Page 3 of Skin Deep

She swiped over the head of his cock again, sampling the bead of moisture there before working down farther. As she gripped him with a firm hand, he imagined those roses inked on her fingers, all brushing against the steel rod of his erection.

He couldn’t hold back the growl when she closed her fist around him. Her fingers didn’t quite reach—he was lucky enough to be big everywhere—so she clamped tightly around him, creating exquisite friction as she moved her hand up and down with a twist of her wrist.

People rocked in close around them. He didn’t know if anyone could see what they were doing, and he didn’t particularly care. Emboldened by this realization, he moved one of his hands to cup her breast. She pressed against him with a needy roll of her hips as he sampled the plump mound with his hand, stroking outward to the tip. There he toyed experimentally with the nipple, the bar running through it. He knew he didn’t imagine the sharp jerk of response as he tugged on it gently, so he did it again, rolling the tip and the jewelry between his long fingers. In response she worked him faster, harder. He hadn’t come from a hand job since he was a teenager, but as the pleasure from her hand coursed through him and his vision started to blur, he knew that he was about to make a mess of himself against the soft white skin of her palm, right here, right now.

It wasn’t enough. He didn’t want to come in her hand, but in the heated cradle between her long, slim thighs. He wanted her naked and spread before him as he sampled her wet heat. He wanted those pretty nipples, tight as rosebuds in his mouth.

Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around her wrist, slowly pulling her busy fingers out of his pants. Sliding his free hand around to the small of her back, he tugged her against him, hard. His erection thickened even further when he felt her lush curves, right there against him.

When she looked up, sharp need in those blue eyes, he claimed her mouth in a kiss. He’d meant to go in gentle, but she gave way so enthusiastically, lips parting for his tongue, that he couldn’t help but accept the gift she’d given. He sipped at her, explored, the kiss somehow as dirty as fucking, and when they broke apart a moment later, both gasping for breath, he couldn’t think, only feel.

“Come with me,” he said for the second time that night.

This time, she did.

PROLOGUE TWO

Five years ago

AMY MARCHANDE WAS on fire.

She wasn’t sure what, exactly, had drawn her to the impossibly tall, lean man in the first place. He wasn’t her type at all. She usually found herself drawn to men, and the occasional woman, much like herself—a little bit wild, rough around the edges.

There was nothing rough about this man—Fred, his brother had called him—no matter what image he thought he was projecting. Yeah, she’d caught that. She was an artist, after all, and she had spent a good chunk of her life observing—people, places and things. And before she’d even approached him, she’d noticed that he didn’t quite blend in the way she was pretty sure he thought he did. His jeans, for instance—they were distressed, but in a way that suggested they’d come that way from the store, not from wear. His T-shirt was simple, but the fabric was thick, better quality than what could be found at a tourist shop. His sneakers, too, were a brand she knew was expensive.

It was more than what he was wearing, too. There was something about his bearing, the way he carried himself, that spoke of confidence, the kind that came from an upbringing of privilege. This wasn’t a man who’d ever wanted for anything, who’d ever found a hill that he couldn’t climb. Normally that was a trait that got her back up, but for some reason it didn’t with Fred. It was interesting. As was the gut punch of attraction she’d felt when she’d looked across the bar and had seen him standing there, watching the crowd. Observing, like she so often did.

In truth, she hadn’t even noticed the twin, not until he’d introduced himself. It said something about chemistry, didn’t it, that she’d had two identical men in front of her and only wanted the one?

She hadn’t been surprised when he’d led her into the Hotel Paris, a deceptively casual-looking accommodation that she knew cost a lot of money. She’d seen that privilege already, after all. She’d fumbled for a moment in the vast expanse of the marble lobby, when she’d caught the eye of a woman dressed in sleek leather pants and a long trench coat, a wealthy woman who’d looked at her wild hair and tattoos with a sneer. Despite her genuine confidence and bravado, the barb had found purchase in her tender flesh, reminding her that she didn’t belong here, that this wasn’t her world.

Then Fred had run his hand down her arm possessively, and she remembered that she didn’t have to belong here, not if she was only staying for a night. So she’d flashed the woman a cocky grin, then placed her hand on Fred’s butt as they waited for the elevator. They’d kissed all the way up, slow and dirty. Now, as he tapped the key card on the lock to his room, she felt anticipation lick along her skin like a flame.

It didn’t matter that he was clearly from one world, and she from another. What mattered was this, right here and now, in the moment.

“Lights on or off?” he asked as he guided her into the room, which was worlds apart from the hostel. The space was airy and clean, the kind of place that left little mints on your pillow before bed. She caught the upscale scent of lemongrass hanging in the air, and the slight musk of masculine sweat—of Fred.

She didn’t answer. Instead she kicked the door closed behind them, pressing until she heard it latch. She looked up, tracing his dim silhouette with her eyes, then tugged her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the side.

“Jesus.” His voice was hoarse, and she felt his stare like a touch. “Where did you come from?”

“From your dreams.” She grinned, leaning back against the door as she slowly undid the zipper of her jeans, working them down her hips, then to the floor. She stepped out, then stood naked but for the scrap of red satin that made up her thong.

She was gratified by his hoarse intake of breath, but when she expected him to move closer, to cup her breasts in his hands, he did neither. Instead, he reached out for one of her hands, tangling their fingers together loosely and tugging her forward.

“Earlier tonight, you asked if I liked to watch.” His smile was just the slightest bit crooked, and she ignored the extra little thud of her heart when she acknowledged to herself how cute she found that. His next words, though, weren’t cute at all.

“I’d like to watch right now—to watch you come.”

She inhaled, her breath shaky. He had no idea how potent he was, this self-assured man with more depth than anyone expected him to have. She might even have been fooled herself, if she couldn’t see the gleam of ruthlessness that had come into his eyes in the last few minutes, the same one she’d seen when his twin had tried to claim her.

She had no doubt that most of the world had been lulled into thinking he was easygoing, but she’d uncovered his secret—once he set his mind on something, he would pursue it until he was triumphant. She was only too happy to give herself over to what she was pretty sure were going to be entirely capable hands.

Silently, she made her way to the bed. Arching her back to give him the best view, she knelt on the bed. Gathering her long black hair, she tied it into a knot to show off the arch of her spine, the muscles of her back. She intended to drop down to all fours, to crawl across the bed and tantalize him, but before she could, he was there, his fully clothed front to her naked back.

Saying nothing, he traced a single finger down her spine. The light touch reverberated outward, waking nerve endings she hadn’t known were asleep. Leaning back, she savored the sensation of his hard chest pressed against her, then gasped when he slid both hands around to rest, palm down, on the flat expanse of her belly.

“What do you like?” He held her close as he stilled, so still that she could feel the thump of his heartbeat through his chest. She wiggled impatiently against him, but he remained frozen, holding her in place.

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