Degrees of Passion

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Copyright Page

  Degrees of Passion

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9780753523667

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Cheek books contain sexual fantasies. In real life, always practise safe sex.

  Published by Cheek 2008

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Copyright © Michelle M Pillow 2008

  Michelle M Pillow has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First published in Great Britain in 2008 by

  Cheek

  Virgin Books

  Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London SW1V 2SA

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  Distributed in the USA by Macmillan, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010, USA

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780352341778

  The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council [FSC], the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at: www.rbooks.co.uk/environment

  Typeset by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd, Grangemouth, Stirlingshire.

  Printed and bound in the USA

  Sasha wanted him. Without pause, she tugged his vest over his head. She traced the tip of her finger over warm skin, mapping a long puckered scar down one pectoral, passing a small nipple.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she whispered.

  ‘Boyhood mishap,’ he answered.

  Sasha assumed there was much more to the tale, but didn’t know him well enough to push for the full story.

  Her fingers found their own path, moving to the bandage taped to his waist. She wanted to see his tattoo, the sexy sweep of black on his firm skin, but left the bandage where it was. Instead, she drew her fingers across his waistband to his zipper. Unfastening his jeans, she discovered tight black cotton boxers. The material molded to the unmistakable form of his arousal.

  Her heart beat so hard that the sound of it mingled with their heavy breathing. Together they drowned out the noise beyond the window. It was strange to think there were so many people in the city, surrounding them, because right here in this moment there was only the two of them.

  By the same author:

  Bit by the Bug

  Fierce Competition

  Opposites Attract

  Recipe for Disaster

  To my fabulous Editor, Adam Nevill, who gallantly puts up with my changed storylines, author quirks and who has allowed me to breathe life into the Matthews sisters. And to the wonderful staff at Virgin Books and Random House who helped to make these books a reality. It’s been a pleasure working with all of you.

  DEGREES OF

  PASSION

  Michelle M Pillow

  Chapter One

  Steel & Ink Tattoo, Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York

  Sasha Matthews flinched as the needle bit into the flesh of her forearm just above her wrist. A burning wave of fire traveled along her nerves. She focused on maintaining her cool. Even slightly tipsy, the tattooing process hurt like a bitch. If the artist found out she’d been drinking before coming into his parlor, he’d kick her out – or so the big sign of warning in his front room indicated.

  The unusual beat of Indian-flavored hip-hop music filled the shop, blending with the Asian-influenced décor. The buzz of the machine added a constant backdrop of sound. She bit down on a peppermint, hearing it crunch between her teeth. The little piece of candy hid the smell of liquor. She made the conscious effort to swallow often and not breathe directly in the tattoo artist’s direction – just in case. Funny that a man with a red-tipped faux-hawk, two full sleeves of bright-orange and red bone tribal tattoo designs and combat boots would care that the college student in his chair was sober and of age. But, hey, Sasha actually respected him for it. At least she knew he was clean, not like some back-alley ex-jailbird that illegally tattooed with dirty equipment.

  Her fingers twitched spontaneously as the needle ran over a sensitive place on her wrist. It was a strange reflex, one she couldn’t keep from happening. So instead she stopped trying to control it and stared at the long mirror across from her seat. Her reflection gazed back and she couldn’t help but study herself. Bobbed brown hair stuck out into two small messy pigtails behind each of her ears. She liked the shorter cut, as it afforded a kind of wash-and-go ease.

  In her first two years of college, Sasha had put on over twenty pounds. There was no seeing it now. She made sure of that with her very strict workout schedule. Even so, she looked almost neurotically for signs of weight gain in the seated position of her body in the mirror.

  ‘Fuck,’ Sasha swore, flinching when the artist hit a particularly painful area.

  ‘Almost done,’ the artist soothed, the pleasant sound automatic and practiced as if he used that exact same tone with every customer.

  ‘Looks good.’ The third voice came from the hall that led back to the restrooms.

  Sasha glanced up and almost gulped in surprise as she saw Kevin Merchant. She’d almost forgotten he was with her, which was crazy since they’d spent most of the evening in each other’s company. Maybe it was because she was wallowing in her unhappiness over a recent break-up.

  It was only by chance that she’d run into Kevin at a bar earlier in the evening. She hadn’t been looking for company, especially not in the form of a handsome, arrogant man. Though cute, Kevin was one of those people she liked sometimes and disliked more often than not. He had a way about him, a smug intellect that shone in his speech and gestures.

  Sasha again checked the mirror to make sure she looked all right. She wore what her sister, Kat, liked to call college chic. Her black jersey scoop-neck T-shirt and faded denim jeans worked well in the classroom, or on a casual date. Not that this was a date. She turned her attention back to her arm, hoping her little mirror check wasn’t too obvious.

  If asked, Sasha would have said Kevin was a friendly acquaintance. They didn’t hang out, not before to
night, and they hadn’t really crossed paths socially – aside from the very rare college party. But tonight, as she downed a couple of heady shots of tequila, they’d somehow connected. Alcohol was great for forging fast friendships and, on such a lonely night, she really had needed a friend.

  Kevin was a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy, an urban cowboy without the hat and boots. His appearance was clean but a little rugged with short dark-blond hair that spiked into a sun-bleached lighter shade. He only wore suit jackets from a department store sales rack when networking functions in the NYU anthropology department required it.

  The conversation seemed to flow between them, easily moving across a wide array of topics, none of which was too serious – even if everything he said gave the impression he was smart to the point of insufferable. Kevin was the kind of person who knew exactly what he wanted to be and he toiled towards his PhD in cultural anthropology with a single-minded purpose. He worked through school, paying his own way with the aid of scholarships and grants. She envied his certainty in life, his decisive reasoning. Sasha could barely decide on a degree long enough to call home about it.

  Her thoughts swam, blurring her vision for a brief moment, and she wondered if maybe she’d overestimated how many shots of hard liquor she could handle. She couldn’t take her gaze off Kevin. His light-brown gaze held an intensity that frightened her. At least her legs held steady, even if her stomach fluttered with nerves.

  ‘All done!’ The tattoo artist dabbed at the black design on her arm with a paper towel. When he pulled his hand away, a bloody outline of a Celtic knot imprinted the white cloth. It matched the half-dollar-sized design on her arm. Done completely in black lines with gray shading, it stood out in stark contrast to her lightly tanned skin. The artist rubbed ointment over it, making it shine. It took on the appearance of a fake tattoo, though the slight red of her irritated skin surrounding it reminded her of how real it was.

  ‘I can’t believe I did it,’ she whispered, turning her wrist in awe.

  ‘Since you both got the same design, I’ll give you a discount,’ the artist said, sling-shoting his used latex gloves towards the trash can. ‘And because no one screamed.’

  Sasha gave a weak laugh. She might not have screamed, but she’d cussed through the whole process like a sailor who’d been denied access to a whorehouse.

  ‘You’re still bleeding.’ The artist placed a neatly folded paper towel over her arm and fastened it down with white medical tape. ‘Leave that on for about an hour.’

  Sasha nodded once, but couldn’t help glancing at Kevin’s right hip where a matching Celtic knot lay hidden. They hadn’t planned on getting the same design as they left the noisy bar in search of something spontaneous and wild – something Sasha needed desperately, something she hoped would mark forever what it felt like to have a broken heart so she’d be more cautious with the organ in the future. It was only by chance that they chose the exact same pattern. And what did she care if Kevin had the same tattoo as her? They were in college after all. This was the time to be adventurous and do crazy things.

  Kevin’s hand lightly touched his hip, pressing into the blue jeans where the tattoo lay covered with his own paper towel to prevent the stiff denim from rubbing. The lightweight white cotton of his long-sleeve, button-snap shirt moulded to his chest and gave hints of a muscled stomach. Tan, navy and blue stripes ran from pointed collar to shirttails.

  The tattoo artist recited care instructions, but Sasha barely listened. Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out everything but her own thoughts. She looked at her arm, seeing the design, but in her mind she looked at Kevin’s hip. The angular curve as it dipped into the flat tight flesh of his stomach. He’d been stiff during the tattoo, holding his breath as the needle moved over his skin. She couldn’t help but stare as it happened, her body heating at the teasing trail of hairs leading into the V of his unzipped jeans.

  Sasha grabbed the messenger bag she used as a backpack and a purse. Slipping it over her head, she adjusted it so the thick black strap rested on her shoulder and crossed over her chest and back. She tried not to think of his sculpted hip, his serious eyes, his strong hands and how those hands would feel skating up her calf to her thigh. Her mouth dry, she took a deep breath. She struggled to forget the ache in her sex, the longing in her breasts, her need to be kissed. As she watched Kevin give the artist cash to pay for their ink, Sasha realized he’d bought her a tattoo.

  Belatedly, she reached to her bag, lifting the flap to find money. Kevin walked towards the door. ‘Don’t worry about it. Consider it a gift.’

  ‘Um . . .’ She rummaged through her bag, following him out into the cool city air. Instantly, the sound of the busy street surrounded them. The weather should have been hotter this close to summer. Now that she was upright, it seemed the tequila had clouded her judgment more than she wanted to admit. It must have made its way through her bloodstream as she sat for the tattoo. ‘Are you sure? I have cash. You don’t have to pay for—’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Kevin paused long enough to indicate she should walk beside him. They had to be close to the Washington Square campus because she didn’t remember walking too far to get to the shop. How did she lose track of her whereabouts? People laughed, talked, sang, migrating in parties that filled the streets as groups moved from bar to bar.

  By the look of the area, they were still in Greenwich Village. It was easy enough to tell. The Village was unlike any other part of Manhattan. Whereas every other neighborhood was well planned, laid out on an easy-to-follow grid, the Village’s cobblestone streets wove in twisted patterns just like they had been in the eighteenth century. Every nook and alcove along the former farm lanes hid small cafes and family-owned shops. Traditional brownstones matched the old-fashioned ambiance and small parks nestled in the city’s depths.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked offended at her trying to pay him back. Though, with Kevin, it was hard to tell what the man was thinking. What was with this guy? Did smiles actually cause him physical pain? Lifting her hands, she said, ‘Fine. Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ The surly Kevin was back. If he was like her ex-boyfriend, she’d know exactly what he was thinking by his expression. Kevin said the right things – mostly – he just didn’t show them. She’d never met anyone so guarded. Well, except for her oldest sister, Megan, who happened to be a New York City police detective. At least Megan had an excuse for being stoic. Sasha didn’t know what Kevin’s justification was. Maybe he just didn’t like people.

  They didn’t speak as they made their way down the damp concrete sidewalk. Tiny diamond-like sparkles glistened in the reflecting streetlights. Whatever drizzle there had been started and stopped while they were inside the tattoo parlor.

  ‘My sister just started a new job at a brewery here in the village,’ Sasha said to make conversation. ‘The Phoenix Arms. How about I buy you a drink? It’s the least I can do for dragging you into the world of body art.’

  Kevin stopped walking and turned to her. The bohemian atmosphere of the surrounding crowd faded from her mind as he pierced her with his gaze. She’d never had a man look at her like that, hot and serious, contemplating and maybe even judging. ‘I have an apartment just up the street.’

  Sasha didn’t speak, not so much that she was offended, but more because she was stunned that he’d propositioned her. How else could she take the invitation but as an invitation for sex? When she didn’t readily answer, she expected him to get embarrassed, to retract the offer. He didn’t. She decided to play dumb. ‘That’s all right. I have cash. I can buy you a drink. There’s no cover charge where Zoe works.’

  ‘You’ve been complaining about your ex-boyfriend half the night and moodily thinking about him the rest of it. If the sour look on your face right now is any indication, I’m right.’ He didn’t glance around the crowd, didn’t seem to take in what happened around them. Sasha couldn’t help but glance over the moving throng to see if anyone she knew watched them. No one appea
red to be paying attention. Kevin’s jaw lowered. ‘You said it yourself. He’s off with some débutante.’

  Sasha bit her lip, her vision blurring as she thought of her ex, Trevor, with his perfect body and his perfect smile fucking the perfect Cynthia Rockman. It would be like watching gods mate. Pain rolled through her at the thought of Trevor in anyone else’s bed. How could he throw away what they had on some socialite airhead his parents wanted him to marry?

  She wondered why she’d told Kevin so much personal information. The image of Trevor and Cynthia made her sick to her stomach. Suddenly, Kevin’s offer made perfect sense. It wasn’t like the man was a leper. He was sexy in an irritable sort of way and he wasn’t asking her to love him. Licking her lips slowly, Sasha nodded. She was a free woman. Trevor wasn’t the only one who could get action elsewhere.

  Maybe it was the liquor or her anger. Perhaps the images of her ex in the arms of another woman hurt too badly. Or, even more remotely, maybe it was Kevin himself. There was something about him that drew her, had always drawn her. Not exactly a fiery desire like the first time she had seen Trevor, but an interest, a pull, a strange fascination to look at him, watch him, even when she didn’t talk to him. He was the kind of person who captured her notice from afar, kindling her curiosity even as she kept her distance.

  ‘Do you live on campus?’ Sasha asked.

  ‘No, but close by. Don’t worry. No one you know will see you.’ He held out his hand to her. As if following his command, her fingers slid over his. He pulled her with him, leading the way down the street.

  Sasha’s resolve swung back and forth, like a pendulum, going from sex with Kevin to drowning her sorrows in a pan of brownies covered with a vat of vanilla ice cream. Both would undoubtedly be delicious. The brownies she could work off. Could Kevin be blown off?

  Why was she following him? His tone bordered on rude. He didn’t show any affection for her, not really, not like she was used to. What was she doing? She should make her way to see Zoe at work. Her sister would make sure she got home all right.