Chapter One
Present Day
Elena loved lace. She loved everything about it. The soft texture, the delicate, revealing brush of fabric against skin, the fragile beauty, the way it never failed to make her feel sexy when she wore it. It was a mood lifter. A confidence booster. A surefire way to get touch with her inner feminine goddess.
And given that this part of the town square had, historically speaking, been an old physician's apothecary back in Civil War times, coming up with a name for her lingerie shop had been a no-brainer – The Lace Apothecary.
Of course, she would also sell satin and silk and linen and cotton and whatever other fabrics helped transform the plain and simple into the fun and luxurious. But The Lace Apothecary - that's what the sign was going to say when she was all done renovating the art supply store on the right corner of the town square that went under last spring.
She locked the front door and stepped back, shielding her eyes from the bright midday sun as she gazed up the front of the original historic brick facade, already able to envision it. The lettering on her sign would need to be a fun, feminine, sassy font.
The Lace Apothecary. Or maybe The Lace Apothecary.
Whatever. She would figure that out later.
For now, this place would need extensive rehab and TLC before it was ready to open to the public, but then this was a dream for which she'd already sweated and sacrificed for seven years, so what was a few more weeks until the grand opening?
Sure, she was going to have to take out the wall over there and add a partition to create fitting rooms. Her stock room would go in the back. Over here, the register and a display counter. And in the window she'd have some mannequins wearing the softest and most elegant styles of lingerie. It would need a fresh coat of paint. And a new color scheme. Something pink and white and uplifting. She also planned to put in more friendly, less sterile lighting, and the plumbing desperately needed to be brought into the twenty first century.
Truthfully, she was mentally exhausted from just listing out all of the things that needed to be done.
But Elena's optimistic view of the future was strong; she'd spent many hours daydreaming it into fantasy life.
Well, fantasy no more.
All the hard work was going to be so worth it.
Her very own lingerie shop.
She could hardly believe it.
She'd be supporting herself and making a living while helping the women in this town to treat themselves to something they needed that would add a little additional sparkle and value to their lives. A little whimsy and class.
Things that were very necessary from time to time.
"Earth to Elena? Are you ready to go?"
She turned around and smiled at her two best friends. Plus, it wasn't like she was doing this all on her own. She would have plenty of help. "Yes," she said.
Bonnie looped an arm through Elena's, and Caroline did the same with Elena's other arm.
"Does it feel as good as you thought it would?" Bonnie asked.
"Better."
"Yay," squealed Caroline, "we're so happy for you. Meet you back here at the same time tomorrow?"
"You know I hate to ask …."
"Puh-lease, Elena" Bonnie said, "it's not like we have anything better to do."
A total, but nice, white lie. Caroline was a high action reporter in the much bigger city of nearby Charlotte, and Bonnie was a travel photographer for a magazine and thankfully was here for the next couple of weeks on a brief sabbatical.
"You know how much I appreciate all of your help," Elena told them sincerely, "you guys are the best."
"We know," Bonnie said, hugging her friend. "Now hurry up. You don't want to be late picking up Diana."
No, she didn't. "Thank you," she said again.
As she headed across the sidewalk to the space where her small car was parked, she glanced down, flipping through the keys on her key chain until she found the one for her car.
A flash of blue caught her attention. Baby blue. Directly across the square from her store she saw a baby blue hot rod with the convertible top down. A man was getting out of the hot rod, slamming the door closed with a careless flex of muscled arms.
Despite the fact that his back was turned to her and his hair was longer than she remembered, she recognized him. Despite it being seven years since she'd seen him last and that then he'd been riding a motorcycle instead of a muscle car, she recognized him instantly.
The joy inside of her went out like she'd been abruptly doused with a bucket of ice water. Everything inside of her tightened into an angry fist. "What is going on? Do you see that?" Her words were short, clipped, upset.
Caroline and Bonnie appeared behind her and shared a quick look. Apparently, they didn't even need to ask what she meant. Caroline volunteered a little nervously, "They're opening a tattoo parlor up across the street. It's replacing the old pizza joint. You remember, Galaxy Pies?"
Startled, Elena's gaze darted up. Above the shopfront where the baby blue car was parked was a brand new black sign that said Tattoo & Body Shop in white letters.
"Caroline," she said through clenched teeth, already dreading the answer that she knew was going to come spilling from between her friend's glossy pink lips, "who is they?"
"Well, um, it's um, apparently … it's, uh, Damon Salvatore." She blurted his name out all in a rush, like she didn't want to say it and had to force it out.
Elena looked aghast at her friend. She hadn't heard that name out loud in so long – it was like receiving a punch to the gut. "A tattoo shop in Mystic Falls? Why would he do this?" When neither Caroline nor Bonnie was brave enough to answer, she asked accusingly, "And you knew about this?"
"Well …," hedged Bonnie, chewing on one side of her bottom lip, "it's not that we knew, exactly …."
"But my mom's the sheriff," Caroline said quickly, "so she had to make sure all of the licenses and permits were legit. And just between us, he definitely only got approval from the town board because he's from one of the founding families and threw like a ton of 'charitable donations' their way."
"Right," Elena said slowly. Must be nice to be so obscenely wealthy you could just buy whatever you wanted. She'd had to navigate all that red tape the old-fashioned and much slower way.
Caroline forced a smile. "I'm sure it will be fine. He's all the way over there, you can just ignore him. I'm sure you'll never run into him at all."
"Uh huh." Bonnie nodded. "And if he does try anything, we can shove his nuts in a wood chipper."
Every atom of Elena's being was screaming that having Damon Salvatore in such close proximity was a baaad idea. How would she be able to stand it?
Okay, slow down. Breathe. Think. You are not going to let him have any more power over you. Not anymore. You're a completely different person now. Completely different.
"You know what?" Elena declared, smiling at her friends and hoping it didn't look too much like a grimace instead, "forget him. I officially don't care. Damon Salvatore is not ruining what should be one of the best days of my life."
"That's the spirit," Caroline encouraged her. "Not today, Satan!"
Elena gave each of her friends another hug. "Bye, girls."
"Bye, Elena," they chorused together in unison, standing together, arms linked, as she drove away.
Later That Day
An hour or so later, Elena walked into her home with overflowing grocery bags. Her arms ached from carrying all of them in from the car in one trip.
As soon as Jeremy saw her so burdened, he came to her rescue, grabbing some of the bags and setting them on the counter for her.
"Where's Diana?" Jeremy asked, glancing behind her to see if anyone else was coming in through the garage.
"I dropped her off at Stefan's for the afternoon. He's taking her to her piano lesson." She paused and gave him a big smile. "Thanks for helping. What're you doing home so early? Not that I'm complaining. Want me to make us some lunch? Grilled cheese sandwiches with the plastic cheese slices you and Diana like so much?"
Jeremy laughed as she waved the package of sliced American cheese temptingly at him. "Uh, that's okay, thanks. I'm actually looking for something. Have you seen my old notebooks around? I thought they were on the bookshelf in the living room, but I couldn't find them."
"No, sorry," she said kindly.
She began to put the groceries away in their proper places, and her brother went over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen and began digging through the drawers. His spiky hair was in more disarray than usual, and he did seem slightly agitated that he couldn't find his journals, but at least he didn't seem like he was on any drugs. At the moment.
Jeremy never really seemed to recover from their parents' unexpected deaths the summer before her junior year and his sophomore year. Ever since then, he'd had a rough go of things, failing to cope by getting involved with a rough crowd and even rougher drugs (she wasn't talking marijuana here) and getting in and out of trouble with the law for petty offenses. She was honestly surprised he'd managed to graduate high school at all, and even though he wasn't a convicted felon yet, he was well on his way to achieving that status – at least that was Elena's greatest fear.
No, she told herself, he won't end up like that if I have any say in the matter. He just needed to find his place, and Elena hadn't been able to help with that as much as she should while she was away at college for the last seven years, but she was hoping that now, by being here for him, she'd be able to help influence him in a positive direction.
Jeremy wasn't a bad kid. At all. He was just hurting and … lost.
"What do you need them for?" she asked when his digging through the kitchen drawers intensified, creating quite the mess. A mess she would probably end up having to clean.
"A job."
He said it nonchalantly, but her heart swelled. "You got a job, Jer? That's great!" She came over and pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. When she sat, she put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "Where?" She was insanely curious what type of job would want to see Jeremy's old sketches. Not that they weren't good, it just seemed a little unusual.
"It's not a done deal yet, so don't go getting crazy," he gave her a look, and she grinned brightly, "but I'm pretty sure as soon as I show them my drawings, it's in the bag."
She was so happy he'd found an outlet for his art – he was so talented. "Are you going to give art lessons?" He'd done that once before, and been really successful until he flaked.
"Way cooler than that. I'm going to apprentice at the new tattoo shop that just opened up on the square. Well, I hope so, anyway. We'll see."
Her body flashed numb, and all the blood drained from her face. "What?"
He smiled. "Yeah, it's perfect."
Her stomach sank. Rising, she placed her hands on the table and leaned toward him. "Jeremy, do you – do you know who works there?"
He looked at her steadily. "Yeah, Damon Salvatore, and he doesn't work there, Elena. He owns the place. I get that there's this weird history between the two of you, but, he's one of the best at what he does, he has a waiting list of clients backed up for months, and if he'll take me on and teach me, then I have to do it. Say you understand."
"Jeremy, I just … I don't understand. I've never heard you mention tattooing before. Do you even have a tattoo - "
Before she could finish, he turned and began to angrily walk away.
"Wait, please," she called, desperate, alienating him the furthest thing from her goal, "it's just that Damon – he - he's not a good person, and I don't want you learning anything from him." When she saw the obstinate look on his face, she hurried on, "I mean, don't you think – is there possibly another tattooer you could apprentice under?"
"No. Forget I said I anything."
She straightened and started to move around the table towards him. "Jer - "
"I mean it. Do not ruin this for me, Elena." He stomped upstairs to his room to keep looking.
Wow. She plopped back down in the chair, feeling utterly defeated. She'd only seen Damon Salvatore's backside for less than ten seconds, and already he was ruining her life. Again.
The Next Morning
Her heart was beating double time when she pushed open the front door of Damon Salvatore's tattoo shop. A tiny bell tinkled overhead, and a fancy script on the glass window proclaimed Salvatore Ink. Business hours weren't visibly posted anywhere yet, probably because they weren't technically open for business yet, but Elena didn't care. They shouldn't have left the front door unlocked if they didn't want anyone to come in, she thought, aflame with righteous anger.
Her initial impression of the reception area was that it was small, but inviting. Tattoo artwork and designs decorated every available wall space – black and white, color, all styles. Some simple, some intricate, many of them extremely beautiful, she noticed with irritation.
Within seconds, a man appeared. He had short dark hair, dark eyes, and a friendly smile. He also had tattoo ink on every inch of visible skin. Tribal whorls swirled across his cheeks and jaw and down his throat, disappearing under the collar of his black t-shirt. He attempted to intercept her. "Hi there. I'm sorry, we're not open yet, but I'd be happy to take a name, Ms. …?"
She could feel him assessing her, trying to figure out who she was – potential client, unhinged fan girl, jilted lover.
What she was was pissed off. "Where is Damon Salvatore?"
"Uh," the man took another look at the determined set of her chin and gave up on convincing her to leave, "wait right here. I'll go get him."
Not fazed in the least, she swept past him and went straight back to the only closed door.
"Damon," the man called out in warning, "you have a walk in."
"We're not even open yet, Enzo." At the first sound of that dark, deep, melodic voice, her panties were instantly damp. Her nipples peaked.
No, we are not doing that. Damon is persona non grata. We are not forgiving him, she sternly told herself, ever.
Steeling herself, she forcefully opened the door of the last room.
Holy hot damn! If she thought the effect of his voice on her was bad …. Her memory didn't do Damon one damn bit of justice.
She'd caught him in the act of standing on a step ladder, upper arm muscles straining as he hung a framed picture up on the wall. He wore a black wife beater and perfectly fitted faded jeans. A lit cigarette dangled from sensuously curved lips. Shoulder-length black hair framed a strong jaw, and lithe corded muscles wrapped around model-esque bones.
The flawlessness of his pale skin was enhanced by the dark lines and whorls of black ink starting on his fingers, creeping up his hands and forearms, around his elbows, and up his incredible biceps, over his shoulders, to the base of his throat.
But it wasn't just the outrageously good bad-boy looks or his incredibly hard body that was making her hormones go wild. It was also the sexual energy blatantly leaping off him in sparks like evanescent fireflies, causing every cell in her body to prickle with dizzying awareness. Sexy, sexy, sexy man, they screamed – even as the hair on the back of her neck stood up straight with warning.
Red alert! Red alert!
Get ahold of yourself. Outrageously good-looking bad boys aren't even your type!
Too bad her body instantly called her out as a liar.
He looked over, saw her, and his jaw dropped, surprise alight in those panty-melting ice blue eyes. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting to see her, and she knew she looked damn good in her yellow summer dress, strappy matching heels, and Pink Goddess lip gloss.
Nevertheless, for some reason, his shock rubbed her the wrong way. So, he thought he could just breeze into town, corrupt her brother, and she wouldn't say a damn thing about it?
"Elena Gilbert," he uttered, face still slack with shock. He'd always had multiple piercings in both of his ears, but now he also had an eyebrow piercing over his right eye. It was sexy as hell.
"You still smoke," were the first, definitely not planned, words out of her mouth.
"Uh, no, I don't." He left the framed artwork securely in place up on the wall, took a final drag on the cigarette, then dropped it on the bottom step of the ladder. He squashed it out, waving his hand in front of his face as though that would clear the noxious smoke. "I just quit." He got down off the step ladder, folded it up, and leaned it again the wall under the art he'd just hung.
He turned towards her, filling the small room with his presence. He was sucking all the air from the room, damn him. And it was a small room already, filled by a desk along the left wall with binders, artistic sketches, and tattoo machine parts on it, and a large table/bed in the middle for the client to lie on.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Does this make you my first customer?"
"Don't be stupid," she snapped. "Like I would ever let you touch me. I want to know what the hell do you think you're doing?"
He scowled and ran a hand through jet-black hair, combing it into an artful muss. Thoughts of running her fingers through it just to see if it was still as silky soft and amazing as she remembered invaded her mind.
Okay, not good. She gave her head a quick shake to direct her thoughts down a new path.
Maybe he does still look obnoxiously drop-dead sexy, but you know what he truly is – a living, breathing, walking heartache.
"Huh," he mused, "I'm pretty sure I should be the one asking you that."
She flushed, because it was true, she was technically the one barging in on him. "You can't hire Jeremy."
"Ah." He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms, tatted biceps bulging. He looked so ridiculously handsome it took her breath away. And then she got even angrier that he still had the power to affect her after all this time and despite everything he'd done to her. "Why's that?" he asked.
Shoot. She was so angry, she hadn't taken the time to actually come up with any compelling reasons. "Because he's my brother!"
"He's also a damn good artist, and I have every intention of molding him into a great one. Look." He opened a portfolio and started pulling out pieces that she knew Jeremy had drawn, spreading them across the desk. They were amazing. She stared at them in silence. "Do you see these? Believe it or not, Elena, this has absolutely nothing to do with you. I promise. The kid is talented, and I'd be an idiot to let him go to waste. Or worse, let someone else snatch him up, because he went somewhere else."
She took a calming breath before she spoke, hating that she'd noticed he didn't wear a wedding ring. Why would that matter in any way? He probably had some stupid skank girlfriend with big fake boobs and big fake platinum blonde hair, and frankly Elena felt sorry for that girl, or any girl, who didn't realize what a dildo he was. "I don't care. I don't care what you're doing here or about anything except that Jeremy is having a hard enough time keeping his head above water right now. Too much time on his hands, and not enough sense in his head. The last thing he needs is the influence of …." She trailed off.
"A lowlife, degenerate tattoo artist?"
"You," she finished coolly.
His lips flattened into a thin line. "Sorry, sweetheart. Last I checked, your brother's a grown man. He can do as he pleases. As will I."
She glared back at him. "Why are you even back in Mystic Falls?"
"I thought you said you didn't care."
She jerked back like she'd been slapped. "I don't." Her hands were clenching at her sides, and she wanted to scream at him. How could you? How could you use me the way that you did? How can you show up now like nothing happened? And how dare you be even hotter in a way that makes me want to jump you and lick every single inch of every single one of your tattoos! "It just doesn't make sense. You're the best at what you do. You've won multiple awards and competitions for your tattoos - "
He cocked his head, interrupting her. "You researched me, angel?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped. "And no!" No way in hell was she going to admit that she had. The instant she had a chance to sit down at a computer. And he was good at what he did. Damn him to hell and back. "I just mean, why don't you set up shop in LA or Miami or anywhere that people actually want to get tattoos? Maybe a private island far, far out in the middle of the ocean. Why did you come back here?"
"I don't have to explain myself to you, Elena."
"You're right, you don't. Just leave Jeremy alone."
She spun on her heel and headed for the door. She couldn't stand the sight of his smug face for one more moment. Even though she already knew she was going to go home and close her eyes and touch herself to a vision of his amazing bone structure and drool-worthy tatted body.
Double goddamn Damon Salvatore.
"Elena," he called softly.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she stopped and looked back.
He cleared his throat. "Across the square – that's your new place?"
"Yes," she replied stiffly.
One side of his mouth curled up tentatively, a crooked smile that did funny things to her insides. "That's awesome. Congratulations. Let me know if you need any help with the repairs. Enzo and I are good for some manual labor."
She drew herself up imperiously and gave him what she hoped was her most scathing, cutting look. So what if he was the best sex of your life? Remember what happens to girls that are naïve enough to dream about him – they're left disappointed and heartbroken. "Go to hell, Damon. And I'm serious - stay away from my brother."
She strode out of the back room of his tattoo shop, heels ringing on the tile floor with every step of her regal exit, and she was just going to pretend that the last thing she'd seen had not been amusement glowing in those wicked blue eyes of his.