by L. A. Witt
“Not your thing?”
He shrugged. “I’ve done a few, but I think theirs are way better.” Lucas laced his hands behind his head and stretched, oblivious to the way his shirt pulled smooth and tight over his stomach, or how it lifted just enough to offer a sliver of fair skin above the waistband, or how much that was killing Nate. Gaze still fixed on the wallpaper of tattoos, he said, “You could also go for something abstract or tribal. Or like a Celtic knot.” He motioned toward some designs made up of thick black lines and curves. “I could blend the tiger stripes pretty easily into . . .” His gaze shifted back to the tattoo, and he scowled.
“What’s wrong?” Nate asked.
Lucas studied the tattoo for a moment, then shook his head and looked at the wall again. “Just trying to figure out how to incorporate the tiger’s colors into something like that.” He gestured at the designs. “They’re usually just black, but I’m sure I could figure something out.”
Nate let his gaze shift from one design to the other. They all definitely worked as solely black tattoos. Adding more colors didn’t seem right. Not that he had much of an artist’s eye, so maybe Lucas could come up with something Nate couldn’t envision. He was the professional, after all. So maybe—
Movement in the mirror caught his attention, and he looked.
And busted Lucas checking him out.
He was inconspicuous about it—Nate had to give him credit—but there was definitely something less than professional about the way those blue eyes were giving him a slow, indulgent sweep. And he was doing that lip bite thing again too. Fuck.
Nate turned to him, and Lucas jumped. The marker in his hand tumbled to the floor. Clearing his throat, he leaned down to grab it, but not before the deep pink bloomed in his cheeks. As he sat up again, he made an admirably subtle gesture—one Nate wouldn’t usually have noticed—of adjusting himself.
Holy shit.
Lucas met Nate’s gaze, and they stared at each other for a moment.
You thinking what I’m thinking?
Don’t know—what are you thinking?
Nate shifted as surreptitiously as he could. They both cleared their throats. The silence was taut and uncomfortable and fucking loaded with all kinds of suggestions just waiting to be made.
Swallowing hard, Lucas uncapped the marker. “I should, uh . . . keep tracing this.”
“Right. Good idea.”
They made eye contact once more.
Then Lucas’s hand was on his arm. The pen was against the plastic.
He kept tracing.
And Nate’s sanity kept hanging by a very rapidly fraying thread.
About the Author
Author photograph © Chavell Parker Photography
L. A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut . . .
You can find her on the Web at www.gallagherwitt.com, or on Twitter @GallagherWitt.
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Also by L. A. Witt
Back Piece
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Excerpt: COVER UP
About the Author
Also by L. A. Witt
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
POUNDING SKIN. Copyright © 2017 by L. A. Witt. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover photographs: man © Oleksandr Zamuruiev/Shutterstock.com; tattoo © Tuco Gecko/Shutterstock.com
e-ISBN 978-1-250-14202-3 (ebook)
First Edition: July 2017
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