Skin Deep

by Lauren Hawkeye

  “I...what?” Fred sputtered, taken aback by the question. “I’ve slept with her twice. I’m not—We’re not—I don’t know if that’s where this is going.”

  Didn’t he, though? Wasn’t that the very reason he’d been so down the last few days? In the years since that magical night with her in Amsterdam, he’d almost—almost—managed to convince himself that he’d imagined the heady connection between himself and his gorgeous, tattooed siren. All it had taken was one glance at her again, though, and there it had been, heady and unlike anything he’d felt before or since.

  “I swear, watching you work this out is like watching a rat on a wheel.” Frank shook his head. “Listen to me. Maybe there would be something there, if you managed to unfuck yourself. But just fast-forward with me for a minute. Where do you see this in six months? In a year? Is she the girl you’re going to marry? If not, is it really worth the effort right now?

  Panic thickened his throat, making it hard to swallow. Married? He barely knew her.

  He could see where his brother was going with this, though. His mother and father hadn’t been an arranged marriage, not in the strictest sense of the term, but they’d been firmly pushed in each other’s direction. Both from wealthy, aristocratic families, their families had been very enthusiastic about the match.

  It hadn’t been vocalized in so many words. But Fred and Frank had always been very aware that someday they would be expected to do the same.

  He was entranced by Amy. Wanted her with a thirst that hadn’t even come close to being quenched.

  But...could he really see himself bringing her to his parents’ house for dinner? He could just picture his mother, sitting there in her silk blouse or cashmere sweater set, arching an incredulous eyebrow at Amy’s full sleeves of ink. Or his father barely waiting until she was out the door before making a dirty joke about the nipple adornments that Amy did absolutely nothing to hide.

  His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Frank hummed in his throat, apparently pleased that his warning had come across. Lifting the bottle of hideously expensive scotch, he poured another generous measure into each of their glasses, lifting his and holding it out for a toast.

  Fred did not feel like toasting, but more than that, he did not feel like explaining why he didn’t feel like it. Half-heartedly, he lifted his glass, braced himself for the impact as his brother banged his own into it.

  “To common sense,” he started before tossing back half the contents in his glass. “And to getting you laid. Let’s go.”

  “What? No.” Fred shook his head as Frank slammed his laptop closed. He was not in the mood to go anywhere except his condo, where he would order in some Thai food and then go to bed. He planted his feet when his brother rounded the desk, hauling him up and out of the chair. “I’m not going anywhere except home.”

  “No way, bro. You’re coming out with me. Now.” Frank clapped him on the shoulders before handing him his suit jacket. “Listen to your big brother Frankie. The best medicine for getting over one woman is getting under another one. Come on. We’ll order a car and go find you someone with big eyes and long legs.”

  Fred stiffened, his thoughts mutinous. He’d already found someone like that, with blue eyes that saw right through him and legs that felt amazing wrapped around his face. He didn’t want some nameless, faceless woman in his bed.

  He wanted Amy.

  He said nothing, though, instead following his brother as Frank turned off the lights and locked up the office. Said nothing as he climbed into the town car Frank had ordered, and followed him into some new club where the waitresses wore next to nothing and the music was so loud he could taste it in his throat.

  He’d thought a night out might help lift his mood. Might take his mind off the woman he’d messed things up with.

  Instead, all he could think about was what he could do to make things right.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “HOT GUY. TWO O’CLOCK,” Meg yelled over the din of the dim, crowded bar. The place was, frankly, a dive, scarred tables crowded cheek to cheek on sticky floors. When Amy didn’t respond, her oldest sister grabbed her face, a palm on each cheek, and turned her head in the direction she’d indicated.

  “Dude. Personal space.” With a shake of her head, Amy flicked her sister’s hands off. When Meg did it again, Amy glared. “Would you stop?”

  “Seriously. You’ll like this one.” Meg smiled so beseechingly that Amy sighed, turning in the direction her sister wanted her to look, then cast Meg some serious side eye.

  “That’s John.” She rolled her eyes when Meg merely grinned, waving at her fiancé from across the bar. “Very funny.”

  “I was trying to make you smile.” Meg nudged Amy’s untouched bottle of beer across the table. “Since you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on.” To prove her point, Amy lifted her beer and took a healthy swallow. “See? Party on, and all that jazz.”

  “You’ve been scowling for days.” Meg rolled her eyes. “I used to change your diapers, kid. Come on. Fess up.”

  “It’s just work stuff.” Amy smiled stiffly and made a big show out of shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “Not a big deal.”

  “If you say so,” Meg replied dubiously before waving at John once again. “What is taking him so long?”

  Amy peeled a thin strip off the label on her beer bottle as Meg waved like an air traffic controller to get her fiancé to come back to the table. She hadn’t lied to Meg; it was a work issue that had her down. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  She actually didn’t care that much about what the other vendors in the shopping plaza thought about her. She may not have looked like a stereotypical businessperson, but she was shrewd. She knew her value as a business, and she didn’t give a flying fruitcake about that petition. If she was evicted for not fitting in, which was obtusespeak for being covered in tattoos, then she’d go to the media and raise holy hell.

  What she did care about, even though she really didn’t want to? The fact that Fred had been the one in charge of delivering her that eviction notice. No, not even that...the fact that he’d hidden it from her. If he’d told her up front, she was pretty sure that they would have wound up in bed together anyway—that was how strong the pull between them was. But he hadn’t, and it had...well, it had hurt her feelings.

  She never got hurt feelings. She and Fred had a history, however. Even though it had only been one night, it had held meaning for her.

  Apparently it hadn’t meant nearly as much to him, yet she couldn’t bring herself to shake it off and move on. Which was why she was sitting in a bar she didn’t want to be in, with a sister who was torturing her for being moody.

  As her sister’s fiancé finally made his way over to the table, she sneaked a look at her phone to check the time, wondering how quickly she could make an excuse and go home.

  “Lucky us, getting the prettiest women in the club.” John grinned while he juggled the drinks in his arms. He set a fresh bottle of beer in front of Amy, and she barely held back the wince as she tacked another half hour onto her time estimate.

  John slid into the seat nearest Meg and greeted his fiancée with a hand threaded through her hair and a deep kiss.

  “Don’t mind me,” Amy said dryly. The couple continued greeting each other as though she wasn’t even there. Focusing her attention on her phone, she started a new game of Candy Crush, wondering if the couple’s utter absorption in each other meant she could subtract that half hour back off the time estimate.

  A few more minutes of the smooching, and she was done. Meg and John broke apart as she slid out of the booth and got to her feet, stuffing her phone in her pocket.

  “Don’t leave before you say hi to Theo,” John requested, lifting her bottle of beer and frowning when he found it full.

  “Theo’s here?�
�� Amy looked out across the bar, craning her neck until she saw him. Her sister Jo’s live-in boyfriend, and the man she considered the closest thing to an actual brother, was leaning against the bar, holding court in a group conversation.

  “He’ll be over in a sec,” John added as he ran a hand down Meg’s bare arm. “He ran into some guys he was friends with in college.”

  “Maybe you’ll wipe that scowl off your face and find one to converse with,” Meg suggested pointedly. “Some company might brighten your current dour outlook on life.”

  “Maybe any man I’d be interested in talking to will appreciate my scowl,” Amy replied brightly. Brushing her blond curls out of her face—she should really consider going back to dreads—she leaned back into the booth to grab her small purse. When she straightened back up again, Theo was crossing the room toward their table, and he wasn’t alone.

  Amy sucked in a deep breath when she saw the men who accompanied Theo. Incredibly tall, well over six feet, with coppery hair and a lanky build.

  No. No way.

  Then the men were at the table. Theo gathered her in a familiar hug as she frantically tried to compose herself, looking upward into the face of the cause of her angst.

  Their eyes met, and damn it, there was that little tug in her gut. Her body didn’t seem to care that she was upset with him.

  “Jo, this is Fred Vaughan.” Theo released her and gestured toward his friend. “I just put two and two together, but his family owns the shopping plaza where your shop is. Small world!”

  “Right.” Her brain was telling her to play it cool, but the rest of her wasn’t listening. She narrowed her eyes at Fred and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”

  “Frank dragged me out for a drink.” He slid his hands into his pockets. He didn’t look all that thrilled to see her, either, which had her temper sparking. What had she done, besides giving him crazy good sex?

  “Fred and his brother are friends from college.” Theo clapped the taller man on the back, grinning widely. Amy could tell that Jo’s fiancé had clearly had a drink or three already. “Haven’t seen them in years. How cool is this?”

  “Uh-huh.” Amy could feel Meg’s eyes on her, assessing, and struggled not to grind her teeth together. “Where’s Jo?”

  Her sister Jo had a limited tolerance for the bar scene. A limited tolerance for people, really. If she was here, then they could escape together.

  “She’s working. On deadline.” Theo grinned sheepishly—his significant other worked for him. “Before you get pissed, she’s the one imposing the all-nighter, not me. Says she won’t have anyone accusing her of sleeping with the boss to get ahead.”

  “Speaking of getting ahead...” She deliberately turned toward Meg and John, putting her back to Fred as she spoke. “I have a full slate tomorrow. I should get going.”

  “Fine.” Meg heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t think you’re coming to family dinner tomorrow night with this attitude, though.”

  “Whatever.” Amy rolled her eyes at her sister. “Have fun.”

  Then she was off, striding into the crowd of the bar without a second glance at Fred. Her spine stiffened when she heard him call after her, his deep voice carrying over the roar of the crowd.

  He caught up to her quickly with his long stride, and she paused when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She should have turned around, but she didn’t trust herself to remain strong while looking at him, so she remained as she was, facing away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped as he came up close behind her. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, but she could feel the heat of his body, radiating off his lean frame to warm the skin of her back. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Well, I have something to say to you,” he replied. If his voice had held anger, she could have pushed away, leaving him standing there alone. She didn’t hear any anger, though, just regret, so she remained where she was, silent and still.

  “I need to apologize,” he continued, dipping his head so that he could place his lips by her ear.

  “You think?” she retorted. It took every ounce of willpower that she possessed not to shiver in response to the fan of his breath over the lobe of her ear.

  “You have every right to be pissed at me. I fucked up, big-time.” He moved in closer so that he could keep speaking over a sudden rise in the noise level. She wanted to moan softly when she felt his hips bump against hers from behind. “Please hear me out. I had no way of knowing that you were Amy Marchande when I walked into your shop with that letter. You never told me your name.”

  “You shouldn’t have been delivering that letter to begin with, to anyone.” She spat out the words. “I signed that lease. I pay up every single month. Even if there was a petition against me, you and your brother and whoever the hell else you work with should have shut it down right there.”

  “I agree with you,” he replied mildly, but she could tell she’d struck a nerve. “But I’m not the one in charge. I just happened to draw the short straw.”

  “And then you walked in, saw someone you might like to fuck again, and decided to tuck it away for another day.” Her spine stiffened as she clung to her righteous anger. “Gee, I wonder why I’m upset?”

  “Don’t twist this around.” His hands found her hips, tugging her back against him, and she fought to remain stiff, not to let her body yield to his. “It wasn’t like that at all, and you damn well know it. Please let me say I’m sorry.”

  “Fine.” The word burst out of her like a plea, but whether it was for him to let her go or to hold her closer, she had no idea. “Apology accepted. Now, I’m going home to bed.”

  His fingers clenched on her hips, and she struggled to reach for her self-control as she added, “Alone.”

  “Let me make it up to you,” he murmured in her ear. This time his lips touched the seashell curve, and this time she couldn’t hold back her shudder. “Please.”

  “What did you have in mind?” This, this she could handle—flirtation. Lust. “Keep in mind how much you owe me.”

  He huffed out a laugh, a low sound that did something funny to her insides, then used the hands on her hips to guide her in a half circle. She arched into his touch as he gave her a gentle push back in the direction of their table.

  “We’re going to go sit down again.” His voice was dark, delicious. “Right at that little table, right beside one another.”

  “Oh?” Her voice was faint; she didn’t know how he could still hear her over the music and the crowd. “And what will we do then?”

  He laughed again, sounding nothing like the careful lover she remembered from Amsterdam, or the frenzied one she’d ridden in her shop.

  “Then we’re going to do whatever I want.” This was a man in control, so completely unexpected and yet so completely right that the possibilities made her legs quiver. He nudged her forward, and she took a step, her senses suddenly on fire. “Now go.”

  Swallowing thickly, she did as she was told—in truth, she couldn’t imagine refusing. Hyperaware of Fred at her back, she made her way back to the table. When Meg, John, Theo and Fred’s twin looked up at them questioningly, she forced her face into a smile, certain that she looked more than a little crazy.

  “I think I’m going to stay,” she said brightly, reaching for the bottle of beer that was still sitting on the table. “I got a second wind!”

  “Great,” Meg replied slowly, scrutinizing Amy’s flushed cheeks. “We were just about to get up and dance.”

  “I’m right behind you!” Squeezing into the booth, Amy hip-checked Theo. Grumbling, he shifted over, making space for her and Fred to sit. Amy clasped her beer like she was clutching a life preserver, waving it in the air for everyone to see. “You guys are three drinks in, though. Let me just catch up and I’ll be right there!”

  Meg, John and Theo were
all regarding her as though she’d grown a third head, and she didn’t blame them. She sounded practically perky, not a look she usually wore. Fred’s twin, however—was she remembering right that his name was Frank?—was watching her intently, curiosity written all over his face.

  He might have been Fred’s brother, but the expression made her want to sock him in the nose. It was one she was well familiar with, the look a man gave her when he was thinking about taking a walk on the wild side.

  She wasn’t here to be any man’s tattooed little experiment. If they didn’t want her for who she was, then they didn’t get any of her, at all.

  She willed Frank to head off to the dance floor with the others. He did not; rather, he sat sipping his beer and looking from her to Fred as though there was a puzzle there that he had to solve.

  “Dude, what?” Fred reached across the table with his long arm, socking his brother in the bicep. “Stop being a creeper.”

  “Sorry.” To his credit, Frank shook his head, as though jerking himself out of a trance. Draining his drink, he set the empty bottle on the table and stood. “Another round?”

  “No, thank you,” Amy and Fred both replied at the same time. Frank furrowed his brow again slightly, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing, before making his way back to the bar.

  “I don’t think your brother approves of you hanging around me.” Amy turned to Fred with a slight smirk. Here, again, was familiar territory. “Maybe he thinks I’ll be a bad influence on you.”

  “Doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Fred said as he placed his hand on Amy’s knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What matters is that you do what I tell you to, right now.”

  “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow, prepared to tease back, instead losing her breath when he moved his hand steadily up her thigh. Excitement surged through her, gasoline that had been lit on fire. She followed his thought process and understood what he was about to do.

  “Drink your beer.” He sounded calm while she felt anything but. “Now.”