A Bad Boy for Christmas Read Online Free Page A

Beryl also dabbled in crystals, candles, driftwood, seashells and surfboards.
    It was the least imposing tattoo studio Mia had ever seen. “That’s just so—so—
    “Family friendly?” Nash suggested.
    “I was going to say wrong, but who am I to judge?” Besides, two of the surfboards were sporting some seriously gorgeous artwork on them. Have surface will paint. Mia was all for that. She put her shoulder to the door, trying not to grin at the tinkle of tiny bells that sounded their entrance.
    The voice that told them she’d be right out was gravel rough and came from beyond the macramé seashell curtain that Mia couldn’t stop looking at.
    “You want one for the shop back in Melbourne.” Nash couldn’t stop his smirk. “I can tell.”
    “I want ten.”
    “Cutter Jackson, if you’re in here looking to get Betty Boop put on one of your brother’s asses again, you’d better be ready to pay up,” the whisky-rough voice reached them again. “Because one of these days I’m going to put one on yours and let you wear the consequences.”
    Cutter? Mia blinked and shot Nash a glance.
    Cutter Jackson ?
    “You think that’s our mystery brother?” she whispered. “No wonder he never told us his name. Who the hell calls their kid Cutter? Bad, bad people, dude.” And then louder so that all could hear, “I don’t think Betty would do a butt that fine justice. The man needs a Tweety Bird.”
    “You’d never get the yellow to stick.” The woman who parted the curtain of shells was easily in her sixties. She wore a blue-rinse buzz cut, a turquoise T-shirt, bright pink bicycle shorts and full-sleeve tattoos. Her legs were brown and her toenails were vivid orange. “He’d have to keep coming back over and over again for a touch-up.”
    Indeed. Mia smiled a Cheshire grin and nodded, and then the woman looked towards Nash and did a double take.
    “You’re not Cutter Jackson,” she said.
    “No, ma’am. The name’s Nash.”
    The old woman’s painted eyebrows rose even higher. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I remember it though.”
    “Maybe you knew my mother.”
    “Son, if you’re talking about Lizzie Nash, I did. Wouldn’t say I knew her well, though. Hard girl to know.”
    “You know anyone who might have known her better?”
    “She dead?”
    “Yeah.”
    The older woman nodded as if to herself. “Son, I’m not one to get involved in other people’s business. I figure if you’re here for answers you’ll find them soon enough. Don’t need me in your ear.”
    “Are you Beryl?” Mia asked, and at the woman’s nod, “You have a sign in your window for a holiday let. Two bedroom. Kitchenette. Laundry facilities. Sounds good. Is it available?”
    The woman eyed her narrowly. “And what’s your name?”
    “Mia Blake.”
    “That’s not a name I know.”
    “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
    “Who are you to him?” The jerk of Beryl’s head signaled the him in question.
    “Family.”
    “Huh.”
    Mia smiled, cucumber cool. “Is that a problem? Given your aversion to other people’s business?”
    “Don’t you spout my tripe back at me, Missy.”
    Mia liked her already. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a tattoo artist around here? Temporarily? Because I’m in the business.”
    The old woman looked her up and down. “You? Where’s your ink?”
    Obediently, Mia turned around and was met with silence.
    When Beryl finally mentioned a name well recognized in certain circles, there was reverence in her voice and Mia knew she’d established her credentials.
    “Tato came into the shop where I was working in Melbourne to give a masterclass in Nara ink. I spent the next two years in Japan apprenticed to him.”
    “How’d you get him to accept you?”
    “I’m very persuasive.” People thought she’d gotten the apprenticeship by lying on her back but she hadn’t. Tato was a gentleman, for one thing. Secondly, and much harder for people to swallow, he’d seen