Skin

by Karin Tabke

  “For Christsakes, Bronson,” Ty Jamerson grumbled. “You have the biggest damn cock on the West Coast and you can’t get her to take a picture of it?”

  Ricco Maza, a hotshot from Montrose PD, hooted and slapped Reese’s longtime partner, Jase Vaughn, on the back. “Dios mios, you couldn’t get that little mafia princess to bite? Not even a nibble?” Both men doubled over in laughter.

  Reese’s eyes narrowed and he cast a quick glance at Andi Fuentes. The long-legged, darkly exotic So Cal detective gave him an equally narrowed look in return. He guessed he deserved it. While he’d made her no promises several years ago during a brief but intense fling, she apparently hadn’t forgotten or forgiven him. Despite her glare, his body warmed. Andrea Fuentes was spicy hot. If he were a better man, he’d make an honest woman out of her. As he was, she was too good for the likes of him.

  Besides, he knew she wasn’t interested in growing roots either. It was one of the reasons they maintained a working relationship.

  “It wasn’t a performance problem, was it, Reese?” Andi asked, her thick, husky voice conjuring up wild summer nights, twisted sheets, and the hottest sex north of the border.

  Jase chortled. “I always thought what happened between the sheets stayed between the sheets.”

  Andi stood and every eye in the room roamed across her ass. She walked past the men and poured herself a cup of coffee. She turned and leaned her backside against the coffee table. Reese admired the smooth curve of her hip. His gaze traveled up to her dark flashing eyes. He deserved her scorn.

  Refusing to break her stare, Andi said, “Unless there’s nothing going on between the sheets.”

  “Watch out, Bronson,” Ricco, said between laughs. “Latinas are a vindictive lot.”

  Breaking his gaze, Reese scowled and rubbed his chest, remembering the sharp pain of her nails. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  “Bronson, Fuentes, if you two can’t keep your objectivity, one of you goes,” Ty said.

  Andi smiled and sipped her coffee. “I have no problem with Bronson, sir.”

  Ty cocked a dark brow at Reese. “I’m good,” Reese said.

  “Good, then let’s get this show on the road.”

  Reese grinned and settled back into his chair and gave them the 411. “For your information, Miz D took a picture, all right. Lots, in fact. I had her too. Until her brother busts in and makes a smart-ass comment before she drags him out. They were gone for a few minutes. They must have gone at it, because she came back a different person.”

  “Fucking sibling rivalry?” Ty asked.

  Reese shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. I think Anthony isn’t keen on the direction his sister wants to take the magazine. And we know from the street the old man put his foot down.”

  “So crying to the brother won’t help?” Andi said, shaking her head. “I find it amazing that that pissant Anthony Donatello, who runs whores, loan sharks, and has a piece of every strip joint in three counties gets butt-hurt when Sis wants to publish pictures of naked guys.”

  “You could go back and plead your case,” Jase said.

  “And look like I need the job? No fucking way. I do my best work when they come to me,” Reese said.

  Andi snorted and mumbled something about pompous-asshole cops into her mug.

  Reese flashed a grin at his ex and continued. “Besides, I told her I was interviewing at Stag. Word is a former love interest consults over there. Not sure what happened there, but I’ll find out.”

  “Providing you get in,” Andi challenged.

  Reese’s face tightened. “I’ll get in.”

  “What happened when Tony showed up?” Ty asked.

  “Instant tension,” Reese said. “I thought she was going to tear him in half.”

  “So the lady has claws?” Jase asked.

  “She has claws, all right, and a temper and guts.”

  “She’s got more than that from the looks of her,” Ricco said.

  Reese eyed him and nodded. “She’s a looker, a half-cocked one.”

  Andi shoved off the edge of the table, set her cup on the counter, and flashed an angry gaze at the men around her. “You talk like she doesn’t deserve some respect. If you grew up surrounded by arrogant criminals, you’d have to grow some balls or die.”

  “Survival of the fittest. I think the lady has more going on under that sexy skin than meets the eye,” Jase threw back. He looked hard at Reese. “She’s the most worthy opponent. She makes you want her, then cuts your balls off when you least expect it.”

  Jase’s words were not lost on Reese. He’d been doing this too long to get blindsided by a nice pair of tits and a petulant smile. “You think she ordered the hit?”

  “I’m convinced of it,” Jase said, his tone empathic.

  Reese turned to his captain. “My read says, it’s possible. But my money is on the brother.”

  “Okay,” Ty said, “this is what we have. One dead mafia don, his daughter with over six million dollars in four buried offshore accounts, a pissed-off brother, and no will declaring the new don. Which leaves us with a war brewing. If I were a betting man, my money’d be on the daughter whacking the old man, for two reasons. One, he was opposed to her change of venue for her magazine, and two, I’ll bet he found out she was ripping him off.”

  “Which leaves the brother out for a vendetta,” Reese said. “It would explain his sudden interest in the magazine and their little tiff today. Brother is pushing to get in and sister wants him out.”

  “How out?” Andi asked.

  “I’ll lay odds enough to make him have an accident,” Ricco said.

  “She’s up to it to her neck. Maybe she’s looking to take over completely. What better way to prove she’s one of the guys than to do like they do?” Jase asked.

  “That’ll buy her some respect, and from what I’ve read and heard, she has more brains then her brother.” Andi smiled. “I kinda like that, a lady don.”

  “I don’t know, my gut doesn’t make her out to be power hungry. Driven, yes, but enough to kill her father?” Reese said.

  “Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of killing,” Ty reminded Reese.

  “I get that, but my gut isn’t buying her as the killer. Besides, the Donatellos are known for their tightness,” Reese defended. And he wondered why. Was it his gut instinct or was it something else?

  “They’re like any other dysfunctional family, except these guys are a group of criminals,” Ty said.

  Reese nodded, agreeing. He knew about dysfunctional families. His family wrote the handbook.

  “They’re tight and they don’t trust. Typical of the breed,” Ricco said.

  Reese gave a half smile. “The same could be said of us.”

  “Our lives depend on that code, Reese. No matter what dicks my brothers in blue turn out to be, they always know I have their back.” Andi’s eyes challenged his. Her words hit hard. He had been a coldhearted bastard. If he had changed, he would reach out to her. But nothing had changed. His heart was forever locked.

  Ty turned back to the case. “Last month we finally got a grunt into the front office of Skin. We’re still working on the phone taps. In the meantime we need to nail this bitch before she whacks someone else, or worse, the families blow up on the street.”

  “Wait a minute, Captain,” Andi said as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “Why are we assuming it’s the daughter? I want to know why Anthony Donatello took a sudden interest in his sister’s business.”

  “Boiled down, he has more to gain by offing the old man,” Ricco mused out loud.

  “I don’t buy that,” Jase said. “If the rest of the family agrees, Anthony is heir apparent. His sister, on the other hand, would be toast if the family thought she was ripping off the old man, or worse, that she offed him. She has the most to lose. I’ll bet next month’s paycheck little brother gets iced.”

  Ty nodded in agreement. “Francesca had means,
and, if the whispers on the street are true and Daddy was about to cut her out of the business, motive. And she sure as hell had opportunity. She knew Santini hit that restaurant on his way back to the city. No witnesses? How fucking convenient for her.”

  Reese shook his head. “I’m not completely sold. After what I saw in her office today, I wouldn’t put anything past Anthony Donatello. The guy walks around half-cocked.”

  Ty stood. He set a hand on Reese’s shoulder. “Well, then, my man, you have your work cut out for you. You were handpicked — hell, you were cockpicked for this assignment. I don’t care what you have to do to get that job, but get it. We need answers. There’s too much trouble brewing on the streets. Wiseguys’ll be coming out of the woodwork from every family in Nor Cal vying for power if this isn’t settled. A war is the last thing we want.”

  Reese nodded, the seriousness of his task settling in. He would take this case on as he did every other UC case. With emotional detachment and a bite like a pit bull. Once he latched on, he wouldn’t be shaken loose.

  Too much was riding on his successful infiltration. If he didn’t get in, not only would a Donatello get away with murder, but all hell would break loose over a power struggle.

  Frankie stood in line, her arms crossed over her chest and her right foot tapping an irritated staccato on the black-and-white tile floor. She’d spent too much time out of the office. She was sure Tawny had come up with more models. She was anxious to resume her search. The long line moved at a snail’s pace. At this rate it would be dinnertime before she got her latte.

  “Are you following me, Miss Donatello?”

  The fine hair on the back of her neck rose as warm breath caressed her skin. Although she’d only heard his voice briefly, it was imprinted in her brain along with the image of his cock. Reese Barrett’s voice had an unforgettable husky timbre. “Considering you’re behind me in line, I’d say you’re following me.”

  She turned around. Her hardening nipples scraped against the broad hardness of his chest. She gasped, the sensation electrifying her skin. His deep-set blue eyes darkened and his lips turned up in one corner, crinkling his eyes in a way that reminded her of a very naughty little boy.

  He didn’t move away and she’d be damned if she would blink first.

  “So, did you find your centerfold yet?” His warm, minty breath fanned her lips. She licked them.

  “I’m still interviewing.”

  “Stag isn’t.”

  Frankie stiffened. An unexplainable sense of loss hit her. Had she made a mistake not hiring Reese on the spot? Had Sean beat her to the punch yet again?

  He brushed his chest against her straining nipples. Warmth pooled between her thighs. She looked up into his smiling face. Her stomach shifted. He had really long lashes. Thick and black like hers. His lips were full too. She liked the way they pulled to the left when he smiled. She imagined them slowly sucking and kissing the column of her neck, her most sensitive erogenous zone.

  Holy hell, what was she thinking? He was pushy and insolent. Dangerous. She’d made the right choice. Sean could deal with him.

  “Next!” the barista shouted from behind the coffee bar.

  Reese nudged her with his chest, propelling her backward an inch. “You’re next, Miss Donatello.”

  She could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t talking about her coffee order.

  Chapter Four

  Frankie moved as far away from Reese as she could without actually exiting the café. Impatiently she sipped her latte and waited while Gina Sportaletti filled a few cannoli shells. Just her luck they ran out and she had to stick around. Despite her misgivings about the man, her skin warmed as she watched Reese charm the hell out of the reticent Beatrice, Gina’s dried-up spinster aunt.

  Reese glanced back at her and shot her that to-die-for smile. Her knees wobbled. He started toward her. She backed up, the edge of the counter biting her in the tush.

  His eyes stopped her where she stood; his slow, lazy smile held delicious promise. Frankie halted the inevitable flood of warmth she felt every time he looked at her. She seriously questioned her sanity. The man was a stranger, and she reacted to him with the familiarity of a lover.

  “Knock it off, Reese, the interview is over.”

  “Apparently I need to work on my convincing skills.”

  As men had so often led her to do over the years, Frankie smiled and raked her eyes across his chest. “If it makes you feel any better, the bottom line is I can’t afford you.”

  “If you really wanted me, you’d find a way.”

  Her smile widened. She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger and cocked her head. “Maybe I don’t really want you.”

  Reese moved in closer, his body heat radiating into her skin. He dipped his lips to her ear. “Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

  Her smile waned and she let go of her hair. But she didn’t move away.

  His dark blue eyes turned black, his lips curled into a half smile. Even though she thought the man was intrusive and rude, she felt herself sucked in by his charisma. And it bugged her that in her vulnerable state she was so responsive to him. She was once again certain her decision to continue her model search was the right one.

  Just as she reaffirmed her decision, a sudden thought struck her dumb. If she — a woman who had no use for a man, especially models — reacted to him so strongly, how would women desperate for a man, especially a prime specimen such as the one standing before her, react?

  She sucked in a deep breath and took a step away from him. Was it fate? Meant to be, as her nona was famous for saying? Was Reese Barrett the it man? Like a deck of expertly shuffled cards, everything fell into place. Who was she kidding? He had that extra-special something, and more. She knew it in her gut just as sure as she knew if she didn’t act soon, she’d lose her magazine to her brother.

  Frankie chewed her bottom lip, indecision ping-ponging in her brain.

  Unexpectedly, in her mind she saw their naked, sweaty bodies tearing up the sheets. Reese’s long, powerful body over hers, commanding it to respond. She gasped and stepped further away.

  Her father’s words, “hormone-induced stupidity,” rang in her ears.

  “I know what’s best for Skin, Mr. Barrett, and you aren’t.”

  She grabbed the bag of cannoli from the table and ran out of the café.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered. Holding her latte in one hand and the bag of cannoli in the other, she weaved between the traffic on Post Street. What the hell was wrong with her? “Sex,” she said out loud, “Sex with Reese Barrett.”

  “Holy Mother Mary, what am I doing?” She tried to cross herself with the hand holding the cannoli and nearly dropped the bag on the sidewalk.

  As she hurried into her office, she noticed a half dozen studs perched around Tawny’s desk. Sheepishly, her assistant looked up and shrugged her shoulders. “You told me pronto, so here’s pronto.”

  “Give me a minute, then send one in.”

  Frankie sipped her lukewarm latte and continually forced Reese Barrett from her thoughts. Since the first model strutted in a half hour ago, she hadn’t bothered to get up and take one picture. While the man standing in front of her had the required equipment — tight ass, hard abs, and substantial penis — his penis listed limply to the left and looked like it had a kink near the torpedo-shaped head. Like someone had stepped on it and broken it. She flinched at the notion. Not one of the four models she’d seen had become even semiaroused after her direction to strip.

  Grimacing at her cold drink, she set the paper cup on her desk. She started to load the digital pictures of Reese onto her computer. “So tell me a little about yourself” — she glanced at the file in front of her — “Enrique.”

  “I’ve been the top producing male model at Images for the last three years. You’d be stupid not to hire me.” He grinned wide, showing two rows of perfectly capped teeth. “I guarantee I can get your circulation up.”

 
; So now the models were telling her how to run her business. She slipped on her reading glasses and peered at him from above them. She was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Reese’s grin darted into her thoughts. If you’re so smart, hire me. She scowled and said, “As opposed to getting your cock up?”

  His eyes widened.

  Ignoring his surprise, Frankie stood and came around to the front of her desk. She leaned against it and spread her legs slightly, jutting out her substantial breasts. She could thank her Italian heritage for the breasts and her gypsy mother for her length of leg. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him.

  He nodded and smiled, his face morphing into the sexy Latin lover milieu. “I am very good at what I do, sexy lady. Give me a chance to show you my work.”

  He snapped at her, showing his big white teeth. She jumped, the edge of her desk cutting into her ass. She was going to be black and blue by the end of the day. “I find you hot, mamacita. Mucho caliente.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. And she thought she’d seen and heard it all.

  Beyond bored, she dropped her gaze to his flaccid penis. “Too bad little Ricky doesn’t.” She unfolded herself, walked back to her desk, and sat down. “Zip up, Enrique. We’ll give you a call if we’re interested.”

  As the door closed with a window-shaking slam, she clicked through the pictures she took of Reese. Her reaction was instant. Her skin came to life. Her earlier boredom dissipated. Damn, he was mucho caliente. The man wasn’t bashful and she felt proud that he came to attention so quickly for her. There was no doubting Reese’s sexuality.

  Experience told her if she couldn’t get even a slight wave from a cock, the guy sporting it was either gay or on drugs. She’d learned the hard way that while gay models were the crème de la crème in the looks and physique department, if her readers suspected or knew outright the model was less than hetero, they didn’t buy. When it happened in the past, she’d received more than a few nasty letters and e-mails and even a few threats to sue her for false advertising. So now she went strictly with the real deal.