SKIN
McCullough Mountain Series 2
Lydia Michaels
Erotic Romance
Secret Cravings Publishing
www.secretcravingspublishing.com
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2013 © Lydia Michaels
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A Secret Cravings Publishing Book
Erotic Romance
Skin
Copyright © 2013 Lydia Michaels
E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-845-0
First E-book Publication: August 2013
Cover design by Dawné Dominique
Edited by Elise Hepner
Proofread by Courtney Karmiller
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Secret Cravings Publishing
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to you. Yes, you, the one holding the book. Why? Because there was a time when someone said something to or about you that made you feel slightly bad, perhaps slightly ugly, or a little bit fat. And it hurt. I’m dedicating this book to you, because I, too, know what that feels like and I’m here to tell you that YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL! Beauty comes in all shapes, colors, and sizes and don’t ever allow anyone to convince you otherwise.
Xo,
Lydia
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A war is brewing, a war that could destroy an entire vampire race if left unchecked, and Julian Marino has been requested to participate in it. He stops his search for a long time friend to go home and discovers there is more at stake than just his wants.
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SKIN
McCullough Mountain Series 2
Lydia Michaels
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
“Shit.”
The uneven flapping of rubber slapped against the dirt road and Finnegan McCullough tugged the battered wheel of his truck, hauling his flatbed to the shoulder. That was the second tire he’d lost in a month. The roads on their family property were eaten up from a long, icy winter.
Climbing out of the truck, his yellow work boots stomped over the dried, packed clay as he took in the damage.
“Bloody hell.” There was no patching that.
From the bed of the truck, he grabbed the jack and donut. Heat beat through his flannel as he dropped to his knees and—
What was that sound?
He paused. This far out in the woods there were only bears and no bear he’d ever seen had made noises like that. His lungs stilled as he tilted his head, focusing on the sound. The slow buzz of insects and then—there it was—soft, breathy pants, a steady pulse of soft taps. It sounded like…fucking.
Narrowing his eyes, he squinted at the horizon as the late afternoon sun pierced the green canopy. He turned, but saw no one. Abandoning the jack and spare, he stood and beat the ginger dust off his knees. Whoever was getting their jollies in his family’s woods was about to be interrupted. This was private property.
His long, clipped strides rounded the truck and came up short. The noise was coming from a dense part of the woods where a narrow path was rutted into the earth. A twig snapped under his foot as he brushed aside a fern and stepped onto the rough trail. Too late.
Something big slammed into him and white light flashed behind his eyes as he stumbled backward. Pain exploded in his face like when one is blindsided with a basketball. There was a shrill scream.
“Son of a bitch!” His fingers pressed into his eyes as he waited for the sharp smarting to dissipate. The screaming wasn’t helping matters.
Cracking his eyelids, he took in the panicked screamer as her body twisted to flee, only to land roughly on the gravel. She twisted again and continued to scream. Her chest moved un
der a cotton tank top. A trail of sweat worked its way down her flushed cheeks where the threads of earplugs hung.
When she continued to shriek and scrambled to her feet, he yanked out an ear bud and snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”
She hurdled back, her breasts heaving as she threw up her arms. “Don’t touch me!”
He scowled. “Don’t touch you? You nearly broke my nose and you’re on my property. I could shoot you if I wanted.”
Her rosy cheeks paled and her blue eyes went as wide as saucers. Full, pink lips opened and closed like a trout. Scrambling to her feet, she glanced over her shoulder. Her flaxen ponytail, dark with perspiration, swished and smacked him in the face. Her panicked eyes glanced back at him and she bolted past him.
“Hey!”
Her round, little form burst through the trees and he cursed. Where the hell was she going now? Cursing, he took off after her. Nothing like chasing some broad after nine hours of sweating his balls off in the lumberyard.
His truck cut off her escape and his fingers latched onto her arm. Slamming her back into the rusted door, she screamed again and he winced.
Her panicked cries only cut off when he shook her. “Stop screaming!”
“Please don’t hurt me!” she babbled.
He frowned. “Who are you?”
“Mmm—Mallory. Mallory Fenton.”
“What are you doing on my property, Mallory Fenton?”
“I didn’t realize it was private property. I was jogging in the community park and must’ve gotten confused.”
“Jogging? The parks three miles from here.”
Her brow rose. “It is? I didn’t realize I went that far.”
He released her arm and stepped back. “Well…this is private land.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
They had to watch for poachers this far out, but she didn’t strike him as the type. “No harm.”
Her gaze traced over his face and her brow knit. “You’re bleeding.”
Running a finger under his nose, he drew back his hand and found a dab of red. He’d live. “Yeah, I was nearly bulldozed by a rogue runner.”
She winced and lowered her eyes. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect to run into anyone out here. Literally.”
“Well, maybe next time you might want to try running on the high school track.”
Her lips trembled and she looked away. In a quiet voice, she mumbled, “Sorry.” Her expression shuttered.
Did he say something wrong? Now that the panic was over, she seemed to withdraw. They awkwardly stood there for a moment and she shifted. “Um, I guess I’ll just head back the way I came.”
He stepped aside. Her fist pressed into her ribs as if she had a cramp. She didn’t look like a track star. Her skin was flushed to her chest, which was notable. Her hips filled out her shorts and her thighs jiggled as she stepped back onto the rough path. He frowned. She wasn’t jogging. Her steps appeared tired and lagging.
“Are you planning on walking all the way back to the park? It’ll be dark before you make it out of the woods.”
She sighed and glanced up at the sky. She was still breathing heavy from exertion. “This is what I get…” she muttered under her breath. Then, in a stronger voice, she said, “I’ll be fine. Sorry I trespassed on your property.”
Center County was a pretty tight knit community. Finn had never seen her before. She must be new. That was probably why she didn’t realize this entire mountain was pretty much McCullough land. He sighed. “If you can wait a few minutes I can give you a lift.”
Her beaten-in Nikes crunched over the gravel as she turned, her expression weighing his words—as well as his serial killer qualities, he imagined.
Holding out his arms, he said, “I’m not a psychopath. It’s easy to get lost in these woods if you don’t know where you’re going. I’d hate to see that happen. I got a flat. If you can wait a minute while I fix it, I’ll drop you wherever you need to go.”
Her lips tightened. “Are there really bears and stuff in these woods?”
He chuckled. “You could say that. I definitely wouldn’t want to be walking unarmed at night.”
Ground scraped under her rubber shoes as she stepped closer. “My car's at the bottom of the trail.” She was sweaty. Her skin glistened under the remaining sun.
He nodded, a bit distracted by her soft form. The fabric of her cotton top was darker where perspiration had run between her breasts. Golden beams of sunlight threw shadows over them and the temperature began to drop, the same way it did every night in these parts. Her nipples pressed through her clothing. She was packed into that sports bra under her clothes.
She cleared her throat and his gaze jerked back to her face. “Sorry,” he muttered and quickly turned to grab the jack.
She didn’t say much as he fixed the tire. The rim fell like a ton of bricks into his flatbed and he stood, wiping the grease off his fingers onto an old rag. His gaze inspected her. She was average height for a girl, sort of plump and curvy, and she definitely didn’t look like a runner. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I just moved here. I’m from Philly.” She kept staring at him.
“My brother goes to school there. Villanova. You know it?”
She smiled and nodded. Her teeth were a straight line of pearls. “Yeah—”
His hand went to his hip as his phone started chirping. He held up a finger telling her to hold that thought and brought it to his ear.
“Hey.”
“Fin, where are you? I’ve been sitting here for an hour.”
He glanced at his watch. “Sorry, babe. I had to work over and then I got a flat.”
“Another flat?” Erin asked, and he grit his teeth at the suspicious tone in her voice.
“Yeah.”
His girlfriend sighed. “Well, when are you coming to pick me up?”
He glanced at the girl. What was her name? Melissa? Maloney? Mallory? Yeah, Mallory. “I gotta take care of some shit and then I’ll be there. Give me an hour.”
She huffed into the phone. “Why don’t I just meet you there?” She said this in a tone that spoke nothing of favors and understanding. He wasn’t being baited.
“That’d be great. I’ll see you when I get there.” His thumb rolled over the end call button and he stuffed it back in his pocket. He turned to Mallory and noticed her expression changed as she looked at the ground.
It was getting dark. “You ready?” he asked.
She nodded and silently went around to the passenger side of the truck. The door whined as she pried it open. Gonna have to get some WD40 on that.
* * * *
Mallory sank into the broken-in, leather, bench seat. She was such an idiot. Her doctor had given her a world of crap at her last physical because of her weight. He basically freaked her out, warning that if she didn’t get her act together she was going to run into a shit storm of health issues because her family’s medical history was a hodgepodge of diabetes and autoimmune diseases. He successfully freaked her out and she’d—like everything else she did—barreled head first into a plan. Like always, she’d wound up embarrassing herself. Now she was lost, getting a ride home from some mountain man who was like a wet dream in flannel.
She sighed. Of course the first time she ran into—literally—a hot guy in Center County, she’d nearly plowed him down like a bull in a china shop. And, of course, she was a fat, sweaty, panting mess when he saw her. And, of course, he had a girlfriend, so why the hell did she care? Yeah, that all sounded about right.
She clicked her seatbelt, stretching it as far as it could go. She was all too aware of how the strap hugged and accentuated her ugly parts.
The truck roared to life. Closed in the roomy cab with him she could smell his skin. What was that? It wasn’t like the cologne guys wore at home. This was a piney smell, sweet like sap with some briny, manly edge to it.
“We’ll have to take it slow so I don’t lose the donut too.�
��
His voice was gravelly and distracting. Almost as distracting as the mention of donut. Mmm…Boston cream—stop! You don’t eat that crap anymore. Think of carrots. Delicious, raw, slices of—oh, fuck it. She wanted a donut.
As they drove over the bumpy pass of road, she eyed him slyly. He was tall. His long, muscled arms handled the steering wheel with evident strength. He was owning that flannel shirt too. Guys didn’t dress like that at home. This wasn’t the Kurt Cobain type flannel. No, this flannel was his bitch. It was soft and faded, and stretched over his broad shoulders like a second skin. She frowned as she realized she was jealous of a shirt.
Averting her gaze, she stared out the window. Behind the soft reflection of trees going by in the dark she caught her reflection. Dear God, she looked hideous.
Her hand smoothed her ponytail and she winced as her fingers touched the damp, sweaty mop. Yeah, this is why she went to the park and not the gym or the high school. Nothing like working out next to Redneck Barbie to make her feel more like a slob.
Was his girlfriend the Barbie type? She glanced at him again out of her peripheral vision. Yeah, probably.
Her shoulders slumped into the seat. She just wanted to get back to her car and get home. Mallory sighed as she considered the steamed broccoli that waited for her there. God, she wanted a Philly cheesesteak.
Skin (McCullough Mountain 2) Page 1