Page 19 of Skin Deep

“Fine.” Meg heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t think you’re coming to family dinner tomorrow night with this attitude, though.”

“Whatever.” Amy rolled her eyes at her sister. “Have fun.”

Then she was off, striding into the crowd of the bar without a second glance at Fred. Her spine stiffened when she heard him call after her, his deep voice carrying over the roar of the crowd.

He caught up to her quickly with his long stride, and she paused when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She should have turned around, but she didn’t trust herself to remain strong while looking at him, so she remained as she was, facing away.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped as he came up close behind her. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, but she could feel the heat of his body, radiating off his lean frame to warm the skin of her back. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, I have something to say to you,” he replied. If his voice had held anger, she could have pushed away, leaving him standing there alone. She didn’t hear any anger, though, just regret, so she remained where she was, silent and still.

“I need to apologize,” he continued, dipping his head so that he could place his lips by her ear.

“You think?” she retorted. It took every ounce of willpower that she possessed not to shiver in response to the fan of his breath over the lobe of her ear.

“You have every right to be pissed at me. I fucked up, big-time.” He moved in closer so that he could keep speaking over a sudden rise in the noise level. She wanted to moan softly when she felt his hips bump against hers from behind. “Please hear me out. I had no way of knowing that you were Amy Marchande when I walked into your shop with that letter. You never told me your name.”

“You shouldn’t have been delivering that letter to begin with, to anyone.” She spat out the words. “I signed that lease. I pay up every single month. Even if there was a petition against me, you and your brother and whoever the hell else you work with should have shut it down right there.”

“I agree with you,” he replied mildly, but she could tell she’d struck a nerve. “But I’m not the one in charge. I just happened to draw the short straw.”

“And then you walked in, saw someone you might like to fuck again, and decided to tuck it away for another day.” Her spine stiffened as she clung to her righteous anger. “Gee, I wonder why I’m upset?”

“Don’t twist this around.” His hands found her hips, tugging her back against him, and she fought to remain stiff, not to let her body yield to his. “It wasn’t like that at all, and you damn well know it. Please let me say I’m sorry.”

“Fine.” The word burst out of her like a plea, but whether it was for him to let her go or to hold her closer, she had no idea. “Apology accepted. Now, I’m going home to bed.”

His fingers clenched on her hips, and she struggled to reach for her self-control as she added, “Alone.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured in her ear. This time his lips touched the seashell curve, and this time she couldn’t hold back her shudder. “Please.”

“What did you have in mind?” This, this she could handle—flirtation. Lust. “Keep in mind how much you owe me.”

He huffed out a laugh, a low sound that did something funny to her insides, then used the hands on her hips to guide her in a half circle. She arched into his touch as he gave her a gentle push back in the direction of their table.

“We’re going to go sit down again.” His voice was dark, delicious. “Right at that little table, right beside one another.”

“Oh?” Her voice was faint; she didn’t know how he could still hear her over the music and the crowd. “And what will we do then?”

He laughed again, sounding nothing like the careful lover she remembered from Amsterdam, or the frenzied one she’d ridden in her shop.

“Then we’re going to do whatever I want.” This was a man in control, so completely unexpected and yet so completely right that the possibilities made her legs quiver. He nudged her forward, and she took a step, her senses suddenly on fire. “Now go.”

Swallowing thickly, she did as she was told—in truth, she couldn’t imagine refusing. Hyperaware of Fred at her back, she made her way back to the table. When Meg, John, Theo and Fred’s twin looked up at them questioningly, she forced her face into a smile, certain that she looked more than a little crazy.

“I think I’m going to stay,” she said brightly, reaching for the bottle of beer that was still sitting on the table. “I got a second wind!”

“Great,” Meg replied slowly, scrutinizing Amy’s flushed cheeks. “We were just about to get up and dance.”

“I’m right behind you!” Squeezing into the booth, Amy hip-checked Theo. Grumbling, he shifted over, making space for her and Fred to sit. Amy clasped her beer like she was clutching a life preserver, waving it in the air for everyone to see. “You guys are three drinks in, though. Let me just catch up and I’ll be right there!”

Meg, John and Theo were all regarding her as though she’d grown a third head, and she didn’t blame them. She sounded practically perky, not a look she usually wore. Fred’s twin, however—was she remembering right that his name was Frank?—was watching her intently, curiosity written all over his face.

He might have been Fred’s brother, but the expression made her want to sock him in the nose. It was one she was well familiar with, the look a man gave her when he was thinking about taking a walk on the wild side.

She wasn’t here to be any man’s tattooed little experiment. If they didn’t want her for who she was, then they didn’t get any of her, at all.

She willed Frank to head off to the dance floor with the others. He did not; rather, he sat sipping his beer and looking from her to Fred as though there was a puzzle there that he had to solve.

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