Beneath Her Skin

  Beneath Her Skin

  By

  Beth Mikell

  Copyright © 2016

  www.bethmikell.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration Copyright © 2017 Can Stock Photo Inc.

  Cover design by Kardo Designs

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: May 2016

  Second Publication: May 2017

  Prologue

  Damon Sinclair sat in stunned silence as his dead wife’s attorney, Jim Bartley, dropped a bomb with singular clarity: Olivia had an identical twin sister. The proof lay spread over his desk in black and white.

  How? When? And most importantly, why hadn’t Olivia said anything?

  One year and a half ago, Olivia made the mistake of driving too fast in a rainstorm and lost control of her car, smacking a telephone pole. Her death was instantaneous. What upset him was that she never shared anything as huge as her long, lost sister. Such news made him wonder if there were other secrets waiting.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Damon finally managed to squeeze out, staring down at the photo of Brooke Stone, so sweetly the exact image of his late wife.

  Jim cleared his throat. “Honestly, I think she was scared.”

  Damon lifted his gaze to meet the other man. “Scared? Of what?” he hissed. “Olivia was an accomplished woman. Why this?”

  The attorney shrugged. “She never would say. She placed a stipulation in her will for me not to tell you until now—exactly a year and a half in the event of her death.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed, and then opened them to stare at the picture again. His finger traced over the curve of Brooke’s face—so much like Olivia—so beautiful.

  His heart tripped with a pounding surge of excitement. He could not even contemplate the measure of hope and pain flooding him. He wanted to shake Olivia’s shoulders. Wouldn’t she know how such news would affect him? Anger punched him hard in the gut, paralyzing his ability to function.

  “Sir,” Jim began, “Olivia wanted me to give you this letter.”

  The widower glanced up at the white envelope, hanging in the air between them. He gulped hard. His name was scrawled across the front in Olivia’s familiar handwriting, and tears stung his eyes, unable to look at his wife’s attorney.

  “Thank you, Jim. Is there anything else?” he asked, taking the letter.

  “Um… yes sir. At some point, I need to tell Ms. Stone of her inheritance. If you have additional questions, or if I can be of service, please call.”

  Damon only inclined his head, waiting for Jim to leave. Once alone, he took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Much to his surprise, there was not a full-length letter of explanation, but a few simple words scratched across Olivia’s personalized stationery: Take care of her, Damon.

  He slapped the small note down on the desk, as another beat of anger sliced through his heart.

  He always knew Olivia was a product of an unconventional birth via in-vitro fertilization. Whatever screw up the medical clinic had made caused Brooke to be born ten years after Olivia in the most freak of circumstances. The medical reports in front of him did not lie, and certainly not the lawsuit filed by Olivia in the thick stack of reports and evidence. Brooke was indeed Olivia’s twin and she was an heiress, only unaware of the fact.

  From that day forward, Damon investigated, inquired, examined, and researched every facet of Brooke’s life.

  He owned S-Tec Inc., which claimed outstanding advancement in computer and satellite innovation—the largest company of progressive engineering in the world. His business ran projects for the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI—he even had a five-star general on speed dial. Yet Brooke’s presence blew through his heart and soul, straight to the hole in his grieving spirit.

  He knew everything about her, even her shoe size, which was remarkably one size larger than Olivia’s had been. He had Brooke under constant surveillance. He knew all her friends, even what kind of deodorant she used. Nothing was out of his realm of knowledge, but it only increased his desire to meet her. He was driven like a maniac to know the woman.

  Yet he felt he was somehow betraying Olivia’s memory, but then again, her note came back to him… Take care of her, Damon. What was he supposed to do? His heart was in danger.

  Chapter 1

  Brooke Stone flopped down in the break room chair, tossing her light brown ponytail behind her shoulders and popped the lid of her sugar-loaded soda. Not that she drank such empty calories normally, but she had a monster headache.

  Tossing back two Advil, she sipped deeply of the cold soda with a caffeine prayer of please-God-make-the-pain-go-away-soon. She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes against a slice of gripping irritation.

  Her adoptive uncle, Mr. Donald Stone aka Uncle Duck, had died six months ago, having been diagnosed with lymphoma. Now everything fell on her twenty-two-year-old shoulders. His business and debts became hers by default. Even selling off Uncle Duck's house had not helped—the money was gone. The business Uncle Duck worked so hard to build, may fold. She might have to sell his life’s dream.

  She ran to the break room, needing a moment to catch her breath after a phone call from a creditor. Smooth and mature, but what could she do to escape the pressures?

  Do this Brooke Stone, do that Brooke Stone! Pay this, pay that!

  Uncle Duck was all she had in the world, and now he was gone.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Brooke found Jake Martin, one of her crew members and fellow pilot, peeking around the corner. His sandy blond hair fell over his blue eyes, looking fresh in an Ascent Flights pullover.

  She gave a tight smile, not in the mood to discuss anything. “Yeah, I’m reeling from a sudden headache,” she murmured.

  He came through the archway all muscle bound with boyish good looks. “Weather reports indicate a smooth ride. The passengers are assembled and ready to go. Plus all the gear is stowed—we just need our pilot,” Jake announced, staring in a contemplative way before he said, “Look, you can sit this one out, ya know. Or take the chase car on the ground to the landing site. No one will be the wiser.”

  After takeoff, a chase car followed the hot air balloon soaring above, but the idea of sitting out the launch did not sit well with her either. Honestly, she had been flying with Uncle Duck since she was six and obtained her student pilot’s license at age fourteen. By the time she was eighteen, she could operate a solo flight—or take up private passengers for a full-on paid service. She needed to get a grip on her emotional pity party—and fast.

  “No, I got this, Jake. If I get to the site and realize I can’t, I’ll let you know. You go ahead, I’m coming.” He hesitated a moment, his gaze wary, but he left.

  As she stood, her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Jennifer West, her best friend.

  S’up, doll? Hittin’ Main after work. U in?

  Brooke shook her head with a smile. Only Jennifer could part the Dead Sea and make her laugh after misery open-fired on her heart today. She replied, I have a headache. Going home.

  Jeez, could u b any more exciting? C’mon! Jump out of your granny panties and let’s hit the club, baby! We’re young and need some BAR air while we shake it in front of a room full of guys. Be
sides, some of our crew from Penn State will B there! Say YES, or I’m going nuclear!

  Brooke grinned and typed out her reply, Stow your reactor! I’ll be there!!

  See ya laterzzz. Ripcord!

  Ripcord? Jennifer’s latest way of saying good-bye after her infamous skydiving feat last week landed her in bed with her flight instructor. The girl was hopelessly flawed, but Brooke loved her. She was the closest person she had to a sister.

  They had met and shared a dorm room in college and they were different. Where Jennifer claimed to be a short, pixie redhead, Brooke was a tall and plain. Where Jennifer’s personality shouted down the house, Brooke was more reserved and understated. But the differences had never slowed down their friendship. While she shuffled through her aviation degree, Jennifer preened as an advertising graduate with the hope of rocking brands the way she did everything else. Honestly, if not for her, Brooke would have faded into the background of nothingness.

  She shoved her phone in the back pocket of her blue jeans and inadvertently knocked over her soda can in the process, spilling it all over the front of her pants.

  “Damn!” She jumped back and grabbed the soda can, but the damage was done. She was totally covered in the cold, sticky drink.

  Grabbing some paper towels, she cleaned up her mess with displeasure firming up her lips. She felt as graceful as a Clydesdale horse. And this fiasco would make her late for the launch. Now she had to change.

  She bent down to mop up the puddle on the tiled floor, still muttering under her breath. As she shot to her feet with soggy paper towels dangling from her hands, her eyes connected with the most startling pair of green eyes.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, taken aback by a tall man, eyeing her intently without a word or an expression. Brooke frowned at his silence. “Can I help you?”

  She could not help but admire his handsomeness with his tousled jet-black hair. A black leather jacket hung open over a white shirt, un-tucked. He wore blue jeans with nice leather walking boots. Her insides clenched with a strange, unfamiliar surge, and she wanted desperately to flee.

  He remained silent, nearly ashen under his tanned skin, while she was completely embarrassed that she looked like she wet her pants.

  Tossing the soiled towels in the wastebasket, she turned back to the unknown man. “Are you here for the balloon ride?” Suddenly nervous under his direct, hard stare, she reached up to twist a strand of hair at her ear. A habit whenever she was anxious.

  “Yes.”

  A one-word reply, but his voice was deep velvet and super smooth. She wilted under her embarrassment. She needed to make her escape. “I think the Ascent team is ready. You may want to go join them,” she offered. “I’ve had a run-in with a soda can… and need to freshen up. Excuse me.”

  As she walked by him, his hand snaked out, grasping her upper arm with light pressure. “Are you coming?” he asked with ragged desperation.

  Her breath punched out her body at his touch, and heat traveled through her veins, making her blush. “Well, yes, mister…?”

  He visibly relaxed, as if he had been tightly drawn, and his lips drew up in a hint of a smile and the color returned to his cheeks.

  “Damon Sinclair.” His green eyes remained fixed.

  She could not breathe and every mental function in her mind closed down. He smelled rich of expensive cologne, though subtle and mouth watering. Up close, he was even more beautiful. Besides his sea-beauty eyes, his blade of a nose was balanced perfectly over firm, full lips with the trace of a cleft in his chin—a total hottie.

  Damon dropped his hand and stepped back. “Forgive me, Miss…?” His eyes narrowed.

  She swallowed hard, searching for her voice. “Brooke Stone.” She mentally berated herself for slobbering.

  He smiled, sexy and undefined. “Ah, Ms. Stone. Owner of Ascent? A pleasure to meet you at last,” he said artfully. “I have heard many wonderful things about you from clients and business associates that I had to experience hot air ballooning for myself.”

  Brooke’s cheeks burned under his compliments and stare. “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. We aim to give our guests the highest pleasure and experience.”

  She just sounded like a condom ad. Hello rush of hormones.

  He chuckled. “Indeed.” But he didn’t elaborate.

  She flushed more, knowing for sure he had glimpsed the condom ad in her words too. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Sinclair, I must ready myself.” The sticky cola clung to her legs, reminding Brooke of her less than attractive appearance.

  He merely inclined his head, his smile fading as a strange hitch altered his breathing. An overwhelming urge to stay filled her—she wanted to calm him. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Oh, there you are, Brooke.”

  She found Harry Brewster, standing in the doorway. He was Uncle Duck’s friend, a seasoned Vietnam War veteran, and one of the best hot air balloon pilots ever. Past sixty and dressed in jeans with an Ascent pullover gracing his thin body, Harry stood six feet of subtle kindness. His bark was a lot worse than his bite. Having grown up with him, he was always an ever constant in Brooke’s life just like Uncle Duck. But for her, he was all sweetness.

  Harry eyed her with humor lurking in his soft gray eyes. “What happened to you, Lady Bug?”

  She wanted to cringe at his pet name for her in front of the hottie, venturing a sideways glance up to tall, dark, and handsome. She found him staring, again. The ashen pallor reappeared under his skin, and she opted to control her embarrassment, wondering what made him so uncomfortable. Maybe he was nervous about his first trip up in a hot air balloon.

  “Oh, you know,” she said to Harry. “Danger prone as always, though the can of soda won this time.” She winked, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

  Harry rolled his eyes. “Humph! Go change. We are ready to head out,” he said with a soft smile. Though he would never dream of bantering at her expense, a small chuckle rumbled through his chest.

  “This is Mr. Sinclair, Uncle Harry.” She introduced the man standing next to her. “He is here for his first flight—make him feel at home.” With a last glance toward the green-eyed hottie, she moved past Harry and planted a soft kiss on his rough, stubbly cheek. She inhaled his familiar peppermint scent. “Five minutes.”

  Back in the locker room, Brooke headed straight to her private office, and shut the door. She fished her phone from her back pocket, placing it on the corner of her desk. Kicking off her shoes, she dug out a pair of fresh jeans and panties from her locker.

  Aside from drenching herself in cola, what was up with Mr. Serious Sinclair? He looked as if he had seen a ghost and was afraid to breathe. Maybe it was nerves. She shrugged it off. Over the years, she had seen her fair share of basket case guests to overly enthused extremists. Maybe he fell into the basket case category, but by a glance alone, she hardly figured so. The man oozed lithe strength and she could not imagine him fearing anything.

  She pulled out her hair band, and snagged a brush through her hair, venturing a glance at herself in the mirror. Then, she closed her eyes, appalled. Before she could care, her phone buzzed with another incoming text. She grabbed the device and flipped it over—Jennifer again.

  Sweet-ums, come directly 2 my apartment and we’ll dress 2gether B4 going out. I just got a new halter u can wear that will drive the horn bees CRAZEE! Feel me?

  Brooke laughed. How could she refuse? And she tapped out her reply, K. Should b there by 8:30 P.M. or so. Gotta run. Sunset flight. Good?

  Ab-so-freaky! C-ya, baby doll! Ripppcord!

  With a shake of her head, Brooke shoved her phone back into her jeans pocket and threw her hair back up, ready to go. Oddly enough, her melancholy mood had vanished, and she could not wait to go out tonight. However, sooner than that… she could not wait to see the green-eyed hottie again.

  ****

  Even as Damon stood in the empty break room after Brooke’s departure, he still could not breathe. Pain twisted inside him.

&
nbsp; She smelled of almonds and honey, and her scent still lingered in the air. While at first he had been tempted to drag her into his arms and pronounce her Olivia, she moved differently. She spoke more youthful with fire dancing in her lavender eyes.

  God, her eyes. Sweet heaven.

  He could drown in the purple depths and die happy, but they had been red and swollen.

  Had she recently cried?

  He hated to think so. Olivia once had the same fathoms of color, but they had never danced, or sparkled with such amazing clarity. There had always been a grave sadness inside his late wife—one he could not erase. He needed another breath of Brooke Stone. Soon.

  ****

  Brooke stepped outside Ascent’s double doors and found herself reflected in the intense eyes of Mr. Sinclair.

  Was he waiting for her?

  Oddly, the thought warmed her somehow, and terrified her on other levels she could not even begin to analyze.

  He inclined his head, his expression guarded. “Ms. Stone, would you ride with me to the launch site? I would like to ask some questions regarding our flight.”

  Momentarily stunned, she didn’t see that one coming. Maybe he was nervous. “That is an unusual request and rules dictate that I refuse you, Mr. Sinclair.” She made her stand, businesslike and sure, with a proud tilt to her head.

  Yeah, he wouldn’t buy it.

  His lips turned up into a pleasant smile, transforming his face from pensive to friendly. “I can appreciate that, but I never allow anyone I don’t know to fly me to an unknown location. It’s just the way I am. Since you are my pilot for today, I would like to discuss your experiences before I impart my trust upon you.”

  Brooke flushed with embarrassment, yet bristled at his tone. Her eyes glazed over with coolness. “I can assure you, Mr. Sinclair, I am highly qualified with regards to experience. You have nothing to fear.”

  Damon grinned. “I have offended you, my apologies.” He stepped closer. “Very well, I will place my trust in you completely, Ms. Stone. Can’t you do the same?”