UNDER MY SKIN, by Jenny Gilliam
BUY UNDER MY SKIN: http://www.amirapress.com/
When coffee shop owner Rachel Crowe overhears her neighbor being murdered, she doesn't
think her life can get any more complicated. But when the detective on the case
turns out to be the very man she kicked out of her store the night before, she realizes
From the moment Detective Alex Williams laid eyes on the raven-haired owner of his
favorite coffee shop, he's been drawn to her. When she becomes the key witness
in his homicide investigation, he takes it upon himself to protect her at all costs.
As the killer closes in on Rachel, the couple are thrown into very intimate and
dangerous situations. Can Alex convince her to trust him before the killer catches
up with them?
Inside the old elevator, the silence was charged, edgy. Rachel Crowe was the first
woman he’d been attracted to with such intensity in a long time. He’d cared for
Francie, but not enough. And he was tempted to pursue this amazing feeling. With
He closed in on her, satisfied when he saw desire flare in her eyes. She looked
up at him when he was half a foot from her. He placed both his hands above her head,
caging her in.
“Tell me, Detective Williams,” she said breathlessly. “Do you make it a habit of
kissing all of your witnesses?”
“You’re the first.”
“You might get in trouble, right? We shouldn’t be doing this.”
His mouth hovered an inch above hers. “You’re right.”
“I don’t want it to stop.”
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged his mouth to hers, immediately seeking
entrance. She thrust her hot, slippery tongue into his mouth, swirling inside, then
retreating. He groaned and dropped his hands to her sides, fascinated by the taste
of her. Coffee, cinnamon, and passion.
Rachel ran her hands along his torso and up his shoulders, looping her arms around
his neck and drawing him closer. With their bodies so close, she couldn’t mistake
his reaction to her. To his surprise, she rubbed herself sinuously against him,
threading her fingers through his hair, her breathy little moans driving him fairly
insane. His hand closed over her heavy breast, her nipple distended into a little
pebble. As he rubbed the turgid peak, she took a sharp intake of breath.
They separated so quickly, it would have been humorous had it not been a uniform
standing at the open elevator door.
“Damn,” Alex muttered.
“Sir,” the uniform said.
“Uh-oh,” Rachel said. “It’s not his fault. I kissed him. He was totally like, ‘hands
off, lady.’ But I just couldn’t control myself,” she babbled. “I mean, look at him.
Well, I guess you really wouldn’t since you’re a guy.” The elevator door began to
shut, and she shoved an arm out to stop it. “Unless you’re gay, which is fine, great.
I mean, I’m totally down with the rainbow.”
“Shut up, Rachel.”
“Yeeaah. Night, Detective.”
The uniform gave him a high-five-nice-goin’-buddy smile as the doors slid shut.
What a cluster.
Jenny began writing at the age of twelve, when she realized the voices talking in
her head were characters, not a result of pre-teen induced psychosis. She’s been
writing on and off for almost twenty years, but actively pursuing publication for
the last three. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. She is the
author of four novels.
Jenny loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her at http://www.jennygilliam.com/