restaurant without properly traumatizing everyone I pass.

My heart sinks when I look up again.

A bottle blonde stands in place of the brunette, tugging at the hem of her too short skirt. I whip my head around, scanning the restaurant for the brunette, but she's gone.

What the fuck? Where is she? Who is she?

A gnawing pit of frustration opens in my stomach.

I plunge into the crowd, determined to find her. By the time I reach the far side of the restaurant, she's long gone, leaving not even a trace of where she went.

"Where'd she go?" I growl, stomping toward Trick and Sophie who are cuddled up, whispering back and forth. Judging by the way Sophie's blushing, I do not need to hear whatever my brother is saying to her.

"Who?" Sophie asks.

"The tiny brunette who was just standing here." I pace in front of the table, unable to settle. I think I may be losing my mind. One minute, she was standing right here in this very spot. The next, she was gone.

I briefly wonder if I just imagined her, but quickly cast that thought aside. I may make a living drawing the crazy shit that pops into my head, but not even I'm talented enough to conjure up that kind of beauty. She's the sweetest little thing I've ever seen, hands down.

Besides, she looked right at me before she disappeared. My whole body lit up as soon as her eyes were on me. She blushed bright red when I smiled at her. I didn't imagine any of that.

I need to know who she is. Right now.

"Who?" Trick asks as if he didn't see her.

"The brunette." I shove a hand through my hair, glaring at him. "Big green eyes, dimples. Barely taller than anything." I hold my hand up about chest high to demonstrate. I'm a big son of a bitch, but I doubt she'd even come up that high on Trick.

Trick and I grew up in foster care together. Neither of us knew our real parents or where we came from. We were cast-off kids, tossed in the system before we were even old enough to feed ourselves. But if someone told me he was descended from a race of giants, I wouldn't doubt them.