Under Her Skin

by Michelle Love

  Amalia closed her eyes. She could hardly stand to look at the sadness in her own eyes. At twenty-seven, she had accomplished so much and had thought herself free of her controlling father and all the bullshit that went on in their family. If it hadn’t been for her desperation to save her little sister’s life, she would never have agreed to this.

  But her father held all the cards. He would not allow Selima to divorce her abusive husband unless Amalia agreed to marry Jackson Gallo—her father’s rival in business and the man who had nearly brought her father to his knees. When Gallo offered Gajendra Rai a lifeline—give him his eldest daughter in marriage, and he’ll give Gajendra a multimillion dollar cash –injection—Gajendra had not hesitated in going to Amalia and demanding she marry Jackson.

  Amalia had turned him down flat. That she and her father were not close was an understatement. For months, she had held out, until the day Selima had called her from the emergency room of the hospital. Her husband had beaten her so badly that she could barely speak, but just sob over the phone to her sister. Amalia went to her and was horrified by her injuries and by what she had been through. Gajendra, though, refused to let Selima divorce her husband …unless Amalia married Jackson.

  Desperate, Amalia agreed, and now, in a few minutes, she would take her father’s arm and walk down the aisle in the church Jackson’s family had built in their luxurious compound on the outskirts of San Francisco. A prison, not a compound, thought Amalia as she straightened the wedding dress that had cost seven times her salary. Her father had paid, of course, and although Amalia would have preferred to marry in the traditional Indian attire befitting her heritage, her father insisted that a white dress would be more suitable for the society pages.

  Amalia shrugged to herself now. What did it matter? This wasn’t a real wedding and it wouldn’t be a real marriage. She had made it clear to Jackson that under no circumstances would the marriage be consummated. Jackson had laughed, and she knew he thought she was joking. He would find out tonight that she was deadly serious.

  Jackson Gallo was handsome in a bland, preppy way. The youngest son of billionaire property magnate Macaulay Gallo, Jackson was often to be found in the pages of gossip magazines, romancing some of the world’s most beautiful women. When he had laid eyes on Amalia at a benefit gala where she was performing, he’d pursued her relentlessly until Amalia had grown frightened of his vehemence. She had finally thought he’d gotten the message she wasn’t interested when the call from her father came. Jackson had been victorious when Ama had agreed to marry him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he would settle on her. Yes, she was a renowned pianist and a very successful professor of music at The San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Yes, she knew she was considered a beautiful woman, with her creamy coffee-and-pink skin, bright green eyes, long, wavy, dark hair, and curvaceous body, but to society and Jackson’s world, she was completely indifferent.

  A knock came at the door and her sister, dressed in a simple lilac silk sheath, came in and smiled at her. “Hey, sis … are you nearly ready? Dad’s hovering outside.”

  Ama smiled at her. “Almost.” She sighed and stood. Selima came up to her and studied her.

  “It’s not too late, you know. We can skip out of here and escape somewhere hot.”

  Ama laughed sadly. “And live on what, Lima?”

  Selima shrugged, but her eyes were sad. “I hate that you’re doing this for me.”

  Ama hugged her sister. “I swear, knowing that you’ll be free of that bastard is the only good thing about this.”

  Selima nodded. “Thank you, Ama. I mean it. And look, the prenup says …”

  “I’m trapped for two years.” Ama tried to make a joke of it. “Trapped, but living in luxury. How many women would kill to be me right now?”

  Selima’s nose wrinkled. “With that creep?” Selima had as much of a low opinion of Jackson as Amalia did. Her smile brightened. “Olivier, on the other hand …”

  Olivier Gallo was Jackson’s older brother, and Ama had grown very fond of him. He was in his early forties and a workaholic, but kind and quiet. He was the only one in the family who didn’t stand for Jackson’s arrogance or posturing, and there were many times when he’d met Amalia’s gaze over the family dinner table and rolled his eyes at what Jackson was bloviating about on that particular night.

  And yes, Olivier was gorgeous and tall, with dark hair and brown eyes, but there was sadness in him that Amalia didn’t understand. Macaulay had once told Amalia that Olivier had been particularly close to his mother, who had died giving birth to Jackson, who was thirteen years younger than Olivier. Amalia was curious about that, and about the fact that Olivier seemed to have no time for anything else, but work in his life.

  Selima had a huge crush on the older Gallo brother. She grinned at Amalia now. “I bagged the seat next to him, too. Hey, isn’t today when we all meet the black sheep?”

  Amalia nodded. Enda Gallo was the middle brother …well, middle half-brother, the result of an extramarital affair Macaulay had had with an Italian actress. Amalia had never met him, but knew he kept to himself, mostly living in Italy. Since Enda had been ignored by his father for the first thirty years of his life, it was only because Olivier had reached out to him seven years ago that Enda had finally been brought into the family fold and had reconciled with his father. Jackson couldn’t stand him, always referring to him as ‘the bastard’ and badmouthing him. Amalia, having never met Enda Gallo, was already disposed to liking him because Jackson hated him so much.

  The clock struck noon and Amalia sighed. “Let’s get this thing over with.”

  Gajendra laid his daughter’s arm over his and smiled at her. “You make me very proud today, Amalia.”

  Amalia didn’t reply, keeping her expression blank as they walked down the long aisle of the church. At the altar, she could see Jackson waiting, a supercilious smile on his face. Olivier, his best man, smiled at her and winked. Amalia gave a little sigh. If she could just hang out and be friends with Olivier, then maybe she would get through this. There were hundreds of people there, most of whom she didn’t know. Some of her friends from the conservatory sat on the left-hand side of the church. Christina, her best friend, a no-nonsense Korean cellist, made a face at her and Amalia tried not to laugh. Christina was the only one of her friends who knew the real reason behind this marriage. Amalia had told her she wasn’t going to ask her to be maid of honor, “because I want to save you for my real wedding someday.”

  Christina had grinned and toasted her. “Hell, yes. Let’s drink to that.”

  God, thought Amalia. Their nights out drinking seemed so far away now. Would Jackson stop her from enjoying her freedom? Probably.

  Amalia was nearly at the altar now, and she saw Macaulay Gallo smiling at her. Despite his weaknesses, she liked the old man …he just had no idea how to raise children and had left all the responsibility of the Gallo estate to Olivier. Amalia smiled back at him now. She could have worse as a father-in-law.

  Then her eyes met the man standing next to Macaulay and her breath caught in her throat. Tall, athletic, with dark curls messy around his head, he glowered at her, his bright green eyes intensely fierce. His face was set grimly and he looked like the most dangerous man she’d ever seen.

  And the most devastatingly handsome …

  Amalia stumbled a little and her father steadied her. The man, who she guessed had to be Enda Gallo, stared at her. He hates me …he hates me …she thought, her heart sinking. There was no mistaking the man’s expression. Loathing. He looked like he wanted to kill her …

  Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t know you. And you don’t know him. Maybe that’s just how his face is; moody and dark, with a definite edge. His sensual mouth was set in a straight line, as if he were gritting his teeth, and Amalia felt as if she could feel the heat of anger coming from him. As she passed by him, she breathed in a wave of woodsy, clean cologne. It sent her senses reeling, and her body reacted, he
r nipples hardening and a pulse beating between her legs. He radiated pure animal, dangerous sex.

  Even as she was saying her vows in a monotone, she could feel his eyes on her. As Jackson, his face set in the fakest smile she had ever seen, recited his own vows, Amalia chanced a glance at Enda Gallo. His eyes were fixed on her face, and briefly, Amalia entertained the fantasy that he would stop the wedding, grab her hand, and run away with her, intending to take her away and fuck her senseless …

  Woah …where did that come from? Ama struggled to pull her attention back to the present and realized, with a sinking heart, that she’d missed the moment. Her last moment of single life.

  She was married.

  The greeting line, the dinner, and the speeches were all a blur. Ama didn’t bother to listen to the platitudes of her new husband. Even Macaulay seemed a little subdued. It was only when Olivier stood to speak that she took notice. He said all the things that were expected of him, and Ama could see he struggled with finding good things to say about his brother. When he turned to her, though, his eyes softened.

  “And to my new sister …I am very glad to have you in our lives, Amalia. We are privileged to have someone so brilliant, kind, and independent. I can assure you, sweetheart, that we will always care for you …and encourage you in your career and aspirations.”

  His meaning was clear—don’t worry, we won’t let Jackson control you—and Ama smiled back at him warmly, mouthing ‘thank you’ to him. She had an ally. It made her feel more secure. She saw Enda Gallo at the back of the ballroom, propped against the bar. He met her gaze and Ama felt a flush creep up her face. Why did he have such a visceral, feral effect on her? It was a new feeling for her. She looked away, and when she looked back, he had gone.

  The reception seemed to go on for days, and by midnight, Amalia was drooping. She had changed from her wedding dress into a simple, dark burgundy slip dress, freeing her hair from the intricate bun she had worn for the ceremony and pulling it over one shoulder.

  She was tired of Jackson parading her around as if she were an object, and when she returned to the ballroom, she sought out her sister and Christina who were huddled in the corner, clearly making fun of the prissy society people.

  “Ama!” Christina was already drunk, and Amalia grinned at her. Christina hugged her friend and looked her up and down. “That’s better. You look more like you now.”

  “Agreed,” Ama laughed, but in the next moment, she felt Jackson’s hand on her upper arm pulling her away from her friends.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  Ama wrenched her arm out of his grip. “It’s called a dress, Jackson.”

  “On your feet,” he said darkly and pointed down to her comfortable and admittedly well-worn flat pumps. “Go and change into heels, right now.”

  Ama looked him in the eye. “I will not. I’ve had heels on all day and now I want to be comfortable. It’s after midnight, Jackson. I’ve played the part you wanted long enough for one day.”

  Jackson’s eyes were fierce on hers. “May I remind you, you are my wife now?”

  Ama’s smile was cold. “Wife. Not staff, Jackson. Did you hear me say ‘obey’ in my vows? No, you did not. Now, some of your guests are looking at us, probably wondering why I look so pissed off. Want me to tell them why?”

  Jackson’s jaw clenched. “We’ll talk about this later. In bed.”

  He stalked off and Ama saw him switch on the charm instantly as he spoke to the guests who had been watching them. Ama felt sick. No. No way would they do anything in bed. Ever.

  She returned to her friends, but soon excused herself. She needed to be alone for a few moments to get some air. She slipped out into the beautiful gardens surrounding the mansion and walked quickly down to the little Japanese garden that had been her go-to place for escaping Jackson since they’d become engaged.

  There were a few lanterns giving the place a soft glow and she sat down on one of the stone seats and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in. Silence. Bliss. She only heard the tiny trickle of the water feature.

  Then she caught a breath of cigarette smoke and opened her eyes. Enda Gallo stood on the other side of the garden, staring at her. Ama’s heart began to pound against her ribs and she stood. She didn’t know what to do. Running would seem rude, but the expression on Enda’s face was …what?

  She turned to leave, and in a flash, he was beside her. Trapping her against a tree in the cage of his arms, he gazed down at her. Ama couldn’t look away. God, he was beautiful …those eyes, that craggy, yet boyish face. She noticed he had a half moon scar at the corner of his right eye, and without thinking, she traced the line of it with her finger. His eyes never left hers. Ama could barely breathe, such was the tension between them.

  Enda bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. Ama froze. What the hell was going on? Was he testing her?

  He kissed her again, and this time, she couldn’t help but kiss him back. His lips were soft, but his kiss was rough---almost violent---and she found her fingers twisted in his dark curls as they embraced. When she felt, his hands push up her dress, a jolt of panic slid through her, but then he pressed his body against hers and she was lost. She had never wanted anyone as badly as she wanted Enda Gallo right here, right now. His fingers were caressing her through her panties and she felt herself dampen with longing. Cupping his cock through his pants, she marveled at the size of him and panicked at the same time. Could she do this? Should she?

  Could she really, finally, lose her virginity to her brother-in-law on her wedding night?

  Enda’s eyes were questioning now …and somehow Ama knew that if she asked him to stop, he would, without question.

  But she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him here, now …

  Enda swept her off her feet and onto one of the stone tables that framed the little garden. He unzipped his fly, freed his diamond-hard cock from his pants, and climbed on top of her.

  Ama felt like this was a dream—a fantasy—right up until Enda Gallo thrust into her and she gave a little cry of pain. It faded quickly, and then all she felt was an all-consuming pleasure as he made love to her, kissing her tenderly, his cock driving deeper and deeper into her with every stroke. His hands pinned hers to the table, his eyes locked onto hers as they moved together, her legs wrapped around his hips. Ama felt her orgasm build, and when she came, her back arched up off the table, pressing against him as she gasped and shuddered. Enda kissed her passionately, then raised his head and groaned as he too came, pumping thick, creamy semen deep into her belly. He gave her no time to recover; his mouth found her clit and teased it until she was weeping with desire, and then his cock was inside her again driving her onwards and onwards, toward her climax.

  Afterward, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He still had not spoken one word to her. He touched her face once more …and then he was gone.

  Ama, her legs still shaking, sat down quickly on the bench, blinking. Did that really just happen? Her body answered—god, yes, yes …

  She had just fucked Enda Gallo …or he had fucked her. Ama gave a disbelieving laugh. She sat there for a further five minutes, then made her way slowly back inside the house. Most of the guests had gone now and Christina was looking for her.

  “Have to go, sweets, before I drink this place dry.” She hugged Amalia, then studied her. “Hey, are you okay? You look weird.”

  Ama blinked, then tried to smile. “Just tired, babe. Look, promise me we’ll get together for lunch on Monday.”

  “Promise.”

  She went back into the main ballroom, her heart thumping at the thought of seeing Enda in there. But he was nowhere to be seen. Jackson came over to her. “Our guests have left—would have been nice of you to say goodbye. I hope you’ll be more sociable in the future.”

  “Fine.” She didn’t want to argue. “Goodnight, Jackson.”

  He caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

  “To bed.”

 
“To our bed.”

  Ama sighed. He would never stop trying, would he? “No, Jackson. To my room. I told you once, and I meant it. I will never, ever have sex with you. Find one of your many admirers—I assume you’ve worked your way through most of them anyway. I’m sure one of them will be up for it.”

  Jackson stared at her, his face angry, then stepped closer to her. “You will submit to me one day, little girl, or I’ll break you. I swear I will.”

  Ama wasn’t impressed. “Go away, little boy. You don’t scare me.”

  She turned and walked out of the room, running lightly up the huge staircase, hoping he wouldn’t follow her. Selima was in her room, packing her wedding dress away. “Dad’s just bringing the car around.” Selima had tears in her eyes as she hugged her sister. “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me, Ama. Never. I just pray you find some happiness.”

  Ama held her sister, feeling the tears threatening again. “Go along now. Dad’s probably waiting. I’ll see you soon.”

  Selima nodded. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Alone, she locked the door and put a chair up against it. She didn’t trust Jackson not to have a spare key. There was no way she was letting him in. Sure, enough, a half hour later, as she walked out of the shower, toweling her long hair dry, the door handle rattled. She smirked to herself as she heard him curse, but he soon gave up.

  Amalie sat down on the bed. She was married …and had lost her virginity all in one day. And to two different men. What the hell was I thinking?

  She already knew she regretted one of those things …and it wasn’t anything to do with Enda Gallo.

  Olivier Gallo drove into town and was at the restaurant fifteen minutes before his half-brother arrived. He stood to hug Enda, who clapped him on the back. “Hey, brother, good to see you.”