Page 1 of Skin Deep

PROLOGUE ONE

Five years ago

FRED VAUGHAN LOVED AMSTERDAM.

It was the last stop on the European trip he and his twin, Frank, had taken to celebrate the end of their undergraduate degrees. In the fall they would both be back at school—Frank for a master’s in business, and he to law school—and the trip had been a graduation gift from their parents, albeit a begrudging one on his father’s part. Frederick Vaughan Sr., had expected both of his sons to spend the summer working at Vaughan Enterprises, the massive development conglomerate that his own father had started, but he’d been overruled by his wife.

Fred was grateful. As a Vaughan, his future was set in stone, and he’d known that since childhood. He hadn’t ever thought he’d minded, either, until he’d had his undergrad diploma in hand and realized that, after four years of killing himself studying while his peers partied, he was about to head right back into the grind. The weight of expectation had started to wrap thin tendrils around him, to tug at his limbs, his skin. Tendrils he thought he could break free of, but the more he pulled against them, the further into the morass he sank.

So really, he would have loved anywhere that wasn’t school, or home. Anywhere he felt free. But...he really did love Amsterdam. He loved the history, so rich and old that it made the roots of Boston feel shallow. He loved the beaches and the confidence that the European women wore like a second skin.

He loved the culture, the clubs. And tonight, their last night there, he loved the throb of the dance music in his veins, the rumble of the bass beneath his feet. He loved the icy chill of the beer in his hand and the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. He wasn’t much of a dancer himself, but he could watch the movement all night. The people. The connections—friends and love and, best of all, lust. People coming together for a moment or an hour or a night.

“You like to watch?”

The voice was husky, pitched lower than the din of the club. He looked down—he and Frank always had to look down, because they were each six feet four inches tall—and found himself on the receiving end of an assessing gaze from a pair of bright blue eyes. Those captivating eyes were set in a fairy-tale princess face, though he had the instant certainty that she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

Caught by the question and the intensity of those eyes, he took a moment to reply, a single impression working its way through his brain to his mouth. “Is that a Boston accent I hear?”

“Ten points for the pretty boy.” She grinned up at him, a saucy curve of full lips painted bright pink, and his eyes tracked the movement. “You expected something else? You sound surprised.”

He had been, in fact, and by more than the surprise of finding someone from his faraway hometown here in Amsterdam. Though her face was delicate and feminine enough to have fit in among the pedigreed women he’d left back home in Boston, it was surrounded by long, wild black curls A silver ring pierced her right eyebrow, and thick black eyeliner accentuated that deep blue of her gaze. In short, she looked wild. Untamed. Like she’d sprung from the earth right here in Amsterdam, a magical creature wrought from his wildest dreams.

Looking down into fierce eyes, he felt something stirring inside him. Some kind of primal need awakened, unspooling from a tight knot in his gut, answering her call.

“You’re staring,” She waved an arm in the air and leaned on the bar to catch the attention of the bartender, who came running the second he caught a glimpse of her lush cleavage. This gave Fred a moment to admire the tattoos that decorated her arms, which were bare, revealed by a simple white tank top. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you that’s rude?”

He’d never really liked tattoos before. No, that wasn’t entirely true—he’d never given them much thought, especially not as applied to women. He was pretty sure he didn’t know any women who had one.

“Is it rude if I’m admiring you?” He wasn’t sure where the words came from. He did well enough with women, but his brother was the player—a player he’d forgotten was standing right at his elbow.

“Smooth, Fred.” Frank grinned at him. Fred scowled as his brother stepped forward, drawing the attention of the ethereal creature in front of them. “Hi, I’m Frank. If you’re interested in the looks without the corny lines, I’m your man.”

This wasn’t a new scene—Frank had been cockblocking him since they’d both hit puberty—but this time Fred felt irritation flickering little fingers into his veins. He was the easygoing twin, and usually he just shrugged it off when his brother swiped a woman out from under his nose. There were plenty of fish in the sea, after all, and he attracted plenty of his own.

This woman, though? He was intrigued. He’d punch his own twin in the face before he let her go with Frank.

The woman had looked from Fred to Frank, her lips curving with amusement.

“Nice to meet you, Frank.” The woman smiled up at his twin, that sexy voice curving like smoke around her words. Fred puffed his chest out, about to tell his brother to beat it, but he quickly discovered that there was no need. “Wanna go away now and let me hit on your brother?”

Both twins choked out a startled laugh. Frank looked at Fred, and Fred had a tense moment in which he wondered if his twin was going to push his point. Instead, Frank shrugged before wandering off into the dancing throng of people.

“Are you always so...” He trailed off as he searched for the correct word. She grinned, the smile like lightning in a dark sky.

“Forward? Abrupt? Rude?” She accepted one of the shot glasses the bartender handed her. As she wrapped her fingers around the small glass, Fred noticed that she had a delicate black rose tattooed on the top of each of her four fingers, excluding her thumb.

“Assertive,” he countered. He had a sudden vision of that hand, those roses, wrapped around his cock. Heat licked up his spine when she handed him a matching shot glass.

“Generally, yes.” She studied the golden liquid in the shot glasses for a moment before shooting him a challenging glance. “Does that offend your delicate sensibilities? Are you one of those men who needs to be in charge?”

He thought about this for a moment. Thought about the men he knew back home. This woman’s overt confidence would rub them all the wrong way, he knew that without a doubt. Probably because they didn’t have much of their own. They were used to women with good family names, women who’d been raised to support the men in their lives. Women who didn’t challenge.

He’d never been overly interested in those women, at least not for longer than one night. Now, as if she’d just appeared, was a woman he found fascinating, and he wasn’t interested in anything except being honest.

“I like being in charge.” He tapped his shot glass against hers. “I like it even more when a woman knows exactly what she wants.”

He watched as something sparked in her eyes, a deep blue glitter. He couldn’t hear her sharp inhalation of breath, not over the thundering music, but he saw it. Watched the swells of her high, tight breasts press against the thin fabric of her top.

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