Bonnie Dee

Bone Deep Bonnie Dee

Love plumbs deep below the surface.

In 1946, Sarah, a grieving war widow goes to the carnival with friends and is riveted by the tattooed man in the freak show, adorned in head to toe body art. Later she discovers the man hiding in her hayloft, escaped from imprisonment by the evil owner. She shelters Tom on her farm, fighting a powerful attraction while learning about his mysterious past and gentle nature.

When a child goes missing, Tom uses his psychic gift to find her but his assistance doesn't relieve the locals' mistrust of such an exotic stranger. Small-town prejudice tears the lovers apart and a very real threat from the carnival owner endangers them. Can the lovers rise above obstacles of fear and hatred to create the family both have always craved?

Excerpt:
The man was a walking tapestry of color. Every bit of his skin was covered in tattoos. Angels, devils, dragons, flames, flowers and skulls were tossed on blue waves. There was no common theme to the tattoos and only the decorative blue swirls connected them. It gave the impression of flotsam floating in the wake of a shipwreck.
 
In the center of the man's chest was a red heart, not a Valentine confection but a knobby fist-shaped lump with stubs of aortas sticking out. Wrapped around the heart were links of black chain, binding it tight. The movements of his muscles as he took his seat caused the images to expand and contract, as if they pulsed with life.
 
With all the ink covering his body, it took Sarah a moment to notice how very nearly naked he was. A loincloth hung from his hips. As he sat, propping one knee up on a rung of the chair, the cloth opened to reveal that his thigh was covered with images right up to his groin.
 
A flush of heat lanced through her, settling warmly in between her legs. She brushed her hair back from her burning cheeks and tucked it behind her ear. She knew she should move on, but couldn't stop staring at the tattooed man.
 
He gazed past her, across the tent, focusing on something. Sarah fought the urge to look over her shoulder at whatever he was seeing.
 
His body was as concealed as if he were clothed. The designs covered every limb and muscle, distracting the eye from his nudity. Even his face and shaven head were tattooed. More tentacles of the swirling blue design marked his cheeks and framed his eyes making their vivid blue seem to glow like a gas flame. When he turned his head to the side, images bloomed up the back of his neck and fanned over his scalp in a fountain of colors. The shreds of pale skin between the tattoos served as contrast to red, purple, ochre, green and inky black.
 
Sarah suddenly realized that her friends had already looked at the tattooed man and gone on ahead while she still stood and stared. Unwillingly, she started to walk away. Just then he turned his head and his eyes caught and held Sarah's.
 
Her breath stopped and her heart pounded. He was gazing at her as intently as she had been looking at him, peering deep inside her.
 
She felt naked in front of him and longed to run away from his searing gaze, but found it impossible to move her feet. It was as if he saw and marked her pain, still percolating underneath the veneer of dull ennui. His scalpel gaze hurt as it cut through her scars. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked to clear them.
 
Then the man looked away, once again staring sightlessly at that invisible mark on the opposite side of the tent.
 
Sarah moved on, feeling shaken and anxious, wondering what had just happened. That moment of connection had been as sharp and real as anything she'd ever experienced. She longed to go home, bury herself under her bedcovers, and forget what she'd seen tonight.