Chapter Twenty Three
Dance, Drink, Never Sleep
Ridley had rolled into Mykonos that afternoon. In true fierce chef manner, he was tatted up to the max. And that was just the parts she could see. Of a personal nature, many he either covered with his chef’s coat or with makeup for appearances. It made sense. It was rumored he had “f**k Me” on his knuckles. His favorite expression. Chefs were artistic by nature. Why not use their body for as a canvas? Same as plates.
When he eyed all her tattoos, he knew exactly who she was. “Well, well,” his first words as he leaned in to kiss both cheeks. She was royalty. He’d seen her many pictorials in The Owl and the Pussycat publications and in tattoos and piercings magazines. Several had been passed around amongst his crew. His wife read her erotica
