Beneath Her Skin

by Beth Mikell

  His voice took on that dangerous-desire quality and he strode closer, so close there was barely a space between them. Her heart flipped into a faster rhythm. Warnings went off through her mind. He was too close. To accessible.

  She took a step back, feeling deflated by her outburst. She had managed to fail in her assessment of him and his motives. Maybe he was on the up and up. Or maybe he was good at covering his tracks.

  She closed her eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry I jumped to…” her sentence faded the longer she peered up at him.

  A slow smile edged his lips, and his eyes were alight with desire. There was no playfulness in him, only an undercurrent of silky anticipation.

  She took another step back, finding herself flush against the wall. Her heart roared through her chest, making her feel dizzy. He came closer, trapping her with his hands at either side of her shoulders. His delicious scent rolled over her in waves, teasing her senses. Studying his mouth, she licked her lips.

  “Let me go,” Brooke whispered, unable to look away from him.

  Damon shook his head. “Not even if you beg me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Inside her woman’s heart, she was not above begging, but he was the boss, and he couldn’t intimidate her. “I’m not yours—”

  His finger snaked up, fastening over her moving lips. “Please don’t finish the rest of that sentence, baby. It will humiliate you later when I have to prove you wrong.” If anything his face darkened more, a splash of red riding his cheeks. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I will never intentionally waste your time, but I will make you a promise. If you ever march into my office again, threatening to quit, I’ll take it as an invitation to test my amorous desire for you. While I’m not opposed to taking you naked and across my desk, I have serious doubts you are as adventurous as I am.”

  A hot flush rode her cheeks and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from moaning. The image he presented knocked her libido off balance. He knew how to fragment her focus and send her nerve endings into a tizzy at the same time. His words were suggestive, breaking every sexual harassment law, but she didn’t care. Part of her wanted to push him, just to see how far he’d take his threat, but she couldn’t. No, she wouldn’t.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?”

  A slow grin teased across his lips, shaking his head. “No, it’s a promise.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips across hers in a slow, warm dance.

  Brooke whimpered in her throat, so sure, she would collapse, but Damon took her in his arms. Meshed against him, he sent a thrilling web of sensations over her skin, making her tingle. Ribbons of wickedness curled through her, and she wanted naughty things she never thought to have. Womanly things. Hot, animalistic desires. The kind where she woke up next to him with only a satisfied smile and nothing else. So much for standing her ground, she thought. He seduced her with finesse and a few words. Again.

  A shudder rippled across her skin and her hands sank into his hair. She pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. God, the man was potent. His tongue found hers and a sweet adventure, chased them, suspending her in a chasm of stretched hope and hypnotic desire. Damon’s tongue pelted her with a haven of pleasure; his taste was like gentle swells of danger. She curled against his body, loving his hardness against her softness. His hands caressed up and down her back.

  He pushed up against her, his rigidness knocking against her. His mouth pulled back as he teased his lips against her lips.

  “Help me, baby,” he rasped darkly, his breath heaving against her lips.

  His hands traveled down her arms, linking his hands. He brought them up and pinned them against the wall.

  Raining small kiss across her cheeks, he moved to her ear. “I can’t withstand you, Brooke. You’re my Kryptonite.” He nibbled her earlobe, his teeth grazing her flesh.

  Her blood raced through her veins, her heartbeat rushing fast. Her breasts scraped against the hard wall of his chest, tormenting the carnal wish her body craved. But he was right. They had to stop. Now.

  “Let me go,” she breathed.

  He dropped his head, peering at her through his lashes. He shook his head. “Do better than that,” he said, his voice raspy. “I know you don’t want me to let you go.”

  He was right. Her mind raced for the perfect reply. “Don’t do this here, Damon. Don’t embarrass us.”

  Leaning forward, he raised his mouth and kissed her forehead. “God, I’m crazy about you,” he murmured, stepping back and letting her go.

  Her cheeks flamed, wishing she did not enjoy that knowledge so much. But she did. There was something hideously exciting knowing Damon Sinclair desired her and wanted her beyond thought or reason. She reached up to twist a stray curl at her ear that had escaped from her ponytail. “Let’s go slowly. I’d rather not have people speculate about us and think negatively.”

  He gave a curt nod, turning away, and strode toward his sitting area. He waved a hand over the stacked files. “This is more analysis in need of verification. It is possible another approved agenda is lurking in the mix, but please hold off on quitting, Ms. Stone, although, I quite enjoyed changing your mind.”

  She rolled her eyes, moving closer. “So, you have no shame in coercion?” she asked with a small smile, taking a seat on the black leather sofa.

  Damon chuckled. “Apparently not,” he said, taking a seat next to her. He leaned closer. “But I’m one tracked minded when it comes to you.”

  Her body tightened as his breath whispered over her ear. She gave a nervous laugh. “You? I never would have thought?”

  Sitting back, he smoothed a hand over his tie. “Yes, well, you give as well as you get. You’re equally to blame, Ms. Stone.”

  Brooke wanted to continue their innuendos and subtle banter, but she knew that was dangerous territory, especially when she knew next to nothing about him. Only that he was a widower, and she dared not ask him about it.

  She turned her eyes toward the stacked files. “Maybe I should take these to my office.”

  “I have something for you.”

  She eyed the files, and then gave him a wry glance. “Surely you jest?”

  He flashed his heaven sent smile, inclining his head. “The box. After the police cleared out of your apartment, I had it cleaned. This is what was salvaged. I’m sorry it isn’t more.”

  Turning to the dark brown box, she caressed a hand over the top. “Thank you, but I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

  Leaning forward, he captured her gaze and laid his hand atop hers. “I’m not. I’d do it again if it meant meeting you. I’ll never regret that. Ever.”

  There was a knock at the door and Antoine poked his head in. “Sorry to disturb you, boss, but General Randall is wishing to speak with you. He says it is urgent. It’s a video call in conference room three.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Damon said, waiting until the door shut before turning to Brooke. His eyes were searching, his brow drawn with concern. “Are you okay?”

  She inclined her head. “Of course. Go take your call, I’ll be fine.”

  “Stay here, if you like. Look through your box and glance through the files. I’ll return soon, and then we can discuss the priority of each file.”

  In some way, Brooke was a little relieved Damon left her alone. The thought of everything she owned in one single box made her queasy and she did not need a witness.

  She drew a deep breath and lifted the lid. Shock rendered her speechless.

  This was it?

  She grabbed the first item on top. The hot air balloon figurine Uncle Duck had given her on her seventh birthday. It was chipped on the bottom edge, but okay otherwise. He had taught her to love the freedom of flying as much as he had. To embrace the joy of the air beneath her feet. From that moment forward, he had given her a similar figurine on each birthday. A quick glance through the remains did not give her more. The others had been destroyed. She
was not usually a materialistic type of girl, but mementos ranked higher on her scale. All her memories and keepsakes were gone.

  Tears stung her eyes as she waded through the rest of the box. A pair of socks. A few CDs. One of Uncle Duck’s bolo ties. There was one picture of her and Uncle Duck taken when she was thirteen on summer vacation. They had gone to Niagara Falls with Harry and it had been one of the happiest times of her life. She caressed the photo, a tear trailing down her face. She ached to wish back time, but this was her pity-party. Her eyes landed on a flash drive and she frowned.

  It wasn’t hers.

  Brooke picked up the white USB drive, turning it this way and that. There was red lettering on the side: Marx Clinic – Leading Advancement for In-Vitro Fertilization. She wanted to know what was on it.

  Standing, she strode back to her office, settling back into her desk chair. She plugged the USB drive into her laptop. As she opened the files, several reports came into view. Her eyes scanned fast, her heart pounding. Test results indicated one outcome: she had a twin sister. A mistake had been made by the Marx Clinic. Brooke wasn’t even supposed to be born. Her fertilized embryo had been scheduled for termination, but a mix-up happened.

  She sat back in her chair… stunned.

  She had a family?

  “Brooke?”

  She exhaled slowly, not even realizing she held her breath. Her chest hurt. Her eyes connected with Damon’s and a funnel effect swarmed over her. A buzzing kind of heat made her light headed.

  Damon strode closer, worry clouding his expression. “Brooke, please, what’s wrong? You look pale.”

  “There was a… USB drive in the box,” she began with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t mine, so I checked it.” She drew a deep breath. “I have a sister.”

  Chapter 8

  Worry clouded Damon’s expression, his eyes narrowing. He had not thought to check the box before he offered it to Brooke. What a careless oversight on his part. Her discovery of her twin before he was ready would complicate everything. He pulled on his best poker face, hoping he seemed concerned rather than scared out of his mind. He strode closer, his heart thudding hard.

  As he glanced at the computer screen, familiar reports swam in front of his eyes. Doom played tag with his heart. He had to work damage control or lose Brooke’s trust forever. It was too soon for her to know everything—too soon to watch her walk away.

  “What do you know of your birth parents?” Maybe he could offset this disaster by heading another direction.

  Brooke scrunched up her face. “Not a lot. I mean, Uncle Duck wasn’t my actual father.”

  Damon leaned up against her desk, watching her closely. He tried desperately to school his features without giving away his fear. “But he adopted you?”

  “All I know is that Gail and Marcus Stone couldn’t have children the old-fashioned way, so they opted to try in-vitro as a solution,” she began, taking a deep inhale, then letting it out slowly. “When I was three, I had to have my tonsils out. The doctors asked my birth parents to give blood as a precaution, but their blood types didn’t match mine. They were devastated. I know this was a shock to them and unfortunately, they dropped me flat. One day they were there, the next… they weren’t.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, as if she was used to the knowledge.

  He gasped. “But you were three. How could they do that?” he asked a bit harshly. A fierce anger gripped his gut.

  “I don’t know, but that’s when Donald Stone, Marcus’ brother, and my new savior, stepped up and made a choice and adopted me. Uncle Duck said he never regretted his choice and he became my father until the day he died.”

  Damon reached for her hand, pinning her with a look. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

  She flashed a soft smile. “Me too, but it’s over.” She pointed to the computer screen. “This changes everything. I never thought I’d find myself faced with the possibility of finding my biological family. I didn’t even know where to start. After Gail and Marcus hightailed it out of my life, Uncle Duck cut all ties with them. There was no way they would share the particulars with me.”

  “How did this end up in your apartment?” He nodded his head toward her computer and the USB drive.

  She gave a half shrug. “I had a box of Uncle Duck’s personal items from his house, but I don’t remember if the USB was in there.” She smiled slowly. “Can you imagine the possibility of finding my real family? I hardly know where to begin.”

  Damon knew he needed to come clean and lay all his cards on the table, but fear kept him pinned down. He was not ready to face the music just yet. There were too many unknowns and he was not about to risk her safety until he had all the facts.

  “Let me look into this,” he offered. “I have a wide network of people who can delve into researching this. We may get a hit.” He inwardly winced, falling deeper into his abyss of lies.

  Brooke stood suddenly, happiness transforming her face with radiance. “Thank you. Maybe one good thing came out of this. Perhaps I’ll finally find my real family.” She closed her eyes a moment. “A sister.” Her gaze popped open.

  “Baby…” he trailed off, fighting nausea.

  He did not even know what to say. Every word would either drip with lies or find him falling into a deeper pit of misery. Bitterness slid over his tongue. He could not tell her he knew her sister. He had married her. Loved her. Now, Olivia was dead. His heart ripped open at the mere thought of uttering one syllable of the truth.

  Dread ate a hole through his heart. The pain of losing Brooke was more than he could withstand and a thousand times stronger.

  A small laugh tipped her lips. “I know, I won’t go crazy over this, but just the idea makes me so free and light. I can’t contain my excitement.” She grabbed the USB, offering it to him. “Take this and let me know if you find anything.” Kissing his cheek briefly, her smile never faded. “I’m about to grab some files and get started.” Then she left.

  Damon fisted the USB drive, wishing to crush it to dust.

  How did this end up in Brooke’s apartment? Had it been mixed in with her uncle’s personal effects or had someone planted it in her apartment—someone wishing to expose everything?

  The truth would not set him free—it would bury him and his newfound feelings for the most precious woman to walk into his life.

  Dumping the USB drive into his suit pocket, he left Brooke’s office. He would hand this over to Kirk. Maybe he could discover something. But hell was pulling him under and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

  ****

  Brooke and Damon settle into a working rhythm together. They shared smiles and polite conversation regarding work, but nothing more. No more anything. Not even updates on the possibility of finding her biological family. The only regret she had was that she hadn’t copied the files on her computer too. She could have done an Internet search, but there was no use wishing back time. She would bide her time and see what Damon came up with.

  She often wondered if she had dreamed up the kisses they had shared or the closeness of disclosing her memories with him. There were moments when she had found him staring at her, and then he had looked away, but not before, she had glimpsed the sad look on his face. She sensed something was wrong.

  Why was she obsessing over him?

  He was her boss and she knew nothing should change that. Especially now. Yet tell that to her heart. The more she tried to put a lid on her emotions, the deeper she fell for him.

  After her first week at S-Tec, she headed to see Harry Saturday morning with Shem as her driver. Damon insisted to come with her, but he stayed outside the Ascent doors, pacing. She wondered why he came, yet she was happy for his close proximity. His presence bestowed an inner peace within her, even if he acted as if he was mad at the world and deeply troubled.

  Harry looked much better, though the haggard lines around his eyes were more pronounced. If anything, he appeared thinner and older. She had to save him—from himself.


  “I’d like close the business,” she said firmly, trying to sound like a grownup who had the right to make all the decisions.

  Harry gave her a hardened expression, as if his stubbornness kicked in. “Lady Bug, don’t make rash decisions. This week has been fine. No hiccups. No threats. Just business as usual. There’s no need to close the doors. And I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  “I disagree,” she said, shaking her head. “God knows what’s happening and I will never be able to live with myself if something happens to you.” She moved closer, laying a hand on his arm. “You’re all I have.” She failed to mention the possibility of finding her biological family.

  His eyes softened. “You’ll always have me, Lady Bug. That will never change. However, I will not allow you to close Ascent. I made a promise to Donnie to keep this place going and I will,” he vowed, referring to Uncle Duck by his other name. His gaze flicked over to the glass doors. “What’s his story? And why is he guarding you like a man possessed? Has something else happened?”

  She followed his line of sight, peering at Damon. He was on his phone, and by his expression, he did not appear to be happy. “Not that I’m aware of. He’s my new boss,” she said, wincing a little when Harry raised an eyebrow, obviously not convinced.

  “Since when have you taken up lying, Lady Bug?” He sighed, turning to face her. “I know you like no one else. I was there when you scraped your knee the first time. I was there when you liked your first boy, though I had nothing but fear. I was the one to buy your first package of feminine products because Donnie was too embarrassed—the point is—I know you well. I can see how he looks at you and how you look at him.”