Skin Deep: The O'Hurleys Read online

  “You wouldn’t shoot a man who’s bringing you breakfast in bed.” He moved across the room, set the tray on her lap, then made himself comfortable on the bed beside her. He wore a T-shirt and faded jeans, and didn’t seem to mind that his sneakers were on her hand-sewn spread. “What are you reading?” he asked, then stretched out his legs and crossed his arms behind his head.

  “The stock market reports.”

  “Yeah, I always get a kick out of them, too.” The pillows carried her scent, sexy, exotic and alluring. She was a bit rumpled from sleep, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. Even in the strong morning light he couldn’t find a single flaw on her face. There were two skinny straps over her shoulders and a very little bit of lace low at her breasts. He remembered what he shouldn’t have—what it felt like to hold her against him and kiss her until his mind went dim. He plucked a piece of toast off the tray and reached for the jelly.

  “Help yourself,” she muttered, fighting the urge to inch away.

  “Thanks.” He leaned over the tray as he spread on a healthy portion of jelly. When his breath whispered warm over her bare shoulder, she stiffened and reminded herself how much she disliked him. “Like I said before, this is a great bed.”

  “When I get the bill for laundering the spread, I’ll deduct it from your fee.” Determined not to show any reaction, Chantel reached for the pot of coffee and poured a cup. “What can I do for you, Doran?”

  He nibbled on the toast and just looked at her. The smile bloomed slowly, very slowly.

  “Don’t embarrass yourself,” she told him, and sipped the coffee while it was too hot. When it scalded her tongue, she decided she didn’t simply dislike him. She detested him.

  “Ask a silly question,” he began, then proceeded to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  “Look, I’m busy, so if—”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “I happen to be reading some scripts.”

  “Any good?”

  Chantel drew a deep breath. Some men were more thickheaded than others, she reminded herself. Perhaps if she humored him a little … “As a matter of fact, yes. I want to finish this one this morning, so if we’ve business to discuss—”

  “You going to chew up another man in this one?”

  Patience, Chantel told herself. It was compassionate to show patience to an idiot. “No. As it happens, this is a comedy.”

  “A comedy?” He let out one quick laugh before he drank. “You?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t push your luck, Doran.”

  “Come on, angel. Yours isn’t the kind of face that a man pushes a pie into.”

  “It’s mud.”

  “What?”

  “In this case, my face gets pushed in mud.”

  He chose a piece of melon from her bowl. “That I’d have to see.”

  “I’m counting on several million people having your attitude.” With a natural flair, she whipped the napkin from its ring and passed it to him. “You are, after all, the common man, aren’t you?”

  “As common as they come,” he said easily.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here this morning with your feet on my bed and your hands in my breakfast.”

  “Just part of the service. Great coffee.”

  “I’ll give your compliments to the chef. Now, why don’t you get to the point?”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “Doran.”

  “Okay.” He took a small folder out of the side basket of the tray and opened it. “I have a couple of preliminary reports. Thought you’d be interested.”

  “Reports on what?”

  “Larry Washington, Amos Leery, James Brewster. Also have a bit on the makeup guy and your driver.”

  “My driver? You’re investigating Robert?” Her appetite gone, Chantel pushed herself farther up in bed. Quinn saw dark rose silk beneath the lace and wondered how far down it went. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Angel, don’t you ever read mysteries? The one you least suspect is always the one who done it.”

  “I’m not paying you to play Sam Spade, and I’m damned if I can see paying you to run investigations on people like Robert and George.”

  After brief consideration, Quinn decided on a strawberry. “Have you ever noticed how your Robert looks at you?”

  The lace rose up, then settled again with her breathing. Deliberately Chantel tilted her head. “Darling, all men look at me like that.”

  He gave her a long stare before he sipped his coffee again. Even he had problems separating her act from reality. “Since I have to start somewhere, I’m starting with the men closest to you.”

  “The next thing you’ll tell me is you’re investigating Matt.” When he said nothing, she looked at him again. “You must be joking. Matt’s—”

  “A man,” Quinn finished for her. “You just said that was all it takes.”

  Furious, Chantel picked up the tray, then dumped it in his lap. Coffee sloshed over the rims of the cups. “Look, let’s just stop this right now. I’m not going to have people I care about spied on and embarrassed. Matt’s the closest friend I have, and I was under the impression he was your friend, too.”

  “This is business.”

  “Let’s say our business is concluded. The calls have stopped and so have the letters.”

  “For a whole forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s enough for me. I’ll pay your fee through today, and we’ll—” She broke off, the words sticking in her throat as the phone beside the bed began to ring. Without realizing it, Chantel found her hand in Quinn’s, her fingers locked tight.

  “They’ll pick it up downstairs,” he murmured. “Don’t panic. If it’s him, just keep calm. Try to get him to talk, to stay on the line as long as possible. We need time to run a trace.” When the intercom buzzed, she jumped. “Pull yourself together, Chantel. You can handle it.”

  Working at keeping her breathing steady, Chantel spoke into the intercom. “Yes?”

  “There’s a man on the line, Miss O’Hurley. He won’t give his name, but he says it’s important. Shall I tell him you’re unavailable?”

  “Yes, I—” Quinn’s hand curled around her wrist. “No, no, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

  “Take it slow,” Quinn told her. “Just let him talk.”

  Her fingers were stiff and cold as she picked up the receiver. “Hello.” Quinn only had to look at her face to know she was hearing the familiar whisper.

  “Don’t lose it,” he said quietly, keeping her free hand in his. “Just keep him on the line. Stay calm and answer him.”

  “Thank you,” she managed, despite the block in her throat. “Yes, yes, I’ve gotten all your letters. No, I’m not angry.” She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that the things he was saying didn’t make her skin crawl. “I wish you’d tell me who you are. If you’d—” Caught between frustration and relief, she brought the receiver away from her ear. “He hung up.”

  “Damn.” After setting the tray on the floor beside the bed, Quinn leaned over her and punched a few buttons on the phone. “It’s Quinn.” He swore again. “Yeah, just keep on it. Right. Not enough time,” he told Chantel as he hung up the phone again. “Did he say anything that rang a bell, anything that makes you think of someone you know?”

  “No.” She trembled once before she regained control. “No one I know has a mind like that.”

  “Drink some coffee.” He poured more into her cup, then handed it to her. She drank to ease the tightness in her throat.

  “Quinn.” She had to swallow again. “He said—he said he had a surprise for me, a big surprise.” When she turned her head to look at him, her eyes were huge and dark. “He said it wouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Let me worry about him.” He’d always had a soft spot for the defenseless. It had gotten him into trouble before—in South America, in Afghanistan, and in countless other places. Even though he kn
ew it might be dangerous in a more personal way, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and brought her close. “That’s what you’re paying me for, angel.”

  “He’s going to get to me.” She said it with such flat finality that he tightened his hold. “I can feel it.”

  “He’ll have a hard time doing that with me in the way. Listen, I’ve got two men patrolling the grounds, two others monitoring the phones.”

  “It doesn’t seem to help.” She closed her eyes and for a moment let herself lean on him. “Maybe it’s because I can’t see them.”

  “You can see me, can’t you?”

  “Yeah.” And she could feel him, could feel the hard, working muscles of his arm and shoulder, the not-so-smooth skin of his face.

  “Want to see more of me?”

  Cautious, Chantel lifted her face to look into his. There was humor there, but—she was sure she was mistaken—it looked as though there were genuine concern, as well. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I like the way you do that. Angel, you could cut a man off at the knees without lifting a finger.”

  “It’s a talent of mine. Explain, Doran.”

  “Why don’t I move in for a while? Now don’t let your ego get the best of you,” he warned as she started to stiffen. “You’ve got plenty of rooms in this place, and though I am developing a real fondness for your bed, I can make do with another. What do you say, angel? Want a housemate?”

  She frowned at him, hating to admit how much safer she would feel with him around all the time. The house was certainly big enough to keep them out of each other’s way, though privacy would go out of the window. The real problem would be remembering just how he’d made her feel during that one sizzling kiss. If he were around twenty-four hours a day, remembering might not be enough.

  “Maybe I should buy that vicious dog,” Chantel muttered.

  “Your choice.”

  That was true. It was. And she knew exactly how to handle it—and him. “Go ahead and get your duffel bag, Doran. We’ll find a corner for you to sleep in.” Sitting up, she flipped through the script again. She felt better; she couldn’t deny it. The icy fist in her stomach had loosened. “How much extra is this going to cost me?”

  “Meals—and I want more than a bowl of fruit in the morning—use of the facilities and, since this is going to play hell with my social life, another two hundred a day.”

  “Two hundred?” Chantel gave a quick, unladylike snort. “I can’t imagine your social life’s worth more than fifty. Isn’t that the going rate in the massage parlors?”

  “What do you know about massage parlors?”

  She slanted him a look. “Just what I see in the movies, darling.”

  “How about a hands-on demonstration?” He lifted a finger and slid a strap from her shoulder. Instead of replacing it, Chantel simply studied the script.

  “No, thanks. I doubt if there’s anything you could teach me.”

  “I was thinking more the other way around.” When he nudged the other strap aside, Chantel lifted her gaze to his. He was baiting her, and she wasn’t ready to nibble.

  “Try me when I’ve got a few weeks to spare, Doran. With you, I’m afraid we’d have to start from scratch.”

  “I’m a fast learner.” He slid his hand up her shoulder until his thumb brushed her jaw.

  She grabbed his wrist before she could stop herself, but her voice remained steady. “Watch your step.”

  “If you watch your step, you miss too much.”

  He’d wanted to touch her again, to feel her skin smooth and warm under his hands. He’d wanted to see her eyes darken, partly from anger, partly from temptation, when he did. She looked ready to rake his face, but the bite of her nails wouldn’t stop him from sampling the fire she held so well banked inside her. The fire she let flame so explosively on screen.

  When her free hand came up, he grabbed it. She held one of his, he held one of hers. As far as Quinn was concerned, they were even. He thought it was pride that kept her from struggling, pride and the confidence that she could bring him to his knees whenever she chose. He wasn’t as certain as he wanted to be that she couldn’t.

  He was just about to let her go when her chin lifted and her eyes dared him. He’d always been a sucker for a dare.

  With his eyes open and on hers, he lowered his mouth. But he didn’t kiss her. Chantel felt the impact, both surprised and aroused, when he caught her bottom lip between his teeth. The chilly nonresponse she’d been determined to give him began to heat.

  She could have stopped him. Her brother, Trace, had taught her and her sisters how to defend themselves from overamorous members of the male sex. Chantel was aware that she could take Quinn by surprise and have him bent over double and gasping for air with one quick jerk of her knee. She lay still, hypnotized by the green eyes that watched her.

  She wasn’t supposed to have these kinds of feelings, this kind of hunger. She had blocked them out years before, when her emotions had made a fool of her. She wasn’t supposed to have this slow, curling sensation in her stomach. Her bones weren’t supposed to liquify at a touch. She’d done love scene after love scene—choreographed, blocked out, shot and reshot for the camera—and had felt nothing that hadn’t been programmed into her character. She knew just how little the most passionate embrace could mean to the two people involved.

  This light, nibbling sensation on her lip should have done nothing but annoy her. But she lay still, trapped by an urgent desire to absorb the rushing range of feeling it brought to her.

  Impossible. It had to be impossible, but he felt innocence shimmering around her. If it was an act, she was more skilled than she had a right to be. If it wasn’t—but he couldn’t think. She did something to his mind that she shouldn’t be permitted to do. She pushed her way into it and filled it until he was ready to forget everything but her.

  Desire. Desire was something easily quenched and easily forgotten. It would pay to remember that. Any man was bound to want her. But he wasn’t sure any man would be able to forget her. There was too much power in her, the power to make a man hunger, to make him ache, to make him weak. Quinn couldn’t afford to lose his hold. With her lips warm and soft under his, he reminded himself that he had two priorities. One was to keep her safe. The other was to look out for himself.

  When he felt himself sinking, he pulled back. The ground was too unsteady here. For once he would indeed watch his step. “You pack a punch, angel.”

  Steady, she told herself, struggling to find a foothold. It meant nothing to him, nothing more than the eternal war of wills men and women fought. He hadn’t gone soft inside or felt the need to be loved, the need to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was right. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she had.

  “Next time it’ll flatten you.”

  “You might be right,” he muttered, and shifted away. “Your skin’s a little pale.” He skimmed his gaze over her bare shoulders and cursed himself for the twist of need he felt. “Get dressed and meet me out by the pool. I’ll bring you up to date on what we have so far.” He rolled from the bed and, taking the file with him, left her alone.

  He needed some air, fast.

  * * *

  Quinn cut through the water of the pool like an eel, smooth, fast and quiet. When Chantel came onto the patio, she stood in the sunlight and watched him. She hadn’t been wrong about the feel of his muscles. She could see them now, rippling with each stroke of his arm, bunching with each kick of his leg. He’d chosen brief black trunks from the stack she kept in the pool house for guests. They fit low and snug over his hips.

  Still, she imagined he’d picked them for comfort rather than impact. As far as she could tell, Quinn Doran considered himself too irresistible to think about such things. She chose a chair by an umbrellaed table and waited for him to surface.

  The physical exertion helped. Quinn realized he’d pushed himself closer to the limit with her than he’d intended. He still wasn’t sure why he’d
made a move toward her when he knew she was the kind of woman a smart man kept his distance from. He’d always been smart. That was the way you survived. But he’d also always had a habit of giving in to temptation. That was the way you lived. Though his life had never been dull, Chantel O’Hurley was his biggest temptation so far.

  By the time he’d crossed the length of the pool and back thirty times, most of the tension had drained. Under other circumstances he would have used a punching bag to relieve it, but he was willing to make use of whatever was available.

  Tossing wet hair from his face, he stood in the shallow end, water lapping at his thighs. And he saw her.

  Tipped back in the chair, her face shaded by a big, white umbrella, she was the epitome of cool, gut-wrenching beauty. She’d pulled her hair up and back so that her face was unframed. It needed no framing. The sleek, severe style only accented that fact. The snug top she wore was cut deep at the shoulders and cinched into the waistband of cropped shorts that showed off long, long legs. His gaze lingered on those legs as he hauled himself out of the pool.

  “You’ve got a hell of a foundation, angel.”

  “So I’m told.” Reaching beside her, she picked up a towel. “I see you’re finding your way around all right.” She tossed the towel to him, but he did no more than sling it around his neck. The sunlight shimmered on the drops of water on his bronzed skin.

  “Nice pool.”

  “I like it.”

  “Then you should use it more. Swimming’s a great way to keep in shape.”

  “I’ll worry about my shape, Doran.” Temper was licking its way to the surface. Chantel coated it with sarcasm. “Is this going to take long? I want to get my nails done this afternoon.”

  “We’ll fit it in.”

  “We?” She couldn’t prevent a smile as he sat across from her. “Somehow I can’t picture you in a chi-chi little place like Nail It Down.”

  “I’ve been in worse.” He shifted the chair slightly, placing himself in full sunlight. “Anything else on your agenda today?”

  “Oh, maybe a little window-shopping on Rodeo Drive,” she said on the spur of the moment, just to make things tougher. “Lunch at Ma Maison, I think, or perhaps the Bistro.” She rested her chin on the back of her hand. “It’s been days since I’ve seen anyone. You do have something appropriate to wear, don’t you?”