by Landen, Thea
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Second Skin
Copyright © 2014 by Thea Landen
ISBN: 978-1-61333-671-7
Cover art by Tibbs Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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~Dedication~
To Vlad, Andrew, Amy, and TJ, my partners in adventure and crime, and to Michael, my partner in adventure and love.
Second Skin
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Thea Landen
Chapter One
Sonia Wallace.
Katarina Volkova.
Maria Milano.
The list of names cycled through Anna’s mind as she stared out the window of the airplane. One week earlier, she’d spent hours rifling through her folder of dossiers. Though keeping the paper files in her apartment posed a risk, she preferred it to any of the electronic alternatives as her locked safe was less prone to hacking than phones and computers. Each name evoked a different reaction and series of memories. But one name kept grabbing her attention.
Samantha Coburn.
Anna had easily memorized the list of details accompanying Samantha’s photograph long ago—height, weight, last known address, place of employment, and so on. Anna’s own brown eyes stared out at her, full lips pressed into a straight line. Brilliant financial analyst Samantha Coburn worked alongside many powerful people, yet kept her own name out of the spotlight. Polished and professional, she had access to considerable monetary funds without being a flashy or noteworthy character. Whatever influence she possessed, she wielded it from the shadows behind bigger figures.
She would be perfect.
Anna leaned back in her first-class seat and sipped her drink, alleviating her dry throat and some of her anxiety. Earlier in the month, her superior at the CIA had strongly suggested she take her accumulated vacation time, more of an order than a suggestion, given his tone of voice. He’d made a reasonable request. Operatives high in the ranks were at risk of burning out. But, despite the dangers, she loved her job enough to want to keep it for as long as possible.
In the quiet cabin, the names rang through her head loud and clear, each representing a different alias she’d taken in her career. Some, like Samantha, felt as effortless and comfortable as the old hooded sweatshirt she wore on the flight to ward off the chill of the air conditioning. Others were best forgotten. In the high-stakes world of international espionage, she switched personas faster than some women changed their shoes. Anna had ceased to exist nine years earlier in the eyes of the United States government. And with the sudden amount of downtime she had faced, the matter of who or what to be eluded her.
After spending her first few days off lounging around in her pajamas, watching streaming episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras and every incarnation of the Real Housewives in series-long marathons, she’d grown bored enough to venture out of her apartment and hit the shopping malls to update her casual wardrobe. Those activities lasted less than a week before the tedium suffocated her.
She glanced down at the small tablet computer on the tray in front of her and traced the edge with her finger. Following her more mindless endeavors, she’d considered what she really wanted while on vacation. Companionship. Male companionship. Intimate male companionship.
In the past, work assignments sometimes involved seduction and sex. They didn’t count as fulfilling any sort of emotional need. After years of superficial relationships, part of her yearned for a deeper connection. Unfortunately, her true self remained off limits for someone else to connect to.
Left with the next best option, she’d assumed the façade of yet another character. Once past her initial dejection, she made some casual inquiries to her associates at the CIA. One of them passed along the contact information for a business called 1Night Stand, assuring her the owner valued confidentiality.
Anna activated the tablet and fumbled with entering the password, hoping no one nearby paid any attention to her. Logging on to the Samantha Coburn account, she pulled up a copy of the email she sent to Madame Eve, the sole proprietor of the exclusive matchmaking service. It began with a brief mention of her government job, outlining simple details about Samantha’s backstory, and reiterated her need for privacy and discretion, making sure to pepper in some compliments regarding Madame Eve’s experience with such matters. Per her colleagues’ instructions, Anna had concluded the email by listing her preferences for her ideal date. Balancing between confessing her true cravings and protecting her identity proved more difficult than she’d expected.
I’ve been with rich, powerful men who commanded their own empires. I’ve been with dangerous men, the type who send a thrill down your spine just by being in the same room as them. I’ve been with charming, suave men on six continents who would put the most famous poets to shame as they showered me with provocative words and expensive gifts. And I’m tired of it all.
I want a ‘regular guy’ who appreciates the value of that once-in-a-lifetime true love. He can be a hardworking man, formerly the boy next door, as long as he’s not afraid of some fine romance. He should cherish and respect the woman in his life, and not shy away from showing his feelings and devotion toward her.
I am confident you will be able to find just the man for me, and I anticipate your response.
Very truly yours,
Samantha Coburn
Though they were the sincerest words she’d written in a long time, it worried her that she might have exposed too much. She’d made up her mind to follow through with the arranged encounter. Swallowing back her apprehension, Anna switched off the tablet and gulped the rest of her beverage. She’d done everything possible to cover her tracks.
Chapter Two
Brendan fiddled with the cord to his idle headphones, the roar of the aircraft filling the small cabin and preventing him from relaxing to his favorite music. In a matter of hours, he’d land at the tiny airport in upstate New York and head for the winery to meet his date. He’d heaped piles of expectations on the future encoun
ter and hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed.
The dating scene in the Chicago area left him with nothing but headaches. For years, he’d waited to meet the right woman, one worthy of his affection and devotion. Either the contents of his wallet interested them more than the quiet conversations he offered, or they lost interest when he refused to stay with them and their gaggles of friends in the nightclubs until the early hours of the morning. Picturing himself on a dance floor all evening simultaneously entertained and horrified him. His alarm rang at six o’clock every morning for work, regardless of the prior night’s activities.
Sighing, he looked out the window to the vast hills below. His reflection clouded the glass, a sight he sometimes found bewildering. Despite all the changes to his appearance since leaving his hometown in Iowa, he experienced a moment of shock when someone other than a scrawny teenager with a bad haircut and terrible acne stared back out at him. The passage of time and frequent trips to the gym with his college roommates had led to marked improvements in his physical appearance, ones the women he dated vocally appreciated. He still waited for his brain to catch up with the changes.
Brendan stretched out his legs and jiggled one foot. In some ways, the introverted loner from the farm had never disappeared. Sweat dampened his palms, a flashback to the days he’d spent in the high school library, nervously sneaking glances at the pretty girls flouncing past him. While traveling around the world and building his modest empire, he’d worked past his natural inhibitions and become more at ease in addressing his staff and clients, both in intimate board meetings and crowded presentations. That same comfort in social interactions still eluded him.
So, he’d turned to Madame Eve and 1Night Stand. Based on the recommendations from friends, he’d trusted her to find him the kind of woman he sought. He’d asked her to select a date who wouldn’t be dazed by dollar signs or expect him to stray too far outside his comfort zone. Somewhere out there existed the ideal partner for him, and he hoped to meet her at the winery that day.
Touching down, the plane eased to a halt at the only gate at the small regional airport. Brendan retrieved his minimal luggage and walked down the aisle toward the door.
The pilot turned around in his seat and nodded. “Hope the flight wasn’t too bumpy for you, Mr. Tate.”
“Not at all. Thanks, Jim.” Brendan assured his employee and descended the metal steps the copilot had lowered. He strode across the tarmac to the driver and car waiting for him. Before long, he’d be in the company of Miss Samantha Coburn, a date handpicked to meet his specifications. With luck, she would be perfect.
***
Miraculously, Anna’s flight landed right on time amidst the frenzied disorganization at JFK airport in New York City. Carrying her sole piece of luggage, she picked up her car rental in Samantha Coburn’s name. The simple, unassuming white four-door sedan would get her where she needed to go, her only requirement.
After setting the coordinates in the GPS, she drove out of the city, the streets illuminated by the mid-morning sun. The glare gave her something to focus on besides her racing pulse and clenched fingers. A tall bridge carried her over the Hudson River, into farmland, and onto the highway to the Finger Lakes region upstate.
The warm breeze whipped her hair back from her face through the open windows, soothing her jittery nerves. The static radio signal faded in and out between the Catskill Mountains and she finally popped a CD the previous renters had left behind into the player. Navigating the curving highway, she let the familiar music distract her and sang at the top of her lungs. Anything to keep her from dwelling on the day and night ahead.
Her date had made reservations at a resort and winery on the shores of one of the narrow lakes, and she pulled into the parking lot with time to spare. In front of the two-story building, a quaint, hand-carved sign, complete with cheery red cardinal perched atop the wooden boards, announced she’d found the right place. Emerald Hill Vineyard and Inn. The picturesque sight did little to still her shaking hands, but she successfully put the car in park and jerked the keys out of the ignition. Birds sang nearby, their shrill chirps penetrating the relentless rhythm of her pounding heart.
Madame Eve’s instructions left no room for misunderstandings or gray areas. Under no circumstances did the inn allow a client to bring any sort of weapon to their facility. Anna had left her handguns at home, choosing not to call attention to herself at airport security checkpoints, although she possessed the necessary carry permits. Instinct had warned her to bring something with her for her protection, but she’d agreed to play by the rules and hoped the man about to meet her abided by the same agreement. But, if the unthinkable happened and her cover was blown, she could inflict plenty of damage with a dinner knife.
Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she climbed the steps to the main entrance and entered the inn. A clerk, Stuart, going by the badge on his starched uniform shirt, manned the registration desk and glanced at her over thick glasses. Anna exchanged pleasantries with the curly-haired man and followed him to her room, relieved that Stuart hadn’t attempted to engage her in more than casual conversation about the weather when all she wanted was to be alone to prepare for the date. After a shower to scrub away the fatigue of traveling, she set out to complete her transformation.
Anna stared in the steamy mirror over the vanity. Samantha Coburn’s physical appearance resembled her natural features. She’d only needed a trip to the salon at home to have honey-colored highlights added to her dark brown locks, then a layered trim that brushed her shoulders. No colored contact lenses, no glasses, no beauty marks, no wigs; the image gazing at her felt familiar. She donned the second skin of one of her alternate identities, but the mask settled comfortably around her.
After dressing in an orange sundress purchased for the trip, she slid her feet into flat gold sandals and fastened a thin chain with a butterfly pendant around her neck. As she stared into the mirror one last time while she inserted small hoop earrings, her reflection pleased her: an elegant, confident woman who still maintained an air of delicate femininity. She’d completed the transformation into Samantha and planned to play the part with perfection.
She returned to the main foyer and Stuart directed her out to the veranda. Round tables dotted the elevated terrace, overlooking the crystal blue waters of the lake. She spotted a man at the table closest to the edge, his face angled away from her toward the exquisite landscape.
The soles of her sandals slapped against the smooth gray stones as she approached him. Standing, he smiled wide and extended a hand. “You must be Samantha.” His voice was a deep baritone.
Anna returned the pleased expression. “That’s me.”
“Brendan Tate,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
He stood at least six inches taller than her, and his blond hair shone in the golden sun. Azure eyes sparkled at her from above strong cheekbones and a square jaw, and a pale green polo shirt stretched across an expanse of muscles, the short sleeves encasing a pair of thick biceps. If nothing else came of their date, at least she’d be spending a few hours in the company of an incredibly handsome man.
His warm fingers encircled hers with just the right amount of pressure and a handshake firm but not too domineering. And he didn’t try to do anything insincere like kiss the top of her hand. They were already off to a fine start.
“Likewise. I’ve been waiting to meet you as well.”
***
Brendan smiled, mirroring her visual explorations. Samantha’s dark hair and eyes enhanced her pale, creamy skin. An orange flowered dress clung to her slender frame before flaring out at her hips. Her clothing and jewelry were tasteful and demure, yet images of what lay beneath flashed through his mind. The metallic butterfly hanging from the chain around her neck led his eye directly to the dress’s low neckline and he hoped she hadn’t noticed his blatant admiration of her curves. “You look beautiful,” he confessed. “I mean, I assumed you would, but it’s nice to have all
of one’s expectations blown away.”
She blushed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”
He pulled out one of the chairs and gestured toward it. Once she took her seat, he sat across from her. “Did you find the place okay? I hope there weren’t any problems with your travel plans.”
“A smooth ride up from JFK, nothing to complain about. And yourself?”
“I landed at one of the local airports and didn’t have to drive very long.” Regardless of how many years he’d worked to overcome his natural shyness, he sometimes worried about maintaining interesting conversation. The presence of the lovely woman at his table didn’t help matters any. “Some people hate tiny planes, but I didn’t mind having a chance to catch up on a little sleep while someone else navigated.”
She laughed and rested her chin atop her laced fingers. “I take it you’re a very busy man, then?”
“Always. To the point where I practically have to be forced to take a little break.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “So, Samantha…I know this isn’t a very creative line of conversation, but what do you do?”
“I’m a numbers girl. Banking, finance….” She waved in a dismissive gesture. “All those boring things I’d rather not talk about while on vacation.”
Though he wanted to learn more about her, he crossed the topic of work off his mental list. “I understand.”
“What about you? What is it that wears you out so much you have to sneak in a catnap on a single-engine deathtrap?”
“There are two engines, actually.” He chuckled at her candid comment. “And I own my own company. We design and manufacture farming equipment.”