Inside Out Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  “Inside Out is tender, romantic and unapologetically sexy. Lauren Dane writes with an emotional depth and authenticity that always leaves me breathless. Simply put, I love her books!”—Lara Adrian

  Praise for

  LAID BARE

  “It’s impossible not to love this story. The sex is sizzling, the emotions are raw. Lauren Dane has done it again. Laid Bare, quite simply, rocks!”

  —Megan Hart, national bestselling author of Selfish Is the Heart

  “I was blown away by Dane’s emotionally charged, deeply erotic tale of second chances and redemption. I can’t say it enough: I loved this book!”

  —Sylvia Day, national bestselling author of The Stranger I Married

  “A tender love story that wrung my heart with its sweetness. Don’t miss this book.”—Ann Aguirre, national bestselling author of Hell Fire

  “Laid Bare lives up to its title . . . Dane provides a heated yet entreating second chance at love due to the tender caring in and out of the bed of each of the prime players.”—The Best Reviews

  “A roller-coaster story that will have you crying one moment, aroused the next, and laughing with glee at each triumphant step along the way . . . This is Dane’s best story yet!”—Romantic Times

  Praise for

  UNDERCOVER

  “Lauren Dane deftly weaves action, intrigue, and emotion with spicy, delicious eroticism . . . a toe-curling erotic romance sure to keep you reading late into the night.”

  —Anya Bast, New York Times bestselling author of Jeweled

  “Sexy, pulse-pounding adventure . . . that’ll leave you weak in the knees. Dane delivers!”—Jaci Burton, national bestselling author of Riding the Night

  “Exciting, emotional and arousing.”—Sasha White, author of Most Wanted

  “Fast-paced action, steamy romance.”—Megan Hart

  “Scintillating! . . . a roller coaster of emotion, intrigue, and sensual delights . . . I was hooked from the first sentence.”

  —Vivi Anna, author of The Vampire’s Quest

  “Be in line at your favorite bookstore the day it comes out. In other words, it is a Recommended Read . . . one I plan on reading over and over again.”—Joyfully Reviewed

  “A hot, sexy and action-packed piece of writing that will keep you glued to every page wondering what will happen next. A fabulous read!”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Wow! This book rocks! Lauren Dane pulls out all the stops with this soul-searing, awe-inspiring read . . . Definitely a must read and deserving of a special spot on the keeper shelf.”—Romance Junkies

  More praise for Lauren Dane and her novels

  “Drool worthy.”—Romance Junkies

  “This story has it all! There is action, drama, interesting characters, an electrifying story line and hot, passionate sex . . . a truly beautiful and sensual story . . . a truly enchanting series!”—Joyfully Reviewed

  “Starts out hot right out of the box, and then keeps getting hotter. Lauren Dane has a knack for making readers feel the passion and excitement of a new relationship . . . it’s easy to see why Lauren Dane is such a well-loved author.”—TwoLips Reviews

  “Lauren Dane has once again created characters that you can’t resist . . . the sexual chemistry sparks and sizzles.”—Sensual

  “From its completely romantic beginning to it’s oh-so-sensual end, I loved every word . . . Ms. Dane is definitely becoming a master of the romantic pen!”—The Romance Studio

  “Rich and sensual . . . entirely delicious.”—Romance Divas

  Berkley Heat titles by Lauren Dane

  INSIDE OUT

  INSATIABLE

  COMING UNDONE

  LAID BARE

  RELENTLESS

  UNDERCOVER

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2010 by Lauren Dane.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-44502-0

  Heat trade paperback edition / November 2010

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This one is for my very own alpha male.

  Ray, you’re my everything.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  At this point, I have a cast of characters who support every book I write (I’m lucky that way).

  My family—my wonderful husband, who rarely complains about having a wife who uses parts of his real life in her books. My kids, who keep me grounded. My parents, who’ve been the best example a girl could ask for.

  Leis Pederson—thank you for being such a wonderful editor. Each of my books is better for the work you put into it and the effort you make to get me in line.

  Laura Bradford—wonderful agent, wonderful friend. Thank you.

  Megan Hart—thank you for always being there. And for making me use more commas. Ann Aguirre, Jaci Burton, Maya Banks and Anya Bast—thank you for always being there to listen to me and to give me such great advice.

  Mary, Renee and Fatin, who beta read for m
e even though they all have busy lives—thank you.

  My readers—you’re all the very best in the world. Thank you for supporting me and my books!

  I would be remiss in not mentioning the poetry of Pablo Neruda. Neruda’s poetry really communicated to Cope’s sense of romanticism and sensuality. It was a thrill to use that in this book, and I hope I’ve steered some people toward at least a few volumes of his poetry.

  1

  She arched on a gasp as the heat of his mouth met her neck. His hands, clever, wicked hands, quickly divested her of her shirt, leaving her free to rub against him like a cat. She groaned as he moved away, reaching to grab him back. He grinned. That cockeyed uptilt of his mouth that had driven her insane for years.

  “Sugar, don’t rush me. Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you like this?” Cope’s voice was rusty, filled with burrs and edges as it washed over her. His hair, gleaming blue-black, caught the glow of light from the nearby lamp.

  “Take your shirt off. I want to see.” God, how she wanted to see his body. She’d fantasized about him for so long it seemed beyond surreal as he peeled off the tight, black T-shirt, revealing acres of sexy muscles, taut skin and tattoos.

  She sighed happily as heat bloomed low in her belly, tightening her nipples.

  “Like what you see? Oh sweet Christ ...” He left off on a hiss of pleasure as she cruised her mouth and tongue up his belly and to the ring in his left nipple. Her hands slid over the ornate Chinese dragon tail wrapping around his left biceps. The body of the dragon dominated Cope’s entire back, marking him in a decidedly masculine way. She knew it had taken Brody Brown nearly six months to complete. Worth every moment. It was breathtaking. Beautiful and beyond sexy.

  “This tattoo makes me so hot.” She nipped his side, and he leaned into her. His skin was salty; the taste filled her with craving and a sense of triumph at finally being able to touch him the way she’d wanted to for so long.

  His scent curled around her senses, holding her there: the tang of his arousal, of his skin, the musk of his cologne, the citrus of his shampoo, all little sensual treats she’d picked up from being around him all the time.

  Laughing, she pushed him back and scrambled atop his body, straddling his hips. He raised a brow at her, and she briefly stopped, fascinated by the jump of his pulse at the hollow of his throat. She leaned down to kiss him there because there was nothing else to do.

  He was getting naked, and his hands were all over her. It was like Christmas and her birthday at the same time. Maybe even a bit of Halloween too, it was so good.

  “Do you like bad boys, Ella?” he asked in a murmur caught between a purr and a growl. All while thumbing one nipple until she squirmed, breathless.

  “I like you. And I like that.” She may have squeaked a bit, though she’d probably deny it if asked.

  He grinned again as he raised himself up enough to reach the nipple he wasn’t already tugging. She rolled her hips, unabashedly delighting in the way the seam of her jeans slid against her clit, giving her just enough friction to make her gulp in some air, but not enough to satisfy.

  Only the hands on her would satisfy. Only his mouth. Only the cock she currently ground against, still locked behind his zipper. Stupid denim!

  “Ella ...” His voice was tortured, laced with need.

  “Please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that he’d be able to give it to her.

  “Ella? Hello?”

  She blinked several times and nearly died as she focused on the man standing just on the other side of the counter. How very special. She’d just had a fuck fantasy about him in the middle of the café at midday.

  Piercing blue eyes met her gaze. A grin, god, that grin, marked his mouth. Andrew Copeland stood two feet away looking amused by her lapse in attention as well as ten kinds of delicious bad boy.

  And to answer the question her fantasy Cope had asked? Hell yes, she liked bad boys. But his kind of bad boy. Unfortunately, she’d had a real one, and that had been enough to land her in the hospital and then physical therapy for nearly a year. The mental scars would probably be there forever. Yeah, not so much fun, those bad boys.

  She swallowed, feeling the burn of her skin as she blushed furiously, but managed to smile at him, because, well hell, look at him! How could you look at all that and not simply smile in thanks to whoever created such perfection?

  “Hey, Cope, sorry about that. I was woolgathering. What can I get you?” The counter had never been cleaner than right then as she rubbed the cloth over it nervously, the taste of his skin still in her mouth.

  She could easily get lost in those eyes. Everything about him attracted her. For years she’d thought him the sexiest guy in town. Way out of her league, but still beyond delicious. Besides, it didn’t hurt anyone to objectify him in her head, now did it? Plus he was a total flirt, which made it even easier to crush on him without really taking it seriously. He flirted as easily as he breathed. He’d probably like it if he knew. Not that she’d tell him or anything.

  He leaned toward her, his movements slow and easy, but she recognized the strength coiled in those muscles, knew he was a predator. “You have the prettiest blush. Did you know that? Now, see, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were having a very naughty fantasy in your head just now.”

  That voice. Holy crap, his voice was like sex in a jar. Or whatever. But it was hot and sexy, and she heard it lots and lots. Usually when her eyes were closed and she was masturbating. Wrong. Bad, bad Ella! Not the place to think about that.

  He chuckled then, cocking his head, and whaddya know, he looked even better like that. Man, she was hopeless. Hopeless and sex-deprived. She was even getting interrupted in her fantasies. How pathetic was that?

  “You were, weren’t you? You have no idea how much I want you to share.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to scar you with my nasty sex fantasies.” She winked and turned, hoping he didn’t see the blush heating her cheeks at that very moment. “I’ll make you an Americano instead.”

  “Killjoy. If you have nasty sex fantasies, Ella, it would help if you shared them. Unburden yourself and stuff. It’s good for you. I’ll even share some of mine. You know, so you don’t feel so alone.”

  She choked with laughter and embarrassment. Good thing she wasn’t looking at him right then. Or drinking anything. Then again, a drink sounded good. A stiff shot of tequila. Gah, not stiff! Um, yes, a shot of tequila might help.

  Trying to get herself back together, she focused on getting his drink. He could tease with just about anyone. Normally, once she knew a person well enough, she could too. But he was different. For years he’d teased her but had kept it gentle. She’d often felt the warm slice of envy at the way he put the moves on women. He was so smooth and sexy when he had a woman in his sights. He’d never looked at her like that. Hadn’t ever given her the smoldering gaze she’d fantasized about for years.

  Until . . . well, lately it had felt like he’d changed the tenor a bit. Felt as if perhaps he’d glimpsed her as a woman instead of his friend Ella.

  Which was stupid, she knew. He teased and was casually sexy, but he couldn’t have had any idea she pined for him. He’d probably feel sorry for her if he knew. Their relationship would change; he’d distance himself to keep her from getting her heart broken. And she’d hate that, hate to lose the friendship and ease they had, even if she did want to lick him from head to toe. No, a playboy like Andrew Copeland was totally out of her league. She knew it, and he did too. That’s why it worked between them.

  He was one of the few people who never looked at her with pity in his eyes. He didn’t ask how she was in a pained voice that told her the asker expected the answer to be sad. She was sick of being defined by something that happened to her nearly four years ago.

  He let her be. Didn’t try to control her under the guise of helping her. Didn’t see tragedy when he looked at her. Which only made her want him more.

 
Cope watched her back, itching to beg her to tell him more. Wanting to hear her voice when she talked about sex—about dirty, fabulously filthy things she wanted him to do to her when they were naked and alone. It was his favorite way to drive himself crazy, thinking about Ella Tipton naked and in his bed.

  He was fairly sure she was teasing about the sex fantasy thing, but her reaction was interesting. His cock crowded uncomfortably behind his zipper, awakened, as always, at the very thought of her. No other woman had caught his attention and his imagination the way she did. Which might have been a huge part of his fascination with her. It was a big reason why he knew she was different, had the potential to be far more than someone he dated. Ella had marked him already. Her determination, the way she aimed herself at goals and didn’t stop until she met them. What wasn’t to admire about that? What other woman could compete?

  Damn, she was something else. Striking. Short, sleek fiery hair, big blue-green eyes, freckles across her cheeks and over her nose. Her skin was so pale she shone like a pearl. She was perfect in her imperfection. All her features, in and of themselves, were not pretty, but combined, they made her singular, the sort of face that drew the eye. And she had no idea how compelling she was, how people simply watched her move for the pleasure of it.

  And funny in an odd way. He got her sense of humor. Offbeat. There was truly no one else like her in the entire world. Her voice made him laugh, sort of high-pitched, like a cartoon sometimes. He knew others teased her over it, but it fit her.

  She was intelligent and diligent, loyal and brave. Braver than most people would ever know. His eyes swept to her legs, covered by a long, loose-fitting skirt.