Under His Skin Read Online Free PDF Page A

into fists made her a little hot. Then again, there wasn’t anything about Brian that didn’t turn her on. What would her ex-fiancé think if she told him it had been Brian she thought of when they’d had sex?
    “Yup. I said that too. The rules are written all vague and shit. Robert and the West Coast Shop assholes pressured the organizers. All of us who drew instead of tracing are disqualified.” If she was able to string that many words together and slur only a little, she wasn’t drunk enough. Turning to the bar, she signaled the bartender for another.
    Brian wedged himself between her stool and the next. “There’s got to be someone you can complain to.”
    As she reached for her new glass, Brian picked it up first and sniffed.
    “That’s mine.” She made a wild grab for the glass.
    He caught her wrist, making a shackle of his fingers. “I think you’ve had enough.”
    “Have not.” Releasing her hold on the bar, she made another attempt to snag the brandy.
    Brian lifted the liquor out of her reach and forced her other arm up while trying to grab her flailing appendage with his fingers. She pitched forward, sliding off the barstool. Her heel fell off the rung and her skirt trapped her legs. Stumbling forward, she winced, already seeing herself sprawled across the floor. Instead, she planted her face directly into Brian’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist, squeezing her against his untattooed side.
    She wasn’t drunk enough not to want to wither and die from mortification. Placing her hands against his shoulders, she shoved. But she might as well have been pushing a brick wall for all the good it did her. Brian pivoted, putting the bar to her back, and leaned against her. She could feel his hips and the bulge of something else.
    “Let go of me,” she growled.
    He turned his face away and downed her drink.
    “Hey, that was mine.”
    Setting the glass on the bar, he wrapped both arms around her. Though she’d been up close and personal with him the day before, that had been in a professional situation. Without alcohol. Slightly inebriated and plastered against his lean chest was a new experience. The urge to lift her chin and kiss his jaw, suck his lips and thrust her tongue into his mouth was strong. She hadn’t been able to put the fantasy of him to rest, but neither could she bring herself to close those final few inches and make it a reality.
    Over his shoulder, she glimpsed Butch take the stage, microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce the winners.”
    Ducking her face, she pressed it to his shoulder. Her back ached from spending yesterday hunched over Brian’s tattoo. She had a tension headache, and now her stomach rolled from the brandy.
    “I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered into his t-shirt.
    He said something she didn’t hear and took her hand. As Butch began acquainting the audience with one of the smaller contests, Brian led her through the press of people crammed into the ballroom. Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she didn’t question why she was following him. It was nice not to have to sit at the bar by herself. She hadn’t yet been able to face the other girls after her public disqualification. Escaping with Brian was preferable to the alternative.
    Exiting from the ballroom-turned-bar, she sucked in a deep breath and squinted in the bright lights of the lobby. Brian kept a firm grasp on her hand, leading her across the foyer to a comfortable nook with contemporary leather lounge seating built against the walls. He pushed her down onto the edge of one of the couches and hovered.
    Pandora cradled her face in her hands, her elbows two painful points digging into her knees.
    “Can I get you anything?”
    “A beer? I’m not drunk yet.”
    “I think you are. How about some water?”
    “This is tipsy, not drunk.”
    Where the ballroom had become stifling with the press of bodies and the pulsing music, the foyer was