Beneath Her Skin Page 5

  He sat staring at her, waiting for an answer. His expression was remote under his hooded gaze. Brooke peered at the large, stately mansion, then back to him. “Will we… be alone?”

  A wounded look flashed across his face before he masked it. Now, there was a trace of humor lurking in the depths of his eyes. “Of course not. My house is fully staffed and your virtue is quite safe... for now,” he said sardonically.

  She gulped, happy he could not see the blush creeping up her face. It was not that she cared too much about her virtue, but rather, how much she wanted him to take it.

  “Alright,” she said.

  He smiled, holding out his hand to her. “Come. Let me show you Sinclair House.”

  Placing her hand in his, she enjoyed the zing of warmth rushing up her arm. “Just for one night.”

  Damon inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  The Federal style, three-story mansion claimed everything next to lavish. The foyer alone shouted expensive with a black and white marble tile, and the gilded mirrors bounced light off the large crystal chandelier overhead. A dual staircase weaved up the center, covered in a deep maroon carpet with rich mahogany banisters. It was a rapture of elegance.

  She stood in amazement, eyeing her surroundings, finding herself out of her element. A set of double doors stood open, leading into a plush living room, decorated to the hilt. Serious money wafted from the top the crown molding to the Persian rugs gracing the floors. The room claimed power with sweeping lines of eighteenth century décor furniture. There was an impressive mantle and fully loaded bookshelves against the far wall. From the Hummer, she expected him to be rich, but not this.

  What could he possibly want with her? This, after her humble, shredded apartment, seemed too outrageous.

  “Shall I show you to your room?”

  Damon’s gentle voice pulled her out of her torturous reverie, and she ventured a glance his way to find him staring.

  “Yes.” Part of her felt unnerved, but considering the time of night, dwelling on everything seemed a waste of time.

  Following Damon up the double staircase, he led her down the hall, last door on the left and stopped. He opened the door, stepping back to allow her access. “Your room, baby,” he whispered.

  His voice was darkly seductive as he reached up to caress a finger over her left eyebrow, around her eye, then down her cheek. She released a tight breath through her lips, wavering on her feet. Everything in her coiled tight.

  “If you need anything, I am just across the hall.” He pointed, but his green eyes never strayed from hers.

  Her heart thundered hard against her chest, wanting more than goodbye, but she wouldn’t ask.

  “Thank you for…” How could she put her gratitude into words for saving her? “For everything.”

  “Rest. In the morning we’ll talk.”

  She frowned. “This is the second time you have alluded to more, but yet, never tell me.”

  He stilled, placing a hand in his pockets. “First and foremost, I have your best interest in mind. But I would like to show you something tomorrow. Sleep well.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips on her forehead. “Good night.”

  Was it wrong to want to throw herself into his arms? But God how I wanted to.

  “Good night, Damon.”

  She leaned up against the door, afraid to move, yet she was more afraid that the illusion over her eyes would fade.

  ****

  Damon rested his hand against Brooke’s door and closed his eyes. He had not had a woman at Sinclair House since Olivia died, and the pain choked him. Not only was the woman on the other side of the door Olivia’s sister, but her twin.

  Could the knife twist any deeper?

  Beneath her skin, Brooke was her own person. Lively, sweet, and unafraid of her own shadow. Tonight she had been brave. She eclipsed his heart with a fiery ache.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out, glancing at the caller ID. Chantal Wilson-Elson. Olivia’s aunt. Why was she calling now?

  He took several steps to his room and closed the door. “Chantal?”

  A throaty laugh slipped over the phone line. “Hello darling. How’s my long lost niece?”

  Stunned, Damon’s heart pounded hard. Fear mixed anger made his heart race. “Do I even want to know how you found out?”

  “Don’t be grouchy, darling, I am a senator’s wife after all, and Jim Bartley inadvertently let it slip over drinks tonight. But in all fairness, the man drinks entirely too much. Before I become demanding, I’m going to ask nicely.”

  “Damn it!” Damon ran a hand through his hair.

  Chantal made a tsk, tsk sound. “You shouldn’t swear, darling. I’ve been trying to call you all evening, but your housekeeper said you were out. Just tell me what you know.”

  “It’s late, Chantal,” he said in an exasperated tone. “This could have waited until morning.”

  “Not really. Jim was adamant that Olivia had proof that she found a twin sister and I couldn’t wait until morning—not about this.”

  He shook his head, silently contemplating Jim’s eminent career demise for spilling private information. The man was done.

  “She has no idea about her family and I would prefer that you stay out of this until I say otherwise.”

  Chantal gasped at the other end. “It’s true? But how?”

  Damon snorted. “You mean Jim didn’t give you all the gory details?”

  “Well… I mean, no. Not everything. That’s why I’m calling! What is her name? What does she do? Tell me something, Damon darling. I must know.” She pleaded in a wispy tone.

  “God, Chantal! Didn’t you hear me? She has no idea about her life, or her connection to Olivia. I’d rather break it to her gently—not scare her. Give me some time to sort out the details, and then I will introduce you. Just don’t interfere,” he warned.

  Chantal’s breath heaved over the line. “Okay, but please… take care of her. Farrah…” she croaked, mentioning her deceased sister. “She would have wanted her daughter taken care of. Please…?”

  He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have my word, Chantal. Just give me some time.”

  “Keep me informed, Damon. That’s all I ask.”

  He hung up and released a pent up breath. His circle of problems just grew wider.

  ****

  Floating, Brooke stretched inside a bounty of warmth with muted light teasing her eyelids. Her eyes opened, viewing her surroundings, and for a split second, she could not remember where she was.

  She lay in the middle of a sleigh bed, and the white, soft sheets were wrapped snug against her. Wow could not express the beauty surrounding her, but remembering her host, she guessed it was par. And speaking of her host, she dreamed of Damon last night. Warm kisses had swept hot over her. God, she was losing it.

  With a sigh, she flipped the covers back, seeking a shower in her private bathroom. Everything was there, including shampoo and conditioner, and a white fluffy robe. On the counter were toiletries, along with a brush, hair bands, and a new toothbrush.

  She peered at herself in the mirror, grimacing. Wearing only her panties with no access to nightwear, she shivered. Last night she had merely stripped, slipped into bed and fell fast asleep, not even bothering to wash her face. She now sported raccoon eyes from the crew’s carefully applied makeup across her cheekbones. Her hair was a wild cloud. With a shrug, she flipped the shower on and stepped inside.

  Feeling refreshed, she wrapped a towel around her head, donning the robe provided. She exited the steamy bathroom, rejuvenated. Before she could redress in her clothes, a knock at the door seized her attention.

  Was that Damon? Nerves took a hold of her, making her heart palpitate.

  With a deep breath, she opened the door, but found a neatly dressed dark haired lady. She had kind blue eyes, wearing an understated dark skirt and prim shirt, holding a tray of breakfast. A shopping bag dangled off her right arm.


  “Hello, pardon the intrusion, miss,” she croaked, and then cleared her throat. “I am Hannah Prestridge, Mr. Sinclair’s housekeeper. I thought you might like to eat in your bedroom this morning.” She stood, awaiting a response.

  Brooke smiled and stepped back. “Please come in, but you shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.” Yet she was grateful. She had not eaten dinner last night, and now she was starved. The smell of fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and toast bid a mouth watering greeting.

  Mrs. Prestridge smiled warmly, all her previous hesitation gone. “No trouble at all, dear. It’s nice to have a lady to look after.” She placed the tray on the coffee table and held up the shopping bag, laying it on one of the plush chairs. “Here is a change of clothes. If you need anything else, just press the housekeeping button on the phone.”

  She turned to leave, but Brooke panicked. She did not even know why. “Can I make a call?” She thought she’d better call Jennifer, which led her to the question of where she had left her cell phone.

  Mrs. Prestridge offered another smile. “Of course. Dial nine to get an outside line.” She moved to the door. “Is there anything else?”

  “I needed… I wanted to speak to Mr. Sinclair after breakfast. Is... he around?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he is in his office down the hall.” Then, she left.

  Apprehension busted through her stomach at the thought of seeing him again, but she turned her attention to her breakfast.

  In the shopping bag, she found a pair of cargo Capri pants, a black top, a black, silk underwear set, and some ballet flats. Before Brooke left, she called Jennifer and gave her the lowdown of what happened after Looney’s.

  She had to hold the phone away from her ear, as her friend exploded.

  “What the hell? Where are you now? Do the police have any leads?”

  Jennifer fired off a million questions and Brooke could not answer all of them. So, she picked one—the most important. “I’m at Damon’s home in Washington, D.C.”

  She whistled through her teeth. “So gallant, isn’t he? Why didn’t you ask him to bring you here?”

  Should she tell her that she fell asleep in his arms, breathing deep of his scrumptious scent? “It was late. I’ll be home later... and if it’s okay, I’ll need to crash with you.”

  Jennifer snorted. “Like you even have to ask, baby doll. I’ve got plenty of room and you’re more than welcome. I just want to know who did that to your apartment. I’ll call my mother and father and ask them to look into it.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Brooke protested, not wanting to involve the whole world for a break-in.

  “Humph, not necessary? Some jerk laid waste to your whole apartment, and the way I see it, it’s more than necessary.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes, knowing Jennifer’s rampage to clear the air and make things right. “Okay. Let me know what happens.” Then she remembered her phone. Jennifer confirmed it was there.

  Within fifteen minutes, she was dressed to face Mr. Sinclair, and she paused outside his office, hearing him yell at someone on the phone. She hesitated to walk in, as he paced back and forth.

  “What the hell, Bartley? I got a call from Chantal late last night with her riveting account of how you gave up the info on Olivia’s sister. Uh-huh... you are a damn attorney. Don’t you know the meaning of the phrase ‘client/attorney confidentiality?’” Damon paused, running a hand through his untamed, black hair. “Do you really want to debate that, considering the other sister is still your client and the right isn’t waived. You are going to do damage control on this. If you don’t, I’ll see that you lose everything.”

  He looked up, and his eyes connected with hers.

  Brooke’s whole world tilted as he stared at her. At first, he appeared angry, but then he smiled—the most amazing panty dropping smile that made her heart race.

  How could he do that?

  One minute she was uncertain of him, yet with one smile, she was lost. She really was going crazy.

  He looked amazing too. Wearing jeans, a fitted, gray pullover with his bare feet buried in the thick carpet. He was model hotness served up. His kiss last night made quite an impression, if her dream was anything to go by. Her cheeks flamed at the thought.

  “Fix this.” And he ended his call, slipping his phone in his jeans pocket. “Good morning, Brooke. How are you?”

  His smile was infectious, and she grinned like a goofball. “Very well, thanks.” She pulled awkwardly at the hem of her shirt. “And thank you for the clothes.” Which fit perfectly. “Without sounding ungrateful, but how did you know my size?”

  Damon moved closer, leaning up against the doorway. “Do you feel stalked?”

  Brooke blushed brighter red. His charm made her feel like he was enjoying a private joke at her expense. “Maybe.” Reaching up to twist the hair at her ear, more nerves choked her, and her heart rammed against her ribs.

  His eyes sparkled. “What if I tell you, I know everything about you? How nervous will that make you?”

  Brooke lifted an eyebrow, her heart tripling in speed. “I’d say give me a few minutes head start. Escape seems my only option,” she said, laughing, but she was not kidding.

  Damon barked a laugh, clearly enjoying her answer. “Don’t worry. I promise not to hurt you,” he said, reaching to caress the back of his hand down her cheek.

  There it was again. The tingles. The rush of her blood made her hot all over. Her eyes dilated and focused on his lips, wanting a kiss. Maybe he contemplated the same thing because he leaned forward, but did not. She actually felt short changed.

  He straightened and cleared his throat. “Will you go somewhere with me?”

  I frowned. “Where?”

  Damon shook his head. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he said with a sly smile. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  After he brushed past her, he sauntered away in his confident way. Brooke yanked her eyes away, wandering downstairs. She ran her hand over the baluster. She eyed the amazing view laid out before her.

  There was a huge window over the door, highlighting the fabulous delight of the foyer. Still out of her element here, but she could appreciate the beauty. She found herself heading into the living room, trailing her hand over the back to the sofa. This place was like some kind of museum.

  What did Damon want with her?

  “Ready?”

  She turned to find him watching her, and she gulped a fast breath. Damon had added a black jacket and shoes.

  Could he look any more delicious?

  She stumbled through her emotions, trying to get a handle on herself. “Yes,” she managed, following him out.

  Shem waited with the Hummer, and she climbed in, scooting over, as Damon slid in next to her. She reeled with a bit of nervousness, and could not help but twist her hair at her ear as they pulled onto the busy street.

  “Are you alright?”

  She glanced over at him, unable to form one coherent word. “Well... I... I really don’t know. I’m not a spontaneous kind of girl,” she said, deciding to lay it out for him. “Honestly, I find myself wondering what you want with me. We don’t know each other and I certainly can’t say that I trust you completely.” There, she said it.

  He nodded. “I can understand that,” he said gently. “First, please place your mind at ease. We are visiting S-Tec because I want to show you our aerospace department. I happen to know Dr. Roberts at Penn State and he mentioned your name as one his premier students. Forgive me for not telling you earlier. After what happened last night, I thought it best to wait until this morning.”

  Brooke’s eyes widened. So, it wasn’t a chance meeting yesterday with the hot air balloon ride and her face clouded over. “What is it you want, Mr. Sinclair?”

  He flashed a smile. “First, I’d like for you to call me Damon and second, I’d like your consultation on a project.”

  A laugh escaped her lips. “Really? I’m a college grad student, I’
m sure you can find someone more experienced than me to help you.” His hand found hers and she swallowed hard as his stroked over her skin.

  “I need someone I can trust. And I trust you.” His gaze was so sincere

  Brooke thought she inadvertently swallowed her tongue. She could not think beyond his hand on her, or his complete faith in her. “Thank you, but this is very awkward.”

  “Brooke, the only thing I need for you to do is—trust me. Everything else will fall into place as we go. Believe me, I don’t usually work this way, but deficit to say, I have run into some security issues as of late, and they have propelled me to seek other methods of recruitment,” he said and lifted her hand, placing a small kiss over her skin.

  Breathe. “You’re… you’re offering me a job?”

  He inclined his head and flashed a smile. “Yes. I know you have a business already, but I am offering a chance for you to hire a manager as well as work for me. I need someone that will stay on top of the project as well as maintain an on-call status to ensure top management.”

  Wasn’t this just what she needed?

  Part of her wanted to leap up and grasp the offer with both hands, but she had yet to speak to Harry. He owned a share in Ascent and he would not want a manger running the place, but this was what she needed to get out from under the dark cloud of Uncle Duck’s debts. She concluded that she would go to S-Tec, gain all the details, and then speak to Harry. There was no harm with information gathering, was there?

  Brooke smiled. “Okay.”

  He relaxed as if he had been holding his breath. “Good, we’ll iron out all the details.”

  Frowning, she did not agree to the job, just to consider it. But as his hand continued to stroke over her, she couldn’t seem to find a protest. Within another ten minutes, they pulled up outside a very state of the art building, complete with tight security. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine him having a problem with anyone gaining access.

  They walked in together and bypassed the reception desk, and it was like Fort Knox here with armed guards at the entrance and a special thumb print scanner to access the elevator.

  She found Damon watching her. "Do all the elevators have a thumb print scanner?"