Under My Skin Read online

  I ignore my heart’s unsteady beat and focus on the facts. “Jesus, where do I need to begin?" I enumerate my list while ticking each item off finger by finger. "Number one, you work for my dad, i.e.— my dad is your boss, number two, this town is hellishly small and the minute anyone sees us kissing, you might as well smile for the engagement picture that's going to go in the Wedding section of the Tribune while I start naming our kids, number three, I absolutely cannot stand you, number four, I absolutely cannot stand your grandmother, number five, I would never dilute my gene pool with anything remotely connected to you or her—”

  I've worked up a good steam by now, but before I hit number six, I lose my breath sharply as he hauls me over the console and into his lap.

  Strong fingers wind into my hair and hold my head in place for his mouth to take over once again. I'm not a big girl, some would say I'm tiny, so he doesn't need to exert much strength in his manhandling, but I can't help the tiny thrill that courses through my body.

  And he's doing it again.

  Scrambling my brains that is, as his tongue rubs against mine before he pulls my lower lip between his teeth.

  I'm mindless as my hands start to move of their own volition. Because he’s given me his jacket, it doesn’t take much effort to pop open the first few buttons of his uniform. My hands explore the chest I've been losing sleep over for the last four weeks. The tips of my fingers dance along the hard, smooth skin of pectorals I’ve only touched in dirty dreams. He groans into our kiss, and my hands are eager to discover more so they happily journey onward over broad shoulders, defined biceps before they make their way over his--lord, even his back is muscular...

  His hands are busy, too. At one point, they settle around my waist, but now his rough fingers are traveling up the sensitive skin of my ribcage stroking and lightly squeezing all the way until he reaches the bottom edges of my lacy bra.

  A sound of protest is ripped from my mouth when he stops his journey, but then I realize he's just bringing one of his hands down to my waist. The maneuver gives him better leverage for the other hand to slide under the silky material.

  At first, his touch is teasing. His fingers flirt with the soft skin of my breast's under-swell, sweeping back and forth in an unhurried motion.

  Like we have all freaking day to do this...

  Impatiently, I wriggle in his lap and then I feel his resounding laughter trickle into my mouth.

  I don't care if he's laughing, crying, or screaming, I just want him to keep on keeping on.

  Finally, finally his thumb brushes against the sensitive tip of my nipple before he closes in on it with his index finger.

  The sensation is sharp, lovely, and I can feel it travel from the surface of my skin deep into my core.

  That might be me moaning like a banshee right now, begging for more.

  Mark doesn't disappoint. His fingers play me like he’s in the string quartet sinking with the Titanic. All I’m able to comprehend is that I need more.

  I wriggle again, a blatant plea for more, and he obliges me by using his hands to position me just right. This new configuration of our bodies causes the thick column between his legs to press against my center, and the sweet pressure causes the breath to rush out of my body.

  He’s stroking, I’m moaning, and I can’t press my body close enough. I feel like this is what I’ve been waiting to feel my entire life, this fire burning through my veins, tingling nerve endings on every surface of my skin. I hear nothing but the rhythm of my heart beating loudly, my moans, his groans, and the occasional gasp.

  It’s all music to my ears, but then a dull rapping is added to the symphony.

  Wait, what?!

  Mark

  The instant I hear tapping on the glass, I'm alert. I pull away. She's panting, and her beautiful face looks confused. Hell if I'm not puzzled either.

  That is, until I see exactly what—or rather who is responsible for the tapping.

  Grams is standing right outside of my car door, holding a Tupperware container aloft in one hand while her other hand raps so hard on my window, if it weren't bulletproof, it would have shattered by now.

  Right behind her, wringing her hands, is Liz's friend, Sophie

  Shit.

  The gorgeous girl in my lap says what I’m thinking out loud and our eyes meet again.

  She bites hard into that lower lip. Just as I’m thinking it would be me biting into that lip if it weren’t for poor timing, she loses control and a giggle slips out.

  “Oopsie,” she whispers comically. My lips twitch helplessly before she breaks out into full-blown hysterics.

  I want to join in but after a quick glance out the window, I decide it would be best to put poor Grams out of her misery. I can see her face reddening further even though it’s dark, and her eyes look as if they’re in danger of popping out from her small head.

  “It’s showtime, Princess,” I mutter lowly, and Liz manages to rein in her laughter, but not before she gives me a dimpled smile. Something sweet tightens its grip in my chest. Even though I’m pissed I lost control, I can’t help but want more.

  More of those dimples, more of that incredible mouth, more of her.

  Reluctantly, I let her go, unlock my door, and step out of my squad car.

  The words coming out of Grams’ mouth blend together in one continuous loop of sound until she trails off into silence, her eyes pinned to something behind me.

  I follow her gaze, and once again, the urge to laugh is strong.

  The urge to rip that sinful dress off of her pretty little body is even stronger.

  Instead of moving back to the passenger seat, Liz is still sitting in the driver seat, straddle style, adjusting her clothing and underthings. She moves out of the space only after she’s satisfied with how she’s arranged herself.

  Her movements should be awkward, but she’s surprisingly graceful. My eyes are glued to the taut, smooth lines of her body as she delicately contorts her body so she’s able to slide both of her sexy legs out first. I’m hypnotized further as my eyes travel up her torso and my mind goes in directions that should be criminal when your tiny, frail grandmother is standing less than two feet next to you.

  Liz has now completely extricated herself from the car, and she stands next me on those crazy sexy-as-fuck heels. I feel like we’re standing in front of a firing squad, but she’s unruffled.

  She beams. “Ladies! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  With one eye trained on Gram and one on Liz, I notice an interesting correlation:

  The redder Grams’ face gets, the wider Liz’s smile grows. Eventually, it takes over her whole face, and once more I’m held prisoner by the way she lights up. Grams momentarily forgotten, I stare at her bottom lip.

  I want to bite it.

  “Hussy!”

  My head jerks in shock, and now Grams occupies my full attention.

  Grams has had her feisty moments, namely involving her frenemies in her book club, bridge club, and knitting circle, but all in all, she’s s a typical grandmother. She makes cookies, mends clothes, volunteers at the church, and even now, she slips a twenty in my birthday cards.

  Did my elderly, sweet, pie-baking grandmother just call Liz a hussy?

  “Grandma?”

  “Mark, you don’t have the first inkling about this,” she begins defensively. The shame-faced, guilty expression she sends my way reminds me of a little girl.

  I raise an eyebrow in doubt. “I don’t have an inkling about what?” I’m not sure if the snort of laughter from my right comes from Liz, her friend, or both of them, but I ignore it and look pointedly at my grandmother, waiting for her explanation.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” she huffs, “and the good Lord only knows I’ve spent many a confession with Father Donahue repenting for my thoughts and praying for forgiveness where she is concerned, but I’ve known this girl since the day she was born, and she’s a hellion! You seem to have forgotten when she gave you brownies after baking th
em with chocoloate Ex-Lax!”

  I wince at the painful memory. I guess I’d blocked it out. If I recall correctly now, those brownies were given to Liz’s brother too.

  By now, the snorts have turned into full-blown laughter, but Liz manages to compose herself by the time she responds. Her eyes dance wickedly. “Oh Bertie. Whatever happened to loving thy neighbor, huh? Isn’t that what the good book says? Our cats don’t seem to have a problem.”

  Grams is always complaining that her cat is lured out of the house by the cat next door, and then they end up getting biblical. Once, she even tried to separate them mid-coitus and Fluffy nearly scratched her eyes out.

  Grams bristles with offense, but I can’t help but smile again. This nutty, hot girl who doesn’t seem to back down from anyone has me thoroughly entranced.

  “A lady does not discuss fornication in polite company!”

  Her reprimand falls on deaf ears. “But Bertie, that’s as biblical as it gets! Fornication is an act as old as time. Besides, speaking of old—how do you think you got here, hmm? Petri-dish babies weren’t around in the horse and buggy days, you know,” she states matter-of-factly, her eyes wide with mock innocence.

  She’s barely over five feet, but Grams still manages to look down her nose. “I don’t know what your poor parents did to deserve such an uncouth young woman for a daughter.”

  “Can’t take it? You want some smelling salts, Bertie?”

  Grams shoots Liz a look that would shrivel a lesser man or woman, but once again, she’s no shrinking violet. “Come on Bertie. Don’t look at me like I’m one of your flower beds the dogs peed on.”

  “Tinky has never relieved herself on any of my flowers, for your information. It’s that infernal beast you call a dog who’s ruined my garden!”

  “He tries to mark his territory when he senses evil! I bet your precious Tinky takes a piss too, when you’re not looking,” Liz replies hotly.

  Grams lets out a choked scream, and I worry her eyes might bulge right out of her small head.

  Apparently, the animals are more of a sore point than I thought. These two have been at it for at least five minutes, but the minute their furry friends are brought into the discussion, they both look ready to go for blood. It’s entertaining as hell to watch but something tells me if they’re not broken up soon, I’ll end up taking one or both of them into the station.

  My timing is spot on because Liz’s friend shoots me a look that tells me we’re on the same wavelength.

  There’s static from my radio as dispatch sends out a call, so she has to raise her voice to be heard. “Liz, we should go upstairs. We have that thing, you know.”

  Liz scowls. “Right,” she says tightly. “Let’s go do that thing.”

  Her friend manages to guide her up the stairs onto the second floor where their apartment is located. It looks like she’s using every bit of strength she’s got to corral all that energy up through the path. Liz keeps turning around every now and then to shoot Grams a nasty look so when she reaches the final step, I’m surprised to see her angry stare directed at me.

  “Mrs. Daniels, it was so nice to see you again. I’ll make sure to tell Mom you said hi!” Sophie yells out while she pushes her key in their door. By the time she finishes her thanks, an unholy sound gurgles out of Liz’s throat. Sophie manages to get the door open and block her erstwhile roommate just in time.

  Suddenly, it’s me, Grams, and crickets. Her shamefaced look tells me she’s got more than her fair share of explaining to do.

  “What are you doing here Grams?”

  “I made you blueberry scones,” she says in a small voice, reminding me of a little girl once again.

  I sigh and take the container from her. “Thanks Grams, but we talked about this, right? You’re supposed to call before coming over.”

  She sniffs. “I never knew we’d live in a time when a grandmother needed to call to make sure her grandson was home for a visit.”

  “What if I’m working?”

  “I called the station already. Becky told me when you were getting off.”

  I want to groan. I’d nearly gotten off with a hundred and fifteen pounds of sexy brunette on my lap, but that flame had been quickly doused.

  “Come on. Let me just put this inside and we’ll take the truck. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I can’t leave my Cadillac here overnight. What if I get robbed?”

  I give Grams an arch look. “Honey, the last time anyone stole anything around here was when the winning entry to the quilting bee circle went missing for a week.”

  The look on her face turns thoughtful, and I use her distractedness to offer “Hot chocolate at the diner?”

  “Okay, but I don’t want to take your monster of a truck. It’s too much bother for me to climb up and then have to climb down. Makes no sense.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  I leave her standing there while I sprint over to my apartment and toss the container onto the countertop. A few minutes later, I open the passenger door to my squad car so she can get in. I roll my eyes when she makes a long drawn-out scene of spraying hand sanitizer all over the seat formerly occupied by Liz before buckling her tiny, plump frame in.

  Before I get in the car, my gaze is drawn to lights flickering on in the top apartment. Through the window, I can make out the shadow of one frame, lounging against a corner wall while the outline of Liz throws her arms akimbo. I can only imagine what’s coming out of her mouth.

  And I can’t help my head from shaking or the smile from spreading on my lips.

  Liz

  I might be in the sanctuary of my own apartment, but it’s impossible to relax after my encounter with that dragon. I try to tell myself that’s the whole of it. My jittery nerves have nothing to do with the panty melting, bone dissolving, blood boiling session I had with her grandson right before.

  Sophie’s uncontrollable giggling doesn’t help either.

  Unbelievable.

  I throw my hands up in frustration. “Seriously, Sophie? You’re not helping right now!”

  She sobers for a moment and composes her expression into one of perfect seriousness. “Okay, what do you want me to do? Jilly’s is closed right now, but Dunkin Donuts is still open. They have a special on a dozen this week…hussy.”

  She cracks up.

  “It’s really unkind of you to poke fun at my pastry addiction Soph.”

  And what does she do?

  She laughs harder, to the point where she’s doubled over. I want to be put out, but her laughter is infectious, and even I have to admit that Bertie calling me a hussy after catching me dry humping her grandson is kind of funny.

  Pretty soon, I’m laughing too.

  Although, only half of it feels genuine because the other half is a cover. I realize the more Sophie focuses on the hilarity of the last twenty minutes, the less likely she is to question me about my activities before that, and sweet heavens, I definitely don’t need that right now. My lips are stretched in a smile, but all I see—no, all I feel are his smooth lips coasting down the sensitive skin of my neck before he latches onto the base and uses his mouth to suction at my pulse.

  “Liz, are you blushing?”

  It takes a few moments for me to realize Sophie is no longer laughing. I glance quickly at her face, and her mouth is still open after she’s uttered her ridiculous question. I’m tempted to tell her it’s the residual effect of Bertha’s tongue-lashing in the parking lot, not her grandson’s tongue-lashing in his squad car, but she knows me too well. I might be considered a hellion, but I’m a Catholic hellion, so I’ll end up in confession at some point during the week. Sophie will be upset if Father D gets the goods before she does, so I cave.

  “I don’t know where to begin. He kissed me—no, he did things to me in that car. I’ll never be able to look at Dad or Drew’s squad car the same after this.”

  Her pretty brown eyes widen, and she sinks into the plush second-hand sofa my parents gave us when we m
oved into the apartment. She jerks a hand at me, motioning for me to sit down too, and she regards me expectantly.

  All she’s missing is her popcorn.

  “Things like what? Handcuffs?” she asks in a scandalized whisper.

  I smirk. She’s such an innocent.

  “Want me to start at the beginning or get to the good stuff?”

  “The beginning! Don’t leave anything out!”

  “Well, you were on the phone with me when I got pulled over,” I begin.

  “Duh!”

  I frown at her. “Listen, do you want to hear this or not?”

  I’m satisfied when she looks duly chastened, so I continue. “So anyway, he is the one who pulls me over for speeding, which is a complete and utter crock by the way. I tell him Dad’s his boss, and do you know what he has the temerity to say to me? That Dad is looking to crack down on any and all traffic violations, and he’s not going to care!”

  I’m expecting a look of commiseration. Instead, she bites her lip and avoids looking me in the eye.

  What. Ever.

  “So asshole then proceeds to write me a ticket before he swaggers back to his car, I swear I still can’t believe the nerve. I was so pissed, I still am pissed. By the way, I shouldn’t have noticed his ass in my rearview mirror, but there it was. Perfection staring me straight back in my face!”

  I groan. The sound doesn’t completely cover Sophie’s giggle and I give her a mock glare. “Support, best friend of mine, support,” I remind her.

  “So how do you end up from getting his ticket to riding his joystick?”

  My face twists in disgust. “You can’t make a dirty joke to save your life, you know?”

  She waves her hand at me in a dismissive gesture. “Actually, considering it’s me, that was pretty good. Now, keep going.”

  “It’s an awful joke, Sophie. Honestly. A joystick belongs in an airplane or for one of those thingies where you play video games. I think what you meant was just stick or stick shift. And even then it doesn’t make sense because their cars are automatic, not manual transmissions.”