Page 25 of Skin Deep

The tension stretched out between them, thick and as delicious as it had been the night before. She could still feel the echoes of pleasure his fingers had pulled from between her legs.

And she was still more than a bit nervous about what he’d meant when he’d said that this time, they’d do things his way. It was in her nature to poke, though, so she went with her gut. Rather than scribble her name in the corner of the paper to sign it, she pressed it to her lips. A moment later she pulled away, a round, red-lipsticked kiss in place of a signature.

She looked at him as she handed it back and saw the same flicker of heat that had ignited low in her belly. She sucked in a deep breath, smelled expensive cologne and laundry detergent, and knew she was in trouble.

“What are you doing here?” She closed her sketchbook, tucking it back in her bag. Rubbing her hands over her skirt to rid them of the pastel dust, she finally noticed the market bag and bouquet that he’d set on the steps beside her when he’d approached. “What’s this?”

“Bribery.” He grinned sheepishly before swinging himself down to sit beside her. “I thought I’d bring out the big guns, since I might have guilt-tripped Theo into letting me crash your family dinner.”

“Bribery?” Her brow furrowed as she grabbed the bag from him and riffled through it. She huffed out a breath when she felt its heft. Fingers crinkling cellophane, she removed a gift bag, whistling when she lifted it up to eye its contents. “If this is for Meg, you’ve got her number. If you’re not careful, actually, she’ll dump John and marry you.”

“Pink salt, capers, kalamata olives, sun-dried tomatoes and a whole bunch of cheese.” Amy made a face, genuinely impressed. “Excellent choices for the food-loving chef. You’re observant.”

“I had some help,” he offered, shrugging off her compliment. “I, ah, asked my parents’ chef for some recommendations.”

“Your parents have a chef?” She wasn’t shocked by this—she’d grown up close to Theo, and when his Brazilian mother hadn’t been in the kitchen, they’d been known to hire the job out. Still, it was a little thorn on the stem of this moment, the reminder of just how different they were.

“Don’t do that,” he said, placing a hand on her knee. Warmth radiated out from the touch, and she wanted to nuzzle into his arms like a kitten, which was part of the problem. “Don’t pull away. Here, let me distract you.”

He thrust his other parcel into her face. The blossoms of the bouquet tickled her nose and she laughed.

“They’re beautiful,” she admitted, admiring the multicolored roses—she didn’t stop to count, but there had to be at least two dozen.

“Don’t get any ideas, now.” He bumped her shoulder with his own companionably. “Those are for your mom.”

He’d brought flowers for Mamesie? And had taken the time to select the perfect hostess gift for Meg? Against her better judgment, her heart did a funny little quiver in her chest as she realized the lengths he’d gone to here...just for her.

“She’ll love them.” She tried to keep her voice light. “Roses are her favorite.”

“How about you?” He took the bouquet back, sniffing at the flowers. “What’s your favorite?”

“I like roses, too.” She was a little disappointed, in the most irrational of ways, that the flowers weren’t for her after all. “Not red, though. There’s this orangey-pink color of them you see sometimes. Those are the ones I like.”

“Damn it. I was so close.” When he set Mamesie’s bouquet down, she saw that he’d had not one bundle of flowers, but two. The second was much smaller, a single rose with a spray of greenery, and this he handed over with another one of those sexy-as-sin smiles of his. “I guessed orange. Now I know.”

“I—what?” She looked from the blossom in her lap to Fred, then back to the flower. It was perfect, a true, sugary-soda orange, and smelled like nectarines. “This is for me?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” He reached out to toy with his fingers. “Haven’t you ever gotten flowers before?”

She hadn’t, but if she told him that, she’d be admitting the significance of this moment. Instead she pushed abruptly to her feet. Turning, she stood between his spread thighs, placing her hands on his shoulders for balance.

“I know you said we’re going to do things your way,” she started, arching an eyebrow, “but is it possible that your way might involve getting out of here?”

Placing his hands on her hips, he tugged her closer, then brushed his lips over the swells of her breasts, through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. She shivered as he dipped his thumbs beneath the waistband of her skirt and rubbed gently.

“Ever been on a bike?”

“Like...a community cruiser?” She was confused. “Not how I pictured you getting around.”

“Like a motorcycle, brat.” He ran those thumbs over her belly to meet in the middle, where he toyed with the button of her skirt. “Ever ridden one of those?”

“What kind of stereotypical tattoo shop owner would I be if I hadn’t?” She grinned at him, then gestured to her skirt. “I’m not exactly dressed for it, though. We might have to get up close and...personal.”

She yelped when he stood abruptly. Lifting her with him, he slung her over his shoulder and jogged down the steps.

“I’m counting on it.” She laughed like a loon as he carried her halfway down the block, leaving his packages behind on the front steps of Meg’s kitchen. When they reached his bike, he slid her slowly back down his body, and the journey down all those hard planes stole her breath.

Placing her back on her feet, he slid his hands up under the hem of her skirt to cup her ass. The street was quiet, though not deserted, but she didn’t care who saw as he massaged her skin, bared by a lacy thong.

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