Under His Skin

by Nicola Marsh

  Sure, she dated. She hadn’t completely given up hope of finding a genuine guy. But her in-built self-protective mechanism ensured that whenever a guy got too close she found herself picking faults, picking fights or being picky in general, doing whatever it took to sabotage the relationship. Not a great trait for finding any kind of lasting happiness; then again, Willem’s deliberate destruction of her naïve love meant she didn’t believe in anything long-term so it didn’t fuss her.

  No man perturbed her; she didn’t let them get close enough. Yet Logan bloody Holmes, with his broad shoulders, smouldering blue eyes and cheeky grin, had made her discombobulated since the moment he’d strode into her favourite café as if he owned the place.

  She’d first learned the phrase ‘sex on legs’ when she’d been fourteen, after smuggling a bag of illicit romance novels into her room. Nothing got past Mrs Folsod, the housekeeper, a woman who Hope assumed to have been an off-the-books operative for MI6 because the battle-axe had been that good at snooping and ferreting out secrets. But those fabulously eye-opening books had made it past the old bat and Hope had devoured them, savouring every saucy page. She’d learned a lot from those glorious books: the art of self-pleasuring, how raunchy sex could be beyond the boring sex-ed classes at the snobby private school she had attended and many intriguing terms, including the one that described Logan perfectly—sex on legs.

  Muscly legs too, from what she’d glimpsed beneath his denim. The fabric outlined a sensational butt too. As for those forearms...corded with muscle, tanned, with a fine dusting of dark-blond hair the same colour as that on his head.

  It looked as though he hadn’t had a haircut in a while, the shaggy surfer style suiting him, drawing attention to those cut cheekbones and jaw, accentuating the unique blue of his eyes. They reminded her of a Yorkshire sky on a perfect summer’s day, which was crazy, considering she hadn’t been home in five years.

  ‘Hope?’ He snapped his fingers in front of her face and she wrenched her attention back to him.

  He’d said ‘anything’s doable’ in a tone so loaded with innuendo she’d clenched her thighs, like she had thirteen years earlier reading that first racy novel.

  Sure her cheeks must be a fiery beacon to her embarrassment, she mustered a disinterested expression. ‘I want to know if you can turn this space into a state-of-the-art recording studio.’

  When he grinned, she knew she hadn’t succeeded in fooling him and she almost sagged in relief when he stopped staring at her with those too-knowing eyes and glanced around the room.

  ‘This is one quirky space.’ He pointed to the cracked glass ceiling. ‘Looks like a few birds ended up with a headache up there.’

  ‘It was like that when I bought it.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘About a month after I arrived in Australia, five years ago.’

  ‘Yet you still sound like the Queen.’

  She laughed at his lame impression of a British accent. ‘I love living here but I can’t quite manage a “no worries, mate” yet.’

  ‘Takes practice.’ He winked and that heat in her cheeks spread to every inch of her yearning body.

  God, it was embarrassing how long since she’d last had sex. One year? Two? She’d given up counting around the time she’d had her third putrid date via an online app one of her students swore by.

  Her unintentional celibacy had to be the reason she wanted to push this rugged, sexy Aussie down onto the floor and mount him.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  To make matters worse, he took a step closer, bringing him within touching distance. He smelled good too, like cut grass on a rainy day. Earthy. Wholesome. It made her wonder what he would taste like...

  Crap. Thinking about those old novels wasn’t good.

  ‘I’m fine, it’s a tad hot in here.’ She refrained from fanning her cheeks, just.

  ‘Really?’ His gaze locked on hers and she knew without a doubt he was toying with her. ‘I guess it’s better than the initial chill.’

  The corners of his mouth quirked into a cute smirk; he wasn’t talking about the ambient temperature.

  ‘I’m reserved when I first meet people,’ she said, annoyed by the compulsion to justify herself but needing to get this guy onside because he was the best for her needs. The needs of her studio, that was, and the first step to really proving herself in the music industry. Her story, and she was sticking to it. ‘I can come across a little cold.’

  ‘Brr...try freezing.’ He mimicked a shiver and rubbed his arms, drawing her attention to his fine biceps and pecs straining beneath the simple white cotton of a button-down shirt.

  Seriously rattled by the urge to keep ogling him, she gritted her teeth. ‘Do you want this job or not, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘Uh-oh, the thermostat got turned down again.’ His teeth fake-chattered and she bit back a laugh. ‘And for what it’s worth I don’t give a fuck about this job. I run one of the top specialised construction companies in the country. I don’t advertise because word of mouth recommendations will keep me busy with potential business for the next few decades.’

  He took another step closer and she held her breath. ‘So let’s get one thing straight. The real question here is whether I choose to do your job and whether you can afford me.’

  Nobody spoke to Hope like this, ever. From the moment she’d been born into the illustrious McWilliams family, everyone around her had kissed her aristocratic ass. She’d thought it the norm until she’d grown older and wiser, around the age of seven, when one of the maids’ daughters had called her a stuck-up prig. She’d been shocked to be disliked for the first time in her life and hadn’t liked it. Her parents had deferred to her and the domestic staff had too; even her teachers had been politely fawning.

  The problem with everyone pandering to her meant she could never fully trust when someone liked her for herself. And she’d made a monumental mistake in her personal life because of it.

  She couldn’t tell the difference between suck-ups and sincerity. So she really admired those who didn’t kowtow to her. Like Logan.

  ‘Sorry if I offended you.’ She offered the same smile she’d used to great effect over the years when wheedling exactly what she wanted out of her parents. ‘I revert to my English roots all too quickly when I’m bamboozled.’

  ‘I have that effect on you?’

  Damn, in her efforts to calm him she’d slipped up and said too much. ‘I meant the upcoming renovations and my eagerness to get them done quickly.’

  She gestured at the walls to emphasise her point but by the glint in his eyes he knew her excuse was BS.

  ‘Right, the renovations,’ he drawled, sticking his hands into his pockets and following her line of vision around the room. ‘Here’s what I see. You’ll need a complete revamp of the space. New roofing for a start. If you want to keep the glass dome, it’ll need to be double-glazed. But if you want this to be completely soundproof I’d ditch the glass. The flooring will be an easy fix and the walls not too hard either.’

  She could listen to him talk all day, his deep voice with the broad Australian accent as intoxicating as the rest of him. His eyes lit up as he explained the renovations, demonstrating true passion for his work.

  How would he look indulging in other passions?

  When she caught him staring at her oddly again, she quickly cleared her throat. ‘How much?’

  ‘I’ll outline all the proposed changes and costing in a formal quote I’ll email to you later, but from what I can see, including materials and labour, you’re looking at a ballpark figure of around sixty grand.’

  Hope tried to hide her surprise and failed. She wasn’t a complete novice and had obtained quotes from two other companies, both coming in at about half of Logan’s. But a fellow music teacher who also played violin in a major touring orchestra had recommended him to her. Apparently Loga
n’s company had constructed their rehearsal spaces to a standard higher than that of anything in which her friend had practised around the world and Hope had known then that she had to have him. Renovate, that was. That clarification was important for her howling libido that hadn’t quit since she’d first laid eyes on him.

  ‘Done.’

  His eyebrows shot up and his lips thinned, as if he was clamping them together with all his might to prevent from blurting that she was crazy for accepting his first offer.

  ‘I’ll settle for nothing less than the best and I know what I want.’ She stepped into his personal space, almost toe to toe, done with him toying with her. Time to regain the upper hand. ‘And I want you.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  LOGAN KNEW HOPE was referring to him doing her precious bloody renovations when she said ‘I want you’ but it took a second or two for his eager cock to catch up with his logic.

  He’d been rock-hard since he’d set foot in this room and she’d become animated, like one of those wind-up ballerinas in his mum’s old jewellery box that whirled when wound up.

  He’d tried to get a rise out of her several times, to tease her into lightening up, to see what was beneath that frosty exterior.

  He hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him.

  She stood too close, some exotic flowery fragrance reminiscent of newly budded roses teasing him to bury his nose in her neck and inhale. Close enough he could feel the heat radiating off her, as if she’d been standing next to a radiator too long. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and tiny jade flecks glowed in her eyes.

  For a second he almost lost it. He imagined backing her up against the nearest wall, flipping up that short kaftan, tearing off her panties and burying himself in deep. Or having her kneel before him, that prim and proper mouth wrapped around him, sucking him off...

  ‘I accept your offer. When can you start?’

  Logan blinked, his X-rated fantasy instantly obliterated by her coolly polite question.

  Of course he had to accept the job now, even after throwing out that ludicrously inflated price. He’d done it to see her baulk and had looked forward to bargaining with her. She had a hidden fire beneath the frost and it had come out several times already when she’d returned his quips. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to agree to it so fast.

  But he couldn’t recant now, not without appearing unprofessional, so he nodded. ‘I’ll do the preliminaries and get my team set. We can start Monday if that suits?’

  She grimaced. ‘Monday is my busiest teaching day and I don’t want my students disrupted. Can you start Tuesday?’

  Usually he called the shots on where and when his crew worked but residual guilt over the exorbitant quote for a fairly routine job made Logan nod. ‘Sure, but you’ll need to reschedule the following Monday, because a job of this magnitude may require two weeks to complete. Plus we need to factor in unforeseen hold-ups like bad weather.’

  ‘Understood.’ She twisted a strand of hair that had come loose from her elaborate topknot, gnawing on her lip absentmindedly. ‘I knew there’d be some disruption but maybe I’m better off closing and changing all my appointments for the next fortnight.’

  He nodded. ‘It would make life easier on us. We take occupational health and safety very seriously and having people around during renovations is a hazard we’d rather avoid.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He eyed her suspiciously, wondering why she sounded so meek, as though the ice princess had melted into a submissive little snowman.

  ‘I really need this to work,’ she murmured as she headed back towards the room with the instruments, winding that strand of hair tighter around her finger. ‘It has to.’

  Intrigued by her glimpse of vulnerability, he followed, stopping only to turn out the lights and close the double doors. He found her slumped on the piano stool, eyeing him with open speculation.

  ‘I have it on good authority you’re the best at what you do.’

  While he didn’t need the validation these days, it was always nice to get praise. ‘My company only takes on a limited number of boutique jobs, meaning we focus on one at a time per city, ensuring quality and attention to detail.’ He shrugged. ‘When you’re the best, word gets around.’

  ‘So I heard.’ She pinned him with an astute stare. ‘And you charge accordingly, so it seems.’

  ‘That’s right. Supply and demand.’

  Though in this case he was quadrupling his profit margins because he’d been a smart-ass trying to get a rise out of her and it didn’t sit well with him. Too late to back down now.

  When she continued to stare at him as if she could see right through his BS, he distracted her by pointing at the instruments. ‘You play and teach all these?’

  ‘Yes. Viola and double bass too.’

  ‘Wow, talented.’ The only thing he played was the fool. ‘My music tastes extend to good old country and western, that’s it.’

  ‘I’m an indie girl myself, hence the recording studio dream.’ She pointed at the closed doors, managing to surprise him once again with her eclectic taste in music.

  ‘I picked you for classical.’

  The corners of her mouth drooped. ‘I’m not some cliché. The indie scene is huge in Melbourne, which is why I want to record my own songs and then branch out into recording other artists.’

  Damn, he’d trod on a minefield without meaning to. ‘Sounds admirable.’

  ‘Are you mocking me?’

  Fuck, she really was testy about her music. ‘Not at all.’ He held up his hands. ‘Hey, the only musical talent I have is playing the washboard back in Rally-Doo and even then I was only ever mediocre.’

  Her forehead crinkled in confusion. ‘Washboard? Rally-Doo?’

  ‘It’s a tiny town near Swan Hill, in the middle of nowhere, really, where I grew up.’

  Even saying the name made him clear his throat like he’d done as a kid when the summer dust grew so thick it clogged in his nose and the back of his mouth. ‘As for the washboard, how can you call yourself a musician if you don’t know the finer points of dragging a metal brush against a piece of corrugated iron, redolent of the old washboards used in years gone by?’

  Her forehead cleared and a small smile played about her mouth. Good. He much preferred her like this rather than in the maudlin mood that had been hanging over her the last few minutes. ‘You Aussies are inventive, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘That we are.’

  They locked gazes and in that moment something in the air between them shifted and shimmered, a hint of the forbidden, straining to drag them together.

  Logan should resist. He never got involved with clients. But there was something about this woman that begged to see how far he could delve into this subtle attraction.

  ‘Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll play you some time?’

  Her eyes widened at his innuendo as he mock-slapped his head. ‘Sorry, play for you some time.’

  She continued to stare at him with those big, expressive eyes and he waited to see if she’d change the subject or spar for the sheer hell of it.

  ‘Playing any kind of instrument takes concentration, you know.’ She patted the space on the stool next to her and he found his feet moving towards her. ‘Precision. Timing. Talent.’

  He sat and her smile was pure devilry. ‘But the most important is practice. Hours and hours of practice. Listening to your instrument. Feeling your instrument. Stroking your instrument. Caressing your instrument—’

  He kissed her. He couldn’t fucking help it. All that talk of feeling and stroking and caressing had got to him.

  Her mouth opened to him and her tongue sought his, teasing his, taunting, demanding to give whatever he could. And fuck, did he want to give her everything and then some.

  She clutched at him, her hands pawing his chest, an
d when her fingers slid between the buttons of his shirt and grazed his chest he felt as if he’d stuck a sander into a tub full of water.

  She moaned as he palmed her ass and dragged her onto his lap, grinding her against the fly of his jeans, leaving her in no doubt how far he wanted this to go.

  When she started to writhe against him, as if she wanted to get closer, he slid his hands under her kaftan, encountering the soft, smooth skin of her thighs, then slid higher to her...bare ass.

  Hot damn. The prim princess went commando.

  ‘Fuck, you’re full of surprises,’ he said, squeezing the perfect handful of ass.

  ‘I’m not who you think I am,’ she murmured, nipping his ear with a sharp bite that bordered on pain, until her tongue darted out and licked it all better. The touch of her tongue lapping at his earlobe sent a jolt straight to his rock-hard cock.

  Eager to feel her wetness, he slipped a hand over her hip and between their bodies, when the blast of a trumpet made him jump.

  ‘Shit, that’s the entry bell, which means my next student is here,’ she said, scrambling off him and tugging down her kaftan. ‘You have to go.’

  He stared at her standing in front of him, wild-eyed, flushed and dishevelled, and thought he’d never seen anything sexier.

  ‘Hey, calm down—’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do.’ Her lips pursed in disapproval as he watched the woman who’d been willing and wanton on his lap a moment ago morph from warmth to cold disdain.

  ‘Fine.’

  But it wasn’t, and as he stood and readjusted himself so he could actually walk out he shot her a curious glance. How could someone change like that so quickly? He was an open book. Upfront to the point of bluntness, people knew what to expect from him. It pissed him off when people said one thing and did another, or vice versa.

  When she turned her back on him and started flipping through a music book, he said, ‘For the record, you came onto me.’

  She spun around to face him, that spark back in her eyes. ‘Go. Please.’

  She almost whimpered the last word and rather than push the issue he took pity on her. She had a student waiting and, by the way she vacillated between poised and uncertain, she needed time to pull herself together.