Skin Deep

by Jasmine Haynes

CHAPTER ONE

"Dinner on Saturday sounds great, but don't invite one of Ross's friends this time." Tucking the phone receiver between her shoulder and her ear, Kirby Prescott kicked off her shoes, then propped her bare feet on her desk. Her wrap-around skirt fell open to her thighs.

"But you liked Steve."

"He was mildly funny, but I don't do short." Dating a short man meant giving up her high heels to soothe his ego. And a woman simply wasn't dressed without a gorgeous pair of spiked heels.

Her sister Kristin tssked primly. "What about Mark?"

"I don't do bald, either." Especially when a man tried to hide the fact beneath a tacky comb-over. "If God doesn't crown a guy with abundant hair, he should accept it gracefully."

"All right. What if I find someone proud of his shiny pate?"

Yeah, right. For a woman in Kirby's chosen profession, image was everything, and that went for the men you dated, too. Cosmetics was a cutthroat industry. She'd managed to introduce her custom line into many of San Francisco's exclusive salons. And she wouldn't let anything stand in the way of future expansion.

"Short or bald just doesn't cut it, Kristin."

"As much as I love you, I sometimes worry that you're shallow."

For just a second that stopped her. Was she shallow? Not. "My, my, you really have found your balls, haven't you, little sister?"

They were twins, but Kirby had exploded into the world first. Kristin would always be her little sister, in more ways than one.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, but - - "

"I know exactly what I am, so you can't hurt my feelings. It's all about business."

It wasn't as if the men she dated wondered why she dated them. She was eye candy as much as they were. They weren't interested in her mind, they only cared that other men envied them. And she'd made contacts aplenty at those dinners, parties, and various other engagements she'd attended.

She'd learned the hard way not to give a man any more control over her life - - or her business - - than an occasional date, a mutually satisfying sexual experience, and a boot out the door if he overstayed his welcome.

"There's more to life than just business," Kristin said. "And the truth is, the men you date are a bunch of wimps."

"They're gorgeous. And don't talk to me about wimps when you keep setting me up with a succession of them."

"A short stature or a bald head does not necessarily mean a man's a wimp."

"Sure, Kristin. That's why you picked Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome."

"I'd have chosen Ross even if he were five foot, bald as an eagle, and weighed four hundred pounds."

Kirby snorted. "Luckily you never had to make that choice."

Kristin was silent for a moment. Kirby's nerves twanged. Her sister was obviously debating the wisdom of her next words.

"Does it bother you that I'm getting married?"

"I'm not in the least jealous of what you've got. In fact, I'm overwhelmed with joy for you."

Envious? Hah! Put her alone in a room with a man like Ross Sloan for longer than it took to fuck, and there'd be bloodshed. And marriage to a man of his . . . dictatorial ilk? The double homicide would make it to the ten o'clock news. Everyone would speculate just how they managed to shoot each other at precisely the same moment.

"I know you're happy for me. But what about you? What about marriage? And kids?"

"God forbid. I want variety. I'd die if some man tried to tie me down."

Kristin's voice faltered. "You make it sound like a death sentence."

"I didn't mean that. It's fine for the right person. For you. But not for me."

"But if I found the right man for you - - "

"Do not, and I repeat, do not match-make for me." Enough was enough. Her twin had become disgustingly monogamy-minded since catching Ross. Then again, maybe it was all those wedding plans and baby name books warping her brain. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Kristin with a baby carriage. Kristin was the mother type. Kirby couldn't pull that off, didn't want to.

"Spoilsport."

"I like being single." Kirby liked having choices. She liked making her own decisions. She liked being her own boss. She liked controlling her own destiny. And no man would get in her way.

"I just want you to be happy."

"What makes you think I'm not happy?" Kirby leaned her head back against her leather chair. The sun streaming through the window of her high-rise office warmed the top of her head, but Kristin's statement set her nerves on edge. She had her own flourishing business. She had delicious male companions to drape on her arm. And she had . . . freedom. Why wouldn't she be happy?

"You rarely smile."

Kirby snickered. "You're too busy making moon eyes at Ross to notice." But she knew that was side-stepping the issue. She just didn't give a lot of thought to how much she smiled.

"All right," Kristin ceded the point. "You nit-pick about everything."

"You mean, I pick on the men you try to set me up with."

"There's always something wrong with them."

"Maybe it's because you picked them instead of me." Despite being twins, they were identical only in looks. Kristin was flat shoes, muted colors, and understated makeup. At least most of the time. Kirby, on the other hand, was bright red lipstick, four-inch heels, and skirts with slits that opened to the thigh.

"What's wrong with the dates I pick for you?"

The men Kristin paraded before her were strictly the mini-van type. You'd think Ross would have a better selection of friends, considering that the man was a hunk himself. Not that Kirby would have gone out with any of them. She wasn't into double-dating. Especially not with Ross and Kristin. They were so . . . in love. All those starry-eyed looks passing between them, not to mention the hot I-can't-wait-to-rip-your-panties-off stuff, soured Kirby's stomach.

And that wasn't jealousy talking. She liked her life exactly the way it was.

But she also loved her sister. So, she braved the dinners because Kristin wanted her to like Ross. If only he wasn't such an arrogant asshole. But then, Kristin seemed to like his subtle control. He was very good at it, actually. Sweetheart, shall we do this, and sweetheart, shall we do that? And Kristin just . . . compromised, without even realizing it.

But her sister did seem incredibly happy. Kirby wasn't about to poke her nose where it didn't belong. "Let's drop the subject, shall we? Dinner Saturday sounds great. What do you want me to bring?"

"Just yourself, sweetie."

Which was a good thing. She wasn't particularly domestic. Her best cooking came out of a gourmet take-out box from Petrici's. "I found a great new chardonnay from a winery down in Templeton. I'll bring a bottle of that."

"Wonderful. Five o'clock?"

"Sure." They'd hustle her out by ten so they could spend the rest of the evening in bed, getting all starry-eyed. Which was fine. She'd still be able to make it for a drink or two at one of her favorite night spots. Maybe even find a little company.

Except that after being around Kristin and Ross, sometimes she didn't have the energy for company. Sometimes, all she wanted was a hot bath, lots of scented bubbles, and her vibrator, Mr. Perfect.

"Love you. Gotta go. I have another call coming in."

She didn't, but she cut the connection anyway. What was wrong with her these days? It wasn't her biological clock ticking, the way Kristin seemed to think. But something was missing.

She wasn't envious of her sister having a man like Ross. She wasn't even envious of the way he looked at Kristin with that pathetically adoring gaze, like she was the queen of his world and he'd do anything, absolutely anything, for her.

That kind of look would petrify Kirby.

No, it wasn't envy of what those two had together. It was . . . the intensity with which they felt it. Kirby had known that feeling, and not so long ago. She'd felt the same thing as she watched her business grow, spending fourteen to sixteen hours a day making it all happen. She'd been alive, focused, obsessed. It had been the most important thing in her life.

But now she'd hit some sort of plateau. And nothing seemed to excite her. Not even sex. Oh, that was still fine of course, but sometimes she actually preferred Mr. Perfect to the real thing. In fact, she'd starting thinking of Mr. Perfect as the real thing. Take him out of his box, elicit five or six quite respectable orgasms, then put him away again. Out of sight. Out of mind.

She had become shallow, but not the way Kristin meant. Maybe it was having turned thirty a couple of months ago, maybe it was Kristin's upcoming life change. Who knew? But somewhere along the way, Kirby had stopped experiencing life with . . . passion.

There was only one thing that still managed to excite her. And she could certainly do with a little pick-me-up after that conversation.

Yes, what she needed right now was a Jack Taylor fix.

* * *

Telling Cindy, her secretary, to hold all her calls, Kirby locked her office door.

Seated once more behind the desk, she snapped her earpiece in place. She liked her hands free when she phoned Jack. Propping her feet on the wood edge, she undid the third and fourth buttons of her blouse.

During the day, while at work, she limited herself to a sedate two open buttons. But with the locked door discouraging visitors, she indulged herself.

Let's see, it was four o'clock back east. Perfect. Jack liked a little pick-me-up to get him through the late afternoon.

She dialed his direct line.

"Jack Taylor's office."

Damn. His secretary. That meant he was in a meeting.

"This is Kirby Prescott. Is he in?"

"I'm sorry, he's got someone with him right now. Would you like his voicemail?"

"Thanks."

She left the message, unplugged her earpiece, then prowled her office in bare feet. The carpet was relatively new and still plush. Her toes sank deliciously into the fibers. Her skin prickled with anticipation.

After a very long five minutes, the phone rang. Jack's number came up on the digital readout.

She jammed the plug for her earpiece back into its socket. "Jack, that latest shipment of glycolic is crap. It separates. I can't use the stuff."

He was silent a moment. "Are you wearing panties?"

She smiled, her muscles relaxing. She flopped back into her chair and tucked her feet beneath her. "No."

He groaned, barely more than a rush of air across the phone line. "All right. Send the whole lot back UPS Red. I'll get a replacement shipment out tomorrow morning. Too late to do it today."

"You're a doll, Jack." He was way more than that. He was an animal.

"Are you wearing a bra?"

"Yes."

A rustle, the sound of metal chinking, then the rasp of a zipper came through the earpiece like an electric zap. Then his delicious voice. Even when he was all business, his voice could almost make her come. "Was it the new formula that got screwed up?"

"No, this was the old stuff. I haven't even received a sample of the new."

"All right, I'll look into what happened. You should have had it on Tuesday."

"Thanks, Jack."

"Take off your bra."

"Don't you want my new order first?"

"After you describe your nipples to me. Are they hard?"

Squeezing her legs together to intensify the pleasant throb between them, she massaged the stiff peaks through her silk blouse. "Very."

"God. I want to touch them. Your blouse, your bra, I want them off now."

"You are so demanding."

"Yeah. And you love it. Now take them off."

He was right, she did love it. His command made her stomach flutter. Normally, Kirby didn't take orders, she issued them. But Jack Taylor was her secret indulgence and submission to him her secret vice. It wasn't like this was real life, after all. It was fantasy.

She unbuttoned her blouse and scraped the bra across her nipples, moaning loudly for his benefit.

"You like that, don't you?" he said.

"The lace of my bra is scratchy. It makes my breasts tingle."

"I thought I told you to take it off."

"I'm working on it." She unsnapped the front clasp, the lace slithering across her nipples as the cups popped free. "Oh, Jack, will you look at that? My nipples just got all hard." She circled one with a finger. "Do you wish you could touch them?"

"God, you're a tease."

"I aim to please."

"You please me all right. Now, pinch those tight nipples for me."

She did, electric shock streaking down between her legs. "That feels so nice."

"Imagine that I've got your nipple in my mouth. I'm thinking you taste like honey."

"Bite it."

"Sure, baby."

She pinched harder, then clamped her legs together at the burst of heat.

"God, I want to fuck you right now. I want my hand in your pussy. Do it for me."

"Do what?" She liked specifics, liked hearing them said in that deep growl that indicated he was turned on.

"Spread your legs and put two fingers in your pussy."

Twisting to prop her feet on the desk, she slid her skirt up her thighs, and parted her folds with her fingers.

"Jack, you make me so wet. Feel how wet I am."

Her fingers slid in her juices.

"Touch your clit. Massage it. Pretend it's my tongue. You do want my tongue on you, don't you?"

"Oh God, yes, Jack." She closed her eyes and let her head rest on the back of her chair. "I want you to suck my clit until I scream."

She withdrew her fingers and rubbed the wet tips across the aching points of her breasts. "Have you got your cock out?"

"In my hand, baby. And it's hard as a rock."

God, this was so fricking kinky, and she loved it. Sex in the afternoon, in her office, over the phone with a man she'd never met. It couldn't get any better.

"Rub the tip against your clit."

With her eyes closed, the sun beating on her head, she imagined clasping her hand tightly around that hard cock and rubbing herself to orgasm. Her hips rotated, picking up the rhythm of her fingers.

"You want me to eat you, baby?"

"Not yet. I want to suck you."

She'd been known to have five orgasms in one phone conversation. But this time she felt like slowing it down, like concentrating on him, on his voice, his groans, his orgasm. "Imagine me taking just the crown between my lips and licking that little drop of cum out of the center."

He made a soft guttural sound she felt way up inside. "Go on."

"Now I'm sliding down, swirling my tongue all the way, until I'm taking all of you." She worked herself gently as she talked, keeping close to the edge, but still in control. "I'm sucking hard on the way back up. I've got your balls in my hand and I'm squeezing. Do you like that?"

"Jesus, you're going to make me come."

"That's what I want, Jack. I want your cum filling my mouth. I want to swallow every last drop."

His breath sawed in her ear. "You make me crazy. I want to fuck you so bad."

"Stick it in me then. God, Jack, I want it. Hard and fast. Make me scream."

"I'm ramming you against the desk, baby, and God, are you ever gonna scream."

She shoved two fingers inside, but it simply couldn't fill her the way she knew he would if he ever got close enough. Instead, she attacked her clitoris, slipping, sliding, stroking. Her hips bucked against the assault.

"Come, Kirby, do it now, while I'm fucking the hell out of you."

She came when he told her to, came hard, doubling over with it. "Oh God, Jack. Oh God. Please, oh please."

The orgasm seemed to last forever, her muscles spasming around her fingers. She wanted to scream, but Cindy would hear. Not that she cared, she just didn't want to share this time with Jack.

His gulp of air and deep groan signaled his own release. For a space of time there was nothing but the harsh play of his breath across the phone line and her own soft sighs as she floated back to earth.

God, it had been intense, just what she'd craved.

He let out a long breath, then said, "Jesus, that was good."

Damn right. Jack was the best. "Thank you."

"Always my pleasure to pleasure a lady." His breathing hadn't returned to normal. She liked that she could do that to him.

She wondered how he cleaned up afterwards. The thought should have had a dampening quality to the whole interlude, but instead it made her want to touch herself again. He'd have to take himself in hand to do the cleanup.

God, she could have another go at him. She could spend the entire afternoon living out her fantasies. It was getting sort of crazy. "Jack, we have to stop doing this."

"Yeah, right," he laughed. "You're addicted. You can't stop."

He was right. She was addicted to the kinkiness of it, to the potential exposure, and to the fact that she could imagine him to be anything she wanted him to be. He was on the east coast, she on the west. They'd been supplier-customer for two years, phone sex lovers for a year. She'd never asked to meet him; he'd never suggested it either.

The really strange thing was, they talked, too. About everything. Sometimes, she actually unloaded on him. And Kirby didn't unload on anyone, because it just might give away too much. It was sort of crazy the way she trusted him with her secrets, and even crazier how damn good it felt. After all, he could have been some scummy creep who'd suddenly show up on the West Coast, trying to blackmail her. But being her supplier and working for a large corporate group, he had more to lose than she did. But even without that safety net, she felt, well, safe with him.

And the best thing was, all she had to do to get rid of him was hang up.