Under My Skin Read online

  “You wouldn’t.” His jaw clenches.

  I smile widely. “You want to try me and see what happens?”

  He doesn’t call my bluff.

  My body vibrates with triumph when his shoulders slump in defeat. He mumbles something.

  “What’s that?”

  “I can’t undo the invite. Mark’s already on the roster and we need him on the team because Cal tore his ACL and he’s going to be out for the rest of the season. Promise Lizzie, I didn’t ask Mark to be on the team just to spite you.”

  I stare at them both in equal measure, my shame-faced brother and the god-like, muscled jerk who’s got my underwear feeling like a slip n’ slide. “Fine, whatever,” I say, shaking my head. “Just don’t mess with me, either one of you or you’ll be sorry. Come on Sophie.” I grab my best friend’s arm and we stalk off towards the center of the diamond to play our game.

  When we’re a good distance from the guys, Sophie moves her other hand away from her mouth and starts laughing so hard, tears come to her eyes. “Oh my God Lizzie, that was amazingly hysterical.”

  I don’t return her laugh or smile because I’m in full-on battle mode. It’s me against my brother, me against the other team, me against my hormones.

  It might as well be me against the world.

  “Sophie, you’d better play your pretty little ass off today. If we don’t win this game, I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

  Mark

  The team captains meet in the center of the field to flip the coin and see which team is up to kick first.

  I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s her team’s captain. She lets out a loud whoop when the coin lands on the side she’s called. She jumps up and down, clapping her hands and causing her tits to bounce softly.

  They can win this game easily. All they need is for her to keep doing that, and I might as well sit out the entire thing.

  She’s trouble. I know this girl is trouble. She’s too sexy, too feisty, and too damned smart. That combined with her obvious flair for the dramatic is a dangerous cocktail. Normally, it’s one I try to avoid, and the fact that I need to focus my energy on this investigation makes it even more important that I stay away.

  But when Drew asks me if I want to join the league, and he mentions I’ll have a chance to exact revenge on his sister because his team is playing her team…I can’t say no.

  I tell myself it’s because there are other guys from the force on the team, and it will be a good bonding experience.

  But right now, as she’s shouting encouragement to her team and insults to mine, the only bonding I want to happen is between her body and mine. The sky is a mix of blues, purples, and deep oranges, and with the stadium lights shining down on the diamond, it’s the perfect backdrop for her. She’s wearing soft pink cotton shorts that hug her curvy ass and show off her shapely, tanned thighs. On top, she’s got on a snug baseball tee in white and a darker shade of pink than her shorts. It matches the pink Adidas on her small feet and pink Mets cap she’s got pulled over her head.

  Figures she’s a damned Mets fan.

  It’s just another in a very long list of obvious reasons that all signs point to trouble.

  But my head is incapable of making rational decisions because it seems to have ceded all control to my other head. Case in point, when she started talking about her yoga class earlier and my mind started to make a list of different positions to try.

  I watch her like a hawk during each inning. She tries to pretend like she’s oblivious, but a few times, I catch her looking at me curiously. She should look ridiculous, like a cotton candy machine exploded all over her, but instead she looks delicious.

  Like a piece of candy I want to devour.

  I want to find out how many licks it will take me to get to the center.

  It’s a fucking miracle I manage to connect my foot with the ball each time I’m up to kick. By the time we’re in the ninth inning, her team is up by one. We’ve got two people out, and the bases are fully loaded with me on third, ready to slide home. She’s pitching the ball. All we need is a decent kick for me to make a run for it and we’ll either tie the game or win it.

  Her brother’s up to kick. She bounces from foot to foot with the ball in her hands. Not for the first time, she reminds me of one of those cartoon boxing kangaroos. The thought makes me smile, especially when I think of how she served his ass back to him earlier. “Drew, you ready to get your tighty whities handed to you?” she yells obnoxiously.

  He flushes a deep red, scowls, and mutters something under his breath. If I judge by the movement of his lips, it looks like “bitch.”

  I choke out a laugh, but then she rolls the ball, and his foot flies out and connects. The ball flies through the air, and I’m off running to home.

  Until a shrill scream pierces the air.

  It’s Liz.

  I freeze halfway between the bases, and my eyes seek her out. She’s in the middle, clutching the ball to her stomach. It looks like when someone threw it to her, they threw it into her because now she’s doubled over in pain and her shoulders are shaking.

  Shit.

  “Keep running, you asshole!” Drew shouts. “Keep running. Get that base!” He continues screaming for me to run home, and I flip him the bird as I jog over to Liz.

  His sister’s in pain, and all he can think about is winning a lame kickball game?

  I’m halfway to her when she suddenly stands upright, ball in hand and an evil gleam in her gemstone blue eyes. She smirks at me.

  It’s almost comical when I realize I’ve been had. I try to turn around and run back to the base, and I get close, but not close enough. I throw myself toward the plate, my hand reaching out to touch the white rubber, but it’s seconds after the fourth baseman catches the ball.

  “Out!” the umpire yells.

  Her team, aptly called the Pink Ladies, lets out a round of shrieks, whoops, and catcalls. I rise to my feet as Drew makes his way over to me. “Dude, what the fuck?” he growls. “Don’t you know she plays dirty?”

  She does, and the knowledge shouldn’t make my cock twitch in admiration.

  She’s standing in the center of her team, laughing and smiling, sexy dimples and all. Her eyes meet mine in a challenging, almost defiant gaze. I lift my chin in acknowledgement, and she blushes.

  “Guess I just have to play dirtier then.”

  Liz

  “Sophie, I swear I’m going to scream. Fucking hell. This sucks. You better move the phone away from your ear,” I warn.

  I'm angry, and my foot presses down on the pedal hard as I drive through the narrow road in the dark.

  “Don’t scream Lizzie. Let’s talk it out. It couldn’t have been that bad,” she says soothingly.

  "David only talked about his Star Wars fan fiction while he stared down my shirt all night. He also promised to send me a link to his stories later on tonight. I mean, seriously, this is unacceptable. I wish I were a lesbian. Do you think lesbians have it easier?” I wonder aloud.

  "Ummm. I’m sure everyone has their fair share of dating woes regardless of what sexual orientation you are,” she says diplomatically. “Anyway, why don't you stop dating dorks like David? Jeez."

  My hackles rise. “Because your mom set me up with him, remember? I should have known Jeannie would set me up with a freak,” I mutter.

  She stifles a laugh on the other end. “Well, Lizzie, you didn’t have to accept,” she points out, and I sigh.

  She’s right.

  The only reason I even agreed to it was because I can’t get him out of my head.

  It doesn’t help that he’s started coming into Jilly’s Javabeans for coffee during every shift I work — morning or afternoon. Sometimes he’s in his uniform on the way to work, but a few times, he’s come in after a run to grab a bottle of water.

  In his wifebeater.

  Sweaty and hot and power-of-speech robbing.

  Always smirking at me.

  Ass.
/>   “Well it seems like Mark is interested.”

  “I don’t care, he’s an ass! I’ve already told you how smug and self-righteous he was when we were younger—not to mention the fact that he joined forces with jerk-face Drew to torture me. Who do you think it was that started laughing when those tissues floated out of my bikini and into the pool? Mark! He got everyone else to join in. Do you know how humiliating that is for a thirteen year old girl?” My foot presses harder on the gas and I scowl.

  On cue, red and blue lights flash behind me and a siren goes off.

  “Fucking, fucking hell Soph. I’m getting pulled over. Let me call you back,” I promise as I pull over to the shoulder and put my hazards on. She murmurs sympathetic noises while I reach over to the old dashboard and pound on the lock to make it open. As I retrieve my insurance papers, Sophie disconnects the call and I pull my Bluetooth from my ear and toss it onto the passenger seat.

  Perfect.

  This is just great.

  First, the millionth horrible date from hell and now I get pulled over.

  I didn’t even glance at the speedometer when I heard the sirens first go off, so I’m not sure how much over I was.

  But I know I was definitely over.

  I can’t deny my reputation as a speed demon, but there are two things that differentiate me from the average speed demon.

  Number One: I am a safe speed demon.

  Number Two: Daddy is the chief of police.

  It’s too dark for me to make out the face on the figure striding towards me in the rearview mirror, but the minute the barest light shines on his face, I start to curse profusely.

  My head bangs against the wheel of my car.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  This is what I get for lusting myself into a mess of soaked panties in God’s house of worship.

  Pad, pen, and flashlight clutched in one hand, the object of my reluctant desire is on his way to hand me a speeding ticket.

  Fuck it.

  I'm still peeking out of the corner of my open eye, head still bent on the wheel when I hear a sharp rap on my window.

  This cannot be happening to me.

  The rapping on my window gets sharper and harder so I'm left with no choice but to lift my head and push the down button on my window control panel.

  I may not be in control of much right now, but I can still refuse to look at him. Maybe he won't even notice that it's me.

  Of course I'm not that lucky. When am I ever lucky?

  “Princess,” he says cordially. “License and registration, please.”

  “My name is Liz,” I say tightly. “Use it.” I shove my license and insurance card out the window and stare straight ahead.

  He doesn't snatch the papers. His hands reach slowly over mine to take them. His skin is firm and hot, causing sparks of electricity to tingle along my skin when we make contact. If this is how it is when he’s barely touching me, sex with him is probably out of this orbit.

  Oh dear, sweet Lord, I'm wondering how he'll be in bed while he prepares to give me a ticket.

  I raise my hand up to my face and slowly, teasingly brush my hair out of my face to reveal my surprised eyes.

  “What a surprising coincidence,” I say lightly.

  My words feel trite and fake even to my own ears, so I try batting my eyelashes at him to distract from my discomfort. I know they look smokey and seductive because I'd done it all earlier in vain for freaking David-Star-Wars Breslin.

  Maybe it's not all a waste after all.

  He arches an eyebrow. The motion is imperious. It would be daunting to a woman lesser than me, but I hold his gaze steady as he looks into my eyes.

  And that’s a huge mistake on my part.

  If I thought his ass could get me into bed, his eyes would keep me there forever. They burn brightly, flaming at me in a way that is definitely not angry.

  He's attracted to me too.

  This is so bizarre. There are so many reasons I shouldn't want this man, and I have a feeling that the facts that he shares DNA with Bertha and I don’t like him are just the tip of the iceberg. He’s arrogant, bossy, infuriating, and he works for my dad.

  Even though I know my present situation is a recipe for disaster, I make sure I straighten my posture so the girls look their best. I have on a red clingy, sleeveless wrap dress in a soft jersey material and the neck line is a deep V. It all helps showcase my assets, probably more than they need.

  He flashes his light down at my driver's license and insurance card, but he's not looking at them.

  Oh no, his hot gaze is trained squarely on my cleavage.

  My cleavage which is now heaving because the more he stares at them, the harder I find it to breathe, and not in the way that creeped me out with David Breslin.

  I'm in so much shit right now.

  His voice is gruff when he speaks again. "Do you know how fast you were going?"

  My feminine wiles take the backseat as ire rises within me. "I was going with the flow of traffic."

  Finally, his eyes lift from my chest and pierce into mine. "There isn't any traffic," he points out.

  "So what's the problem?"

  He looks down at my driver’s license and then meets my eyes once more. “Elizabeth Marie, you were twenty miles over the speed limit going around a sharp bend."

  I ignore the fact that he’s using my full name and instead blink at him. "So? I've grown up here. I can drive around these roads fifty miles over the speed limit with a blindfold and still make it home safe."

  I didn't think it was possible, but his eyes get brighter. "So you admit you were speeding."

  "I'm not admitting to any such thing," I huff angrily. I'm angry and aroused and the only person I can blame other than me is him. "Dad is the chief of police," I inform him as if he didn't already know.

  Both of his eyebrows raise. "I know that. He's a good man, and he's also concerned about the amount of un-cited traffic violations in town." He holds my license and insurance card pressed against his pad as he copies my information onto a slim sheet of carbon-copied paper.

  "What? Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're giving me a ticket?"

  He doesn't look at me, he just continues to scrawl on that infernal pad of his while his hand moves over it in quick, blunt strokes. He finishes and hands me my license, insurance card, and the yellow piece of carbon copied paper which I know from memory is sandwiched between another sheet white, and one pink.

  "You're joking me. You know my father's your boss, right?"

  For some insane reason, the material between my legs is wet.

  Who gets turned on by getting a traffic citation?

  Yours truly.

  "Your dad may be my boss, but you were twenty over the speed limit, which means I can bring you in without having to give you a ticket. Court date's on the bottom. You can either respond in writing before then, address is on the bottom, or show up on the date and plead your case."

  Oh hell no. He did not just do this.

  "This better be a prank. I better be on Punk’d, and Ashton Kutcher better be waiting to jump out of those bushes at me. You did not just give me a ticket."

  Another arrogant brow arches, and I curse myself for noticing how attractive the slight movement makes his face look.

  Like he needs the help. Gah.

  His calmness is infuriating. “This isn’t a joke, and it just happened. Drive safely, Miss Connor.”

  “Piss off, jerk wad,” I growl angrily before jamming my finger on the window button.

  My eyes are trained on the way the material of his uniform hugs his broad shoulders in the rearview mirror before they unfailingly land on his perfect ass.

  Jerk.

  My nerves twist in a messy bundle of uncomfortable arousal and righteous indignation. Something tells me dear old Dad is going to be more amused than upset on my behalf. I crumple up the flimsy paper he handed to me and toss it to the floorboard before I turn the key in the ignit
ion.

  Instead of flaring to life, Stella, my beloved cherry red Volkswagen Jetta is silent. I turn the key towards me and once more press forward. She sputters several times, culminating in a loud hiss before she abruptly falls silent.

  I pray and cross my fingers, hoping the third time’s a charm. My brief flicker of hope at the resulting grumble is doused when the grumbles stop and I see a thin stream of smoke waft out from under the hood.

  A low scream builds in my throat and my fists bang repeatedly against the steering wheel. Each thud against the leather is accompanied by the sound of an angry horn.

  No, no, NO!

  Mark

  “Elizabeth Marie Connor.”

  Even though I’m alone in my squad car, I say her name quietly, letting the syllables roll around the tip of my tongue.

  The disbelieving look on her gorgeous face when I handed her the ticket burns in my mind. I had to fight not to burst out laughing at her expression when I told her to drive safely.

  Her full, pretty lips had pursed together in a frown, and that combined with her shiny big, blue eyes and her quickly rising and falling chest had me feeling grateful it was dark outside.

  If it had been during the day, there would have been no hiding my blatant erection. It was like my damned cock was on auto-command. I obviously need to get laid.

  Sheffield, Connecticut isn’t the biggest town, but it’s not the smallest either. She’s not the only girl in town, and besides, I wasn’t here for pussy anyway.

  But in the month I’ve been here, she’s the only girl who’s brought any excitement to the South Pole.

  And I’ve just given her a speeding ticket.

  Fuck me sideways.

  Time to move on. This girl wants to have nothing to do with you, and you have no business messing with her.

  But before I start the engine, three loud honks pierce into the otherwise peaceful silence.

  Her tail lights are still off, and she hasn't started her car. I push the handle of the squad car open and make my way back over to her.