Skin Deep
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Novels of Anna J. Evans
“Anna J. Evans weaves a tale full of passion, intrigue, betrayal, and friendship that will leave readers in awe of the raw power behind the words.”—Romance Junkies
“Enough sexual heat to create an avalanche.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“Arousing, amorous . . . pulled me right into their sexual encounters. . . . Ms. Evans’s storytelling ability was amazing, without a single flaw.”—The Romance Studio
“A powerful story about the deep and undeniable connection between soul mates....The love scenes were so primal and raw that you’re going to want to keep a spare pair of dry panties, a bucket of ice, and extra batteries nearby.”—TwoLips Review
“Extraordinary. . . . I didn’t put this down until it was read all the way through.”—Romance Divas
HEAT
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First published by Heat, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, July 2009
Copyright © Stacey Iglesias Fedele, 2009
All rights reserved
HEAT is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Evans, Anna J.
Skin deep/Anna J. Evans.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-06046-9
1. Sexual dominance and submission—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3605.V363S57 2009
813’.6—dc22 2009003253
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For Mike, my husband, love, and friend.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to Kerry Donovan, who I’m pretty sure is one of the best editors in the world, and to the entire team at NAL. You have made this process a complete joy. Thank you so much for all your hard work, commitment to excellence, and professionalism. Also a big thanks to Caren Johnson, my fabulous agent, and, as always, to my family. I treasure you all so much. Thanks for your love and support.
Prologue
She was nearly naked again, wearing nothing but tiny black panties, and his hands were everywhere but where she needed them to be. Calloused fingertips traced the column of her spine down to the small of her back, then deliberately avoided the aching place between her legs as he gripped her thighs and pulled them apart.
Wider. Wider. Strong hands moving to grip her ankles with a careless ownership that made a soft moan escape her lips.
“See there, Nicky. Aren’t you glad I caught you in time?” His voice was as rough as the rope he used to secure first one ankle and then the other to the bedpost behind her. As he worked, Nicky could feel her mind softening, sinking into a pool of cool, clear water even as her entire body caught fire.
Descending into submissive space, into that place in her mind where nothing mattered but one man and what he would command her to do, had always reminded Nicky of floating. Drifting into a delicious dream where pleasure and pain fused together, where mind and body finally made peace with each other, where her consciousness focused to a knifepoint and she finally felt completely alive.
Subbing was a better high than any drug and three times as addictive. It was like flying without any fear of the fall.
At least not any fear until it was all over . . . and it was too late to take back those parts of herself she’d given away.
“Tell me, Nicky.” He’d finished with her ankles and was now hovering above her prone form, braced on the hands he’d placed at either side of her shoulders, close enough she could feel his heat but not the comforting weight of his body. His breath was warm against the back of her neck, his lips brushing lightly against the sensitive skin as he spoke. “Tell me what you want.”
Nicky shivered, but not because of the cold. She’d grown accustomed to the chill in the cabin. Too bad she couldn’t grow accustomed to what this man did to her, couldn’t seem to control her body’s instinctive response to the dominant he’d become.
Of course, even if he hadn’t grown into just the kind of man her twisted libido craved like a fat man craves cake, just the fact that he was Jack would have probably been enough. The familiar smell of his skin made her wetter than she’d been in years, the feel of his large hands moving to her wrists had her nipples drawn into tight, aching points, and the way he said “want” was nearly enough to make her come. Right then, without as much as a fingertip between her legs.
And he knew exactly what he was doing to her. The bastard.
“Fuck you,” she whispered, the defiant words kicking her arousal into overdrive. Unfortunately for her, the only thing more arousing than being a good girl was being a bad one. That’s why she didn�
��t fight him as he rechecked the cuffs securing her to the headboard. Fighting only fueled the fire.
“I don’t think so. No more distractions. We’re going to finish this,” he said, the surety in his voice underscored by the buzzing of the tattoo machine beside the bed. Her pulse pounded unhealthily in her ears and a cold sweat broke out between her shoulder blades as she realized a needle could be only a few inches away from her skin. “Tell me what you want, Nicky. This is your last chance.”
But she didn’t say a word, only pressed her face into the cool quilt and waited for the familiar sting. Waited for Jack to mark her flesh the way he’d already marked her heart.
Chapter One
Twenty-four hours earlier
Did it still count as a kidnapping if she went with him willingly? What if she wanted out of the car once she realized they weren’t stopping anywhere inside the Los Angeles city limits? If he simply refused to stop, would that decision automatically make him a felon?
Even at sixteen, Nicky hadn’t been easily intimidated. He couldn’t imagine her sitting quietly beside him as he headed off into the middle of Bumfuck mountain country, no matter how physically intimidating most of the population found giant Jackson Bledsoe of Sin City Ink. Nicky would remember good old Jack from when they were kids, when he’d been a six-foot-two-inch beanpole with elbows bigger than his biceps who had his ass beat by their foster father on a weekly basis.
She would try to run and he’d have to use the rope he’d packed in his trunk if he didn’t want her leaping out of a moving vehicle to gain her freedom. Because she would do something like that. She’d always been wild, and from what he’d observed in the bar earlier tonight, she’d only gotten bat-shit crazier with age.
Not that he was in a position to throw stones. . . .
What he was planning was more than crazy. It was stupid, criminal, and could completely ruin the life he’d worked so hard to build. He should start up his truck and get the hell out of here right now. Do not pass go, do not kidnap the only girl he’d ever loved, do not collect multiple felony charges.
“This is crazy. You realize that, right?” His best friend and business partner, Christian, echoed Jackson’s thoughts as he took a pull on his flask. There was whiskey in there tonight, if Jack wasn’t mistaken. Jack had decided to stick with a Coke while they staked out the staff parking lot of the bar. No need to risk a DUI as well as abduction charges. “You haven’t seen her in how long? Six years?”
“Eight.”
“And she didn’t respond to any of your letters?”
Jack’s teeth ground together. “Nope.” Not with words anyway. Instead, she had ripped every letter into tiny pieces and mailed them back to his address in Vegas. So she had responded, just not in a way that made Jack think she would be accommodating to what he had in mind.
“But you still think it’s a good idea to just show up where she works and ask her to go away for a long weekend so you can work on her tat?”
“Yep.”
His friend laughed as he clapped Jack on the shoulder. “You’ve lost it, man. You really are crazy.”
If he only knew.
But Jack hadn’t told Christian his real plans. No need to make him an accessory to a felony and ruin two lives instead of one.
“Hell, who knows? She might enjoy a little vacation,” Jack said, not believing the words even as he spoke them. “Or maybe I’ll be able to change her mind about the money. Fifteen grand isn’t chump change and she must need cash. Why else would she be working here?”
“Maybe she’s slumming.” Christian shrugged as his dark eyes scanned the parking lot of the bar where they’d finally found Nicky.
It wasn’t in a bad part of the greater Los Angeles area, but it was by far the raunchiest place still serving drinks in Pasadena. Most of the town had been converted into one big outdoor mall, purely PG stuff, but the Hard Way had managed to stay open. Probably because it was the one place in the sleepy suburb where a man could still hope to see some skin while he slammed back a few beers.
The oversize bar doubled as a stage for drunk college girls looking to add their bras to the collection hanging from the ceiling and the bartenders were scantily clad ex-porn stars from the Valley. They took turns dancing on nights when the coeds were hitting the books instead of the bars.
Except Nicky, of course. She was a lingerie model for the biggest fetish store in Los Angeles. Or had been at one time. Jack hadn’t seen any new pictures of the stunning natural blonde with the big hazel eyes for nearly two years. Not that he was a glutton for punishment who checked the Good and Trashy Lingerie Web site on a weekly basis or anything. . . .
God, what was he doing here? Obsessing over Nicky’s picture on a Web site or writing her letters was one thing. But tracking her down in person with every intention of forcing her to take a little trip up to the San Bernardino Mountains was certifiably insane.
Exactly. So get out of here. Now. Before this woman ruins your life a second time.
“I don’t know, man,” Christian said, his tone revealing his obvious appreciation of Nicole “Angel” Remington. “If she looks anything like she used to, it’s hard to believe this girl can’t get modeling work anymore. I checked out the Web site this morning. I’ve never seen real tits like that. No wonder you’re still hung up on—”
Jack silenced Christian with a look. No one talked about Nicky that way, even his best friend. It didn’t matter that she’d betrayed Jackson and broken his heart back when he was a stupid kid. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone treating her like a piece of meat, even if he was planning to do nearly the same thing himself.
But then, he’d earned the right to teach Nicole a thing or two about payback.
“Listen, Jackson.” Christian looked completely serious for one of the first times in their five-year friendship. “I know you’re a big boy and can take care of yourself, but—”
“Exactly, so get lost already. Before you get too drunk to drive yourself back to the hotel,” Jack said. It was twenty minutes until closing time. He had to get rid of Christian before then.
Christian sighed. “Well, if you ask me, you shouldn’t be wasting your time or your money on shit from the past.”
“I didn’t ask you. For your opinion, or your company,” Jackson snapped. In fact, he’d done his best to ditch his friend, but the other man had insisted on accompanying him to L.A.
“Easy, killer. All I’m saying is that we could be in Miami getting pussy right now instead of wasting time with a bunch of Los Angeles bitches,” Christian said, his Puerto Rican accent coloring the city’s name so it sounded like some exotic mecca. Which it was, in a way. At least for the two of them.
After three years as stars of the reality show Sin City Ink, they had quit the entertainment biz to go national with a string of tattoo parlors. The Sin City Ink locations in Reno and Vegas would stay open and be joined by new locations in Memphis, New Orleans, and Miami. Jackson and Christian were going to cash in on their celebrity status and cement their reputations as the best of the best, the people to trust when you were looking for more than your average ink, when you wanted certified body art.
“You’ve got a matching tattoo with the chick, Jackson, and she managed to cash in on it. That doesn’t mean she’s got a piece of you.” Christian barreled on, despite the warning look Jackson shot in his direction. “You were young. You made a mistake and got burned. Who cares if—”
“I care.” Jack took another swig of his own drink, the warm, sickeningly sweet Coke as foul as his mood. If he hadn’t already been determined to go through with his plan, what he’d observed tonight would have more than done the job. He’d only stepped into the bar for a few minutes, but it had been enough to see everything he needed to see.
Nicky still had the tattoo he’d given her the night before his eighteenth birthday, not that it was any surprise. She’d used the tat to make a name for herself and obviously hadn’t been impressed by Jack’s letters asking her to h
ave the thing modified. After all, his work had been as responsible for her nickname as her angelic good looks.
The five-inch figure on her shoulder was the first of the angel tattoos Jackson had later become famous for, an exact match to the wide-eyed fallen angel on his own forearm. It was the only one of his tattoos he hadn’t sketched himself and the last remaining example of his father’s work. Adrian Bledsoe had never made a living or a name for himself before his death, but he’d been a real talent, a more gifted artist than Jackson could ever dream of being.
More than anything in the world, Jackson wished he could go back to that night when he was ten years old and grab more than one of his father’s sketches before he ran from their burning apartment. Maybe then he’d have more of his dad, the only real family he’d ever had, to hold on to and wouldn’t be so damned obsessed with this one tattoo. Or with the girl he’d once loved enough to share a piece of his soul with her.
Your soul? It’s just skin. You should know that better than anyone.
Ah, but there was the kicker. He should know a lot of things. But right now, all he knew was that he had to convince Nicky to let him cover the tattoo, to rework it into something no longer recognizable as the same angel on his own arm.
It tore him apart knowing she still sported the profession of his adolescent love on her shoulder. Once the evidence of his foolish belief in soul mates and happily ever after was erased, Jackson was certain he’d finally be able to let go of his obsession with his former flame and move on.
Cultures across the world recognized the mystical power of working permanent ink into human flesh. Jackson had never been one to believe art was anything more than art, but he couldn’t deny the connection he felt with the only person in the world with whom he shared the exact same ink. A connection that had haunted him for eight long years as he tried to forget about the last night they’d shared and the promises they’d made. Promises Nicky had broken as easily as she’d broken his heart.