Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(48)

Back arched. Nipples tight and hard, pressing provocatively against the thin red fabric covering them. Mouth parted in wordless desire with heat in her stare to match.

Holy shit. Isabella genuinely wanted him. As badly as he wanted her.

And he’d been two seconds away from doing his level best to make her come in public.

The thought brought him smashing back to the alcove, to the reality of what he’d been doing—to the even harsher reality of what he’d almost done—and Jesus Christ, was he out of his goddamn mind?

Kellan froze. He took a swift step back, his body sending up a primal and thoroughly pissed what the fuck? to his brain. But as much as the kiss had shredded every last ounce of his control, he couldn’t blow their cover, which meant he damn sure couldn’t look at Isabella.

Jam these feelings into a box, Walker. Right. Now.

Shifting forward to remove her from his line of sight, Kellan reached up to swipe his thumb over his bottom lip, lifting his eyes to level Rampage with an emotionless stare.

“Good enough for you?” he asked, the smudge of Isabella’s coppery lipstick glittering on his hand in the soft light.

Rampage lifted his chin just once, but it was enough. “Never seen a pair of undercover cops do that.” After scanning all three of them with a handheld metal detector and checking the contents of Isabella’s purse, he added, “Enjoy the party.”

He entered a code on the keypad set discretely on the wall beside the double doors, fitting an electronic card identical to the one Marcus had used for elevator access into the adjacent slot. The locks sounded off in a heavy click that sent relief spiraling through Kellan’s veins, and he waited until both Isabella and Marcus had crossed the threshold before moving past Rampage to step into the penthouse.

The music that had only been indistinct sound in the alcove became clearer, albeit not overwhelmingly loud, filling the space of the foyer and two living rooms in front of them with a background of seductive suggestion. Lavish didn’t begin to cover the décor—twelve-foot ceilings with inlaid crown molding, marble pillars delineating the rooms while keeping the space wide open, soft lighting focused on the gilt-framed art and the expertly placed sculpture throughout. Well-dressed couples and small groups of guests dotted the shadowed corners and lushly upholstered furniture, and Kellan realized with a start that the man in the leather armchair less than ten paces away was cutting cocaine over a small mirror just as easily as he might channel surf, while the man across from him received an overly enthusiastic blow job from a woman in a gold-sequined dress.

They were definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

“Danny Marcus made good on his end,” Marcus said quietly, his eyes nowhere near Kellan or Isabella, and she nodded in reply.

“You did. The two of us can find a friend from here. Just remember not to do anything stupid.”

Marcus’s laugh carried zero humor. “You either, sweet cheeks. I’m not looking to leave this party in a body bag. Have a nice life.”

Turning on his heel, Marcus made a beeline for the farthest spot from where Kellan and Moreno stood by the entryway, and finally, Kellan chanced a full glance in her direction. Her expression was impassive, as if she stood smack in the middle of illegal sex parties all the time, but a provocative flush still rode her cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips betraying her ease by just a fraction. The careful sweep of her eyes told him she was taking in ten times more than her face let on, though, just as he’d done the second they’d stepped into the room. While he didn’t want to blow his focus—or hers—he wanted her pissed off even less, so yeah. Time to bite the bullet.

He leaned toward her, dialing his voice to a low murmur that only she could hear. “Are we good?”

Isabella tilted her head. The scent of coconuts hit him with an unexpected punch that damn near answered his side of the question with a big, fat, fucking negative.

But then she said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Her answer held no drama, no anger or passion or anything other than straight-up nothing much. But just as he’d seen the authentic version of her smile last week versus the almost-there version she’d been handing out tonight, Kellan had seen the pared-down desire on Isabella’s face when he’d kissed her. Her want had been the real deal, just like his.

“Because I kissed you,” Kellan said, and Moreno shocked the hell out of him by replying with a soft laugh.

“Actually, if you want to get technical about things, I kissed you and you kissed me back.”

Only this woman would argue semantics in order to claim the upper hand at a sex party. “You’re splitting hairs, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” she said, pressing up to bring her lips level with his ear and getting as close as possible without actually touching him, and even though it made him a top-shelf bastard, Kellan enjoyed every second of the game.

Moreno continued, her teasing smile curving right below his jawline. “But there’s no sense in making a big deal where there isn’t one. We did what we had to in order to get in the door, and I don’t regret that for a second. Do you?”

Kellan blinked back round two of his surprise—Christ, her tenacity knew no bounds—but he answered in truth. “No. I don’t.”

“Good.” Isabella paused, her mouth remaining close enough that he could feel the warmth of her exhale before she shifted back to slide her arm through his and led him farther into the room. “Now do me a favor and tell me what you see.”