Capello Brothers 2 Command My Heart Read online

  Command My Heart

  Book two of The Capello Brothers series

  Command My Heart

  By J'aimee Brooker

  Copyright 2013 J'aimee Brooker

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  More in The Capello Brothers series:

  Draw On My Heart

  Train My Heart

  Acknowledgements

  I owe a massive debt of thanks to my husband Jason, who has always pushed me toward my dreams and guided me through the darkest depths of self-doubt and creative uncertainty.

  Contents

  More in the Capello Brothers series

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  More from the Capello Brothers: Draw On My Heart

  More from the Capello Brothers: Train My Heart

  Connect with the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  100…110…120…

  Just watching the speedo rise was enough to lower the pressure that’d been building up all week. The thrill of knowing I was in control of a bike that could easily handle 230km per hour of pure speed gave me an adrenaline rush every time.

  My Ducati had been the first big purchase I’d made a couple of years ago and the feeling of controlling this beast of a bike was exciting. It was the perfect complement to my lifestyle and the things I enjoyed; control, speed, and thrill.

  Manoeuvring around the bends under the watchful guidance of the moon, I realised it’d been too long since I’d hit the open road; in fact it’d been too long since I’d enjoyed any of life’s pleasures. Not that I indulged in many vices. Growing up with an alcoholic father had ensured I didn’t drink and though the opportunity for other intoxicants had always been available around the tattoo scene, I’d never bothered with those either. In fact, all that really held my excitement was my bike and women.

  Since taking over Roman’s tattoo studio while he was holidaying in Italy with Cassandra, and him signing over the fifth studio to me on his return, it’d been months since I’d done anything other than work.

  Controlling each curve that the road threw my way was in some way relaxing. The power required to lean into each bend and corner while still holding just enough balance to maintain equilibrium was intoxicating. It was the same with women. Well, at least it would be if I could find one who could keep up with me.

  Over the years, I’d only discovered two types of women: those who put up a chase initially to get my interest but once they hooked my attention and things progressed past the bedroom into relationship territory, the chase would be over and so too my interest.

  Or worse, were the women who seemed to completely lose their own identity once we started dating, they’d become dependent on my every move and decision almost immediately. It was just too hard trying to keep up with that kind of emotional rollercoaster.

  All I wanted was a woman who’d keep me on my toes; not one who surrendered immediately to a relationship and expected a diamond and white picket fence. Not that I didn’t want that happily ever after stuff; I wanted that eventually, but until I could find a woman who could maintain the thrill and excitement of a relationship it’d never happen.

  As I rounded the last corner and the road straightened so too did my thoughts. I was almost at my destination, my own personal hiding spot, a place I could ride to, to relax and take stock of life. It’d been too long between visits and I needed the time out more than I needed to be anywhere else right now.

  There was once a time when Friday nights meant parties, music and girls but now with the pressures of running my own studio, life was suddenly becoming more stressful and the stakes had become increasingly more important.

  For weeks, I’d had to fight to get tradies in to finish the studio, had to negotiate with suppliers to buy and deliver equipment and stock, and worst and most tediously of all, I’d had to employ staff.

  I’d sent word around the usual channels and had two guys in mind who I had poached from other studios.

  But then there were the people who applied. My god, it was no wonder some of them couldn’t get work. From blokes with home tattoo ‘careers’, to an arts degree drop-out who was impressively creative but had never seen the inside of a tattoo studio let alone a needle gun. I even had one application from a guy who proudly listed his hands-on tattooing experience from his time behind bars. Seriously, this week, I had seen it all.

  Fortunately, I’d successfully secured Joseph Valenti and Mark Halls, both guys who came with brilliant reputations and would bring with them strong client bases. Combined with my client list and the publicity we were scheduled to receive in Inked Magazine, the studio would certainly open with a bang and sustain itself easily for the first six months at least.

  I had my eye on another guy, known in the industry as Spider who was almost willing to come across and work for me. However the studio he worked for had gotten word that I was trying to poach him and they were now putting up a fight. They didn’t want to lose him and likewise, I wasn’t giving up until he was on my team. I rarely lost, so I knew it was a given. I’d gone back to him this afternoon with an offer of more money and I knew he’d come across; it was just a matter of time now before he accepted my offer.

  Which just left me short one more artist. I’d get by the first few weeks with just the three guys but ideally, I needed a fourth artist, if for no other reason than to deal with walk-in’s and to establish some new business leads.

  I slowed to a stop and flicked the latch on my helmet; taking in my first deep breath for weeks. At night, the view was spectacular. The city lights da nced across the water in the distance and the sweet smell of thick salt and fresh air almost burned my nostrils—a welcome change from the air-conditioned studios I'd been couped up in for the past few months.

  I centred myself with some deep breaths. I’d always found the water calming, an odd but somehow steady balance to a life I otherwise preferred to be intense and thrilling.

  So, one more staff member… I’d exhausted the list of applicants; there was no way I could take any of them on-board if I wanted to be taken seriously. Speaking of which, I reached into my pocket to check my phone. Not that I’d get any coverage out here, but Spider did promise he’d get back to me today. Checking my phone, the text was sitting there, “I’m in. See ya Monday”.

  Now, I could relax.

  Kicking out the stand, I steadied the bike before stripping off my boots and socks and heading to the water. Just to feel the sand and water on my feet would be enough. I’d love a swim but in all reality, I simply didn’t have the energy. Walking along the sand, feeling the tiny waves lapping around my ankles I finally felt relaxed.

  The ebb and flow of the tide had always intrigued me. Everyday, regardless of what was thrown its way, the ocean maintained its own perfect, primitive consistency. I liked that, liked the reliability.

&n
bsp; Heading back up to my bike, I rested on the sandy grass and stared out the sea; yep, she was perfect alright. Consistent to a fault and beautiful under any conditions; relaxing when calm and thrilling when she was angry. If I was ever going to find the right woman, she’d need the same characteristics. Thinking about it like that way, it was hardly a surprise I was single; I was starting to doubt that combination was even possible in a woman.

  CHAPTER TWO

  My head jerked up as the door banged hard.

  The glazier had barely left and someone was already trying to smash the glass.

  “Hey, what the—“ I started, before falling into the roundest, darkest brown eyes I’d ever seen, the air sucked out of my lungs at the sight.

  “I’m looking for the owner—“ she replied, studying a tiny piece of paper and juggling a massive bound folder in her hand, “Dominic Cap… Capel… Capello?” she stammered.

  For an easy surname, people sure had a lot of trouble getting their tongue around it.

  “Yeah, that’s me” I said, walking over to where she was standing. As I got closer, she seemed to grow smaller and smaller. By the time I was standing in front of her she was positively tiny.

  “Sorry about the door, it’s windy out there and the door’s kinda heavy, and well this—” she said referring to the folder.

  “That’s ok. What can I do for you—“

  “Inta. My name is Inta.”

  “Ok, what can I do for you Inta?” I re-asked, smiling at her confident yet awkward appeal.

  “I heard you might have a job opening for an artist and I wanted to see if you might look at my portfolio and consider me for your team. I know you’ve already got Halls, Spider, and Joe Valenti and word around is that you’re building one hell of a team, and well, I’m not as good as those guys but I am good.” she replied unwaveringly before passing me the oversized folder.

  Giving her a quick once-over, I noticed she really was small. Short and thin, there was no way this chick could handle herself if there was trouble in the studio. She sure was beautiful though. Long dark hair tied back off her face showcased her strong cheekbones and jawline, and those eyes—I could easily lose myself in them if I wasn't careful. Looking back to her face to make eye contact, I realised I'd been busted checking her out and felt myself blush slightly at being caught; "I’m not really looking for a—“

  “…what a girl? You’re not looking for a girl, is that it?” she huffed clearly annoyed.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, no offense or anything but the last thing I need is to be looking out for a girl who can’t handle herself with a client. You know how these places can get—“ I started before being met with the most vicious stare I’d ever encountered on a woman.

  Hand cocked firmly on her hip, and the other one outstretched reaching for her folder, she was like a volcano getting ready to erupt. Geez, maybe I'd underestimated her; this one was alive and kicking!

  Sensing her anger, I playfully held the folder above my head forcing her to unsuccessfully stretch up to reach it. Laughing at her lame attempts served only to madden her further, but with a temper like hers it was almost irresistible not to push a little further. Clearly unimpressed with the game, she leant in to grab her folder and the pushed the entire length of her body into mine, her breasts hitting me right above the stomach and simultaneously leaving me breathless, not from the impact but simply from her contact. If the heat she was exuding was anything to go by, she was one hot little firecracker.

  “Now, now Miss Inta. No need to be like that, play nicely" I joked. "Let’s have a look at your portfolio; if your work stacks up, we’ll talk” I said, silently praying her work would be good enough to justify keeping her around. I liked a woman with attitude, and Inta sure had plenty of that.

  “Don’t call me that” she sulked, though I could tell she was silently grateful that I was considering her for a job; work for female tattooists was hard to find in decent establishments.

  “What? Miss Inta? You don’t like that?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Ok, Inta. Come through” I said, gesturing her toward my office.

  She immediately tensed and her posture shifted to an almost defensive stance. Shit, she thought I was hitting on her, that I’d make her ‘earn’ her job. I’d heard about other studio owners resorting to making female artists ‘perform’ for their job, but I’d never thought too highly of that kind of behaviour. I loved women, and sex, as much as the next guy but I’d never stoop that low.

  Realising I needed to quickly change tact, I got to my booth, pulled over an extra chair and pushed it toward her, “why don’t we do this here instead?” I offered. Her audible exhale was all the proof I needed, she had thought I was just another asshole employer that she’d have to fuck to get a job. I just wasn’t like that, never had been and never would be, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to myself that my thoughts about her hadn't been entirely pure.

  “How long have you been in the industry?” I started as I opened the oversized and downright awkward folder. I heard her start talking but didn’t hear a single word she spoke.

  Her designs were amazing. She was clearly a freehand artist and judging by her designs, she was a walking, talking artistic genius.

  After struggling with the folder long enough, I looked up and fell straight into her gorgeous round eyes. “Can I… Do you mind, if I put this on the floor? I can’t hold onto it any longer.” I asked her.

  “Sure. Sorry, it’s huge but I needed it to fit in some of the designs—“ she said before slowing to a stop. “Dominic—is something wrong? You’re staring at me”

  “You’re beautiful” I spluttered before correcting myself, “I mean, your work, its beautiful”.

  The crimson in her cheeks was my reward. She’d taken my compliment seriously and that meant a lot to me. I wasn’t lying – she was beautiful and so was her work. I wanted her, and I wanted her on my team, that much I knew already.

  Spreading her folder out on the floor, I pushed back my chair and knelt on the floor before the folder, slowly turning the pages and breathing in each and every design. It’d been at least ten minutes, before I felt her join me on the floor. Sitting cross-legged next to me, I could feel her heat burning into my side and sensed her watching me intently.

  “Where did you learn this?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

  “Ah, well if you mean formal education then I don’t have any, but that’s not to say I wouldn’t go to school or something if you wanted me to—“ she offered quickly.

  “Inta, there’s not a school around that can teach this. That’s not what I meant. Where did you learn to design like this?”

  Visibly relaxing, she exhaled deeply before answering, “I started when I was about fifteen. I was desperate to be my own person instead of the person everyone expected me to be. I thought that maybe if I could just draw what I was seeing and feeling inside; that it'd somehow release me from the mental stuff I had going on. So I picked up a pencil and started. Then, a few people started asking me to create designs for tattoos so I decided I’d give tattooing a try and kinda fell it into doing it fulltime. And, here I am” she answered.

  She reached across me to flip through the folder, excitedly intent on explaining certain designs and techniques, but with her so close to me all I could feel was the energy she was exuding, the musky vanilla scent of her hair, and the heat of her closeness. It was all I could do to keep my hands off her.

  But, she was expecting that—if nothing else, she’d already given me an informal brush-off. She was more than relieved when I suggested we speak out in the open, so clearly she wasn’t seeing me as anything other than a prospective employer. I needed to keep it professional and legit. To do that, I was going to have to keep a safe distance from her lest my instinct to throw her down and devour every inch of her took over.

  Standing up to put some distance between us, I insisted, “You’re wrong you know”.

  “Really?” s
he challenged defensively, “how’s that?”.

  “You said you’re not as good as Halls and Spider and Joe. But you’re wrong. You are as good as them, maybe better” I said, feeling uncertain about laying my cards out so quickly. “Your designs are impeccable. Your lines are stronger and cleaner. And your use of colour is intuitive. You’re good, Miss Inta. Real good.” I said, before offering her my hand to help her up off the floor.

  “Don’t call me that Dominic” she warned, though there was a challenging playfulness in her tone.

  “I can, and I will. You’re on my team now Miss Inta. You start Monday.”

  “Really?” she questioned wearily, “Just like that, that’s it?”

  “You’ve got some trust issues happening Miss Inta that we’ll have to sort out, but yes, just like that. You’ve won me over and I want, no I need, you on my team. So, are you in?”

  “Oh gosh, Dominic, thank you!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my neck – a fair reach on her behalf and instinctively I threw my arms around her waist. Her hair smelled richly of vanilla, a smell that immediately made me think of my Ma's kitchen and her delicious Bussolà biscuits—a welcome reminder of our home village in Italy.

  Breathing her in, a feeling of comfort and familiarity threatened to sweep my feet out from under me. Realising I’d just overstepped every employer-employee boundary known to man, I reluctantly stepped back and patted her on the shoulder, “Here, I’ll grab your folder” I mustered up.

  Straightening her jeans and sweater, I noticed a tatt running up the inside of her right arm, but she pulled down her sleeve too swiftly for me to make out what it said. Taking a mental note to check it out at a later time, I passed her the folder and moved into the booth next to mine.

  “You can have any of the booths in here but I’d prefer if you took this one” I spoke sternly.