Skin Tight (Skin Deep #4) Read online

  Emma stood up and leaned over the table, her face dark and angry. “Look. I don’t know what kind of sick, twisted game you’re planning, but you need to go. There’s no reason for you to ever speak to my sister, or to Ian, ever again. You’ve caused enough trouble, and I don’t even know how you knew we were here tonight, but you aren’t welcome. GO. AWAY.”

  Luke put his hand on Emma’s shoulder in a restraining motion. She let him guide her back into her seat, but by that time, the waitress had stepped forward, eyeing us warily.

  “Okay, these shots are paid for, so I’m setting ‘em down here. Drink ‘em or not, but we don’t want no trouble. If y’all are gonna fight, you’re gonna hafta leave.”

  I stood up now. “There’s no trouble, there’s not going to be any fighting. Thank you for the shots, but no, we’re not going to drink them. Give them to another table,” I told the waitress, and then turned to Victoria.

  “I’ll accept your apology, Victoria. But that doesn’t mean that we want anything to do with you. I don’t want you around Ian, and neither does he. I’m not your friend, I never will be, and Ian is merely a former acquaintance to you. Stay away from me, stay away from Ian, stay away from my family.”

  With that, I sat down and dismissed her with a flick of my hand. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and, even though she’s a menace, I felt really bad when tears welled up in Victoria’s eyes.

  That feeling didn’t last long, though, because her face turned hard, and that cold, calculating look was back. It was fleeting, but it was there. She hid it well, covering her face with her hands and letting out a sob. She mumbled another apology and stumbled away from the table, moving quickly for the exit.

  The table was silent, every eye on me. I pasted a smile across my face as Ian dropped his arm around me and squeezed me against his side.

  We left the club not long after that, the mood pretty much ruined for the night. Jacks drove this time, but he still dropped everyone off at their respective houses, because we had been drinking, regardless, even though the buzz was definitely gone.

  When Ian and I were lying in bed a little while later, I rolled into his arms and buried my face against his chest.

  “How the fuck did she know where we were?” My words were muffled against his skin, but he still heard me.

  He heaved a sigh before he answered. “She had to have been watching or something. I don’t know. She was so…normal…earlier.”

  I lifted my head. “Yeah, and remember what I said? Give her an inch and she’ll take a mile. She’s off her fucking rocker, Ian!”

  “I know,” he sighed, cuddling me close again. “I know, baby.”

  I drifted to sleep, my head on Ian’s chest, but my mind was churning. The last thing I thought of before the darkness claimed me was, ‘what next?’

  Chapter 18

  The next couple of weeks were a flurry of activity to prepare for the holidays and for Chloe and Brandon’s wedding. Not that there was anything left to do, with the exception of the last minute things that couldn’t be done until closer to the wedding, but I had a bachelorette party that I was in charge of.

  I figured I’d con Allie into helping me, since she did such an awesome job with my sister’s, but it didn’t take any conning at all. She was up for the task and had already made a list of things that she was going to give me, whether I wanted her help or not.

  Of course, I did check with Sarah, Chloe’s mom to make sure she’d be okay with what we had planned. We didn’t bother even checking with Allie’s mom or mine, because, let’s face it; they’re good with whatever crazy shit we come up with, even though they might shake their heads and ask where they went wrong with us.

  Or maybe that was more my mom than Allie’s, given that Daisy and George were more…we’ll call it free-spirited and free-loving.

  So, with Allie’s help (and Emma’s, because she didn’t want to be left out), the party was planned, reservations were made, and we were ready to rock, especially after our trip to Hustler for all things penis in the way of party favors.

  Ian was cautiously amused at the amount of penis paraphernalia that was lying around our house, but he made me store it all in the spare bedroom (and double check to make sure I got it all) when he sat down on the couch after his shower one evening, only to discover that he was being poked in the butt-cheek by a stray jumbo, fruit flavored cock pop that had apparently slipped between the couch cushions. In my defense, I’d dumped everything out of the bags into piles on the couch (I ran out of room on the coffee table) to make kind of an assembly line when I was putting together my party favor gift bags for everyone.

  So sue me for missing one huge, hot pink, penis shaped sucker. And the two penis straws and a tin of dick mints that were down in the couch, too.

  Thankfully, we hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Victoria since that night when we went out, but that didn’t mean I was resting easy. I had a sneaking suspicion that she would try something on Thanksgiving, but Ian had stopped that before it even started.

  Ian’s parents had invited us to their posh, catered dinner party for the holiday, but since they invited the Jones family, regardless of everything that Ian had told them, he’d advised them in no uncertain terms that it’d be a cold day in hell before we’d show up. I felt bad for him, because they are still his parents, but he was adamant that he refused to stand for me being disrespected by their ridiculous notions. But, of course, I was absolutely jumping for joy on the inside that I didn’t have to spend any time with them.

  The day of Thanksgiving, Ian and I went over to my parents’ house early so I could help my mom. She’d called two days earlier and asked if I would (like I’d say no), and Ian had just come with me rather than having two separate vehicles there, so he was in the living room with my dad, who was flipping back and forth between the two parade channels and bitching that football wasn’t on yet.

  I was cubing up blocks of Colby cheese for my mom’s homemade mac & cheese while my mom chopped onion and celery for the stuffing when she asked me, out of nowhere, “Are you happy?”

  I blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “Are you happy?” she asked again.

  “Well, yes, Mom, I am. Why would you ask me that?”

  She shrugged one shoulder and continued to work, chopping vegetables without missing a beat. “I’ve asked both of your sisters that at one time or other. It’s a relevant question. I want to know that my children are really, truly happy with their lives. So can you answer your momma, please?” She huffed and pursed her lips at me, but I could see the twinkle of laughter in her eyes.

  “Yes, Mom,” I said, my lips tilting up in an indulgent half-smile. “I’m happy. He makes me very happy, as you well know. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be marrying the man.”

  “Okay. That’s all I need to know. So how about this Icktoria bitch? You punched her in the face, yet?”

  “Mom!” I exclaimed, laughing. “No, I haven’t punched her in the face. Do you want your child to go to jail?” I asked her, shaking my head. “I take it Emma and Allie opened their big mouths and told you what happened at the dance club that night?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

  I dropped my head and sighed. “You could have just said yes, Mom. Simply yes would have worked.”

  She just hummed and tossed the chopped vegetables into a bowl. “Have you talked to your brother lately?” she asked, changing the subject.

  She’s good at that, and she does it randomly, with a quickness.

  I loaded the chopped cheese into the baking dish with the cooked macaroni and reached for the milk, shaking my head as I did. “Why? What’s he done, now?”

  She sighed. “I just wish he’d settle down, or at least find someone decent to date. I’ve had enough of the Buffy, Kitty, Nimby-Pimby girls he’s been seeing lately.”

  “Nimby-Pimby? Mom, seriously. Those aren’t even words. And Calland will settle down, eventually. He just needs to find the girl that won’
t take his shit and puts him in his place.” I smiled. “God, I can’t wait to watch that.”

  “Should be pretty interesting, I’ll give you that,” Mom commented, moving to the sink to wash her hands. “So, when are you gonna give me grandbabies?”

  “Jesus, Mom!”

  ***

  Ian was shaking his head, his shoulders bouncing with silent laughter.

  We were all sitting around the table, stuffing our faces with the overabundance of food that had been prepared for the day, talking over one another, and having a good time, in general, but in that moment, I knew exactly what had caught Ian’s eye and caused his laughter.

  But then, so did my sister, who groaned and dropped her head onto my shoulder, since she was sitting next to me.

  “Mother! How many times have we told you not to give him eggs?” she whined as she watched our mom slip a deviled egg under the table to the waiting yellow lab snout we knew was resting on her knee.

  “What?” she said, defensively. “I’m not doing anything!”

  Yes, she said that with a completely straight face as she slipped a sliver of turkey under the table to the black lab snout we all knew was resting on her other knee, the yellow one’s perfect counterpart and partner in crime.

  Luke wisely kept his mouth closed, not bothering to argue with his mother-in-law, but his lips were twitching.

  “Doug! D.J.!” Emma yelled, lifting her head and then hunching down to peek under the table at the wagging tails attached to the opposite end of the snouts that were currently chomping down on whatever else Mom had slipped to them.

  “Might as well give it up,” I muttered to her. “You know they won’t leave her side.”

  She glared at me and then sat back up, shrugging. “That’s fine. You know the rules. Dogs are yours for the night, Mom. And you know what’s going to happen. Happens every time you give Doug eggs, and then Dad bitches at you, you call me complaining and swearing because he’s stinking up the house…” She crossed her arms and stared at Mom defiantly. “Hope you’re happy.”

  Ever since Luke and Emma had gotten together, Doug, and now D.J., were required to attend every family event at my parents’ house, especially Thanksgiving. In fact, the very first Thanksgiving Doug had attended with my family, my mom had set him up with his own little plate at the kitchen table, and fed him with a fork. Now that there’s two of them, she’s settled for simply feeding them from her plate while they hide under the table with their heads in her lap, but they still get their fair share of the Thanksgiving feast, no matter how many times Emma pleads with her to stop.

  And Emma’s right; she gives Doug deviled eggs every time, and without fail, Emma and Luke leave him (and now D.J., too) at their house for the night, and Doug returns the favor by passing enough toxic fumes from his rear end to choke a horse and subjecting my poor parents to the stench.

  It’s a vicious, hilarious circle, but hey…that’s my family.

  After dinner, we all tucked into the stock pile of desserts, laughing as usual when Calland (who had actually refrained from hiding the mac & cheese from her this year) started messing with Emma.

  She’d gotten a piece of pecan pie smothered in whipped cream, and was feeding Everly small bites of the whip cream in between taking bites of her pie. Whenever she’d turn to the baby, who was sitting in the high chair beside her, Calland would move the plate just enough that when she’d turn back, her elbow would cruise through the whipped cream, smearing all over her sleeve.

  She kept swearing and calling herself a klutz as she wiped it off, but eventually our snickers gave it away and she flicked a spoonful of whipped cream at Calland’s face. He ducked, of course, causing the cream to splatter on the wall behind him.

  I guess it was only right that Mom made Calland clean up the mess…but then she could only stand there and laugh while shaking her head when he called D.J. over, hefted him into his arms, and let the dog lick the mess off the wall.

  My family hung out for a while after everything was cleared away and the leftovers divvyed up, until Jenna and Noah took the kids and headed to Noah’s parents’ house for their Thanksgiving dinner. Since we didn’t have anywhere else to go, Ian and I went home while the rest of my siblings scattered to do whatever else they had planned.

  When we got home, I changed into comfy clothes and collapsed onto the couch, reaching for the remote. Ian grabbed it before I could, though.

  “Hey, give that back,” I said, half-heartedly.

  He waved it in the air and said, “Come get it.”

  “Meh. I’m too lazy. Anything good on?”

  He flipped through channels before answering. “That would be a negative. Want to watch a movie?”

  Since we had nothing else pressing to do (besides the fact that I needed to clean Gerry’s cage out since he was home with me on Thanksgiving vacation), I agreed, and that’s just what we did. When the first movie was over, Ian stretched his arms up and blinked at me in the darkness of the room. We hadn’t bothered to turn any lights on, and night was falling outside.

  “Damn. I didn’t realize that movie was so long.”

  “I didn’t either. Oh well, though. Perfect end to the day, don’t you think? Lazing around watching movies…and we’ve got plenty of leftovers if you’re hungry.”

  “Nah. I think I’m still full. Maybe a snack here in a little bit. What now, another movie?” he asked me, kicking back in the recliner once more.

  “Sure. I need wine first though.” I hopped up and headed for the kitchen, just the remembering the unopened bottle of ice wine I had in the fridge. Once I was looking in the fridge, though, the strawberries we’d bought a couple days ago were staring me in the face, so I decided that those needed to go with me, too.

  Before I was done, I’d had to grab a cookie sheet as a make-shift tray to cart my movie watching spread into the living room.

  Ian glanced at me as I walked by him and then did a very noticeable double-take. “Holy shit! I thought you were just getting some wine?”

  I grinned sheepishly. “I was. Then I saw the strawberries and they looked good, so I grabbed them. Then I remembered I had chocolate fruit dip for them, and you know strawberries are best with chocolate, so when I got that out, I saw the whipped cream. That’s a no brainer. So, I guess I was hungry.”

  I shrugged and then slid the makeshift tray onto the coffee table, sitting cross-legged on the floor behind it, and leaned back against the couch.

  “And the pineapple?” Ian asked, conversationally once I was settled.

  “It looked good. Don’t judge me!” I popped the lid off the can of whipped cream and grabbed a plump, ripe berry, holding it up while I squirted it with a perfectly spiraled dollop. “Want one?”

  He declined, but he did come lay behind me on the couch, so in between bites and sips of wine, I’d lean my head down on his chest and he’d play idly with my hair as we watched the movie.

  By the time the movie was over, I’d put a decent dent in the fruit, and the bottle of wine was empty, (In my defense, bottles of ice wine are smaller than normal!) and I was feeling pretty mellow, especially when Ian’s hands started roaming.

  I moaned at his touch, my head dropping down against his chest again, but then his fingers slid into my hair and pulled my head up once more. He shifted, leaning close enough to capture my lips with his in a soft, barely there kiss.

  His tongue darted out and probed the seam of my lips, slipping deftly inside to tangle with mine when I parted my lips to allow him entry.

  “Mmm…” he whispered against my mouth. “You taste good. Sweet and fruity. Do you taste like that everywhere?” he asked, his lips caressing mine softly with every word.

  Breathless, I answered, “Maybe you should find out.”

  I’d meant the words as a joke…a tease…but that’s just what he did.

  Chapter 19

  Ian’s hands made short work of my clothes until I was laid bare on the floor, the carpet’s usual softness feeling
almost rough against my highly-sensitized skin. He shoved the coffee table out of the way, but I had my wits about me enough to noticed that he’d grabbed the can of whipped cream before he did, tossing it on the couch beside him.

  He knelt beside me and used his hands to part my thighs, sliding them up and down and around in a teasing caress until I was spread wide, every inch of me open to his heated gaze. He licked his lips and I shivered, the sight immediately bringing thoughts of those lips, that tongue on me…in me…to my mind.

  Ian’s voice was low, gravelly with lust when he said, “What are you shivering for, baby? Are you cold?”

  I shook my head, my breathing coming in pants as he peppered my open thighs with tiny, fluttering kisses and quick, sharp nips of his teeth, both ramping up the want flooding my core until it was almost unbearable. “Please,” I whimpered, gasping when he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the bare flesh of my mound, just above that aching, hardened nub begging for his attention.

  “Is this what you want?” he breathed against my skin, the tip of his tongue flicking out to trace one tiny circle around my clit, so softly I could barely feel it.

  My hips arched up, begging him silently to give me more, but he pulled away. I cried out, but my dismay was short lived when he moved back over me almost immediately, the can of whipped cream in his hands and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “Oooh…” The helpless sound escaped my lips at the feel of the chilled cream against my heated skin.

  Ian squirted a line of whipped cream across the top of my sex, then added two more dots, this time on top of each of my turgid nipples. Without missing a beat, he tossed the can away from him and leaned over my body, taking one whipped cream coated nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking away the sweetness before subjecting the other one to the same treatment.

  Once they were clean, he kissed down my stomach and closed his mouth over me, whipped cream and all. He ate at me voraciously, alternately sucking my clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it until I was writhing against his face. He gripped my hips with his hands, trying to hold me still, and plunged his tongue deep inside my entrance, fucking me with long sure strokes.