Skin

by Karin Tabke

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and husky from sleep.

  Frankie quickly recovered. “Good morning yourself.”

  She moved closer to the bed. Crouching, she moved in close to the side of his face. “Close your eyes.”

  He did.

  “Stretch, like a wild beast waking from a delirious night of sex with his fantasy woman.”

  He performed on cue and gave a low moan of pleasure to go with the action.

  “Good, now slowly open your eyes and look at me like you’re a starved dog and I’m a bone.”

  That was no stretch for him. Reese did as commanded. He didn’t bother to try and curb his erection; it was a morning thing that now started to throb with want. He’d exercise self-control later.

  Frankie inhaled sharply. Reese’s blue eyes burned fire straight to the core of her. Electricity sizzled between her legs and warm moistness lubricated her slow throb. She’d been a fool to allow her fear of failure to get between this man and the success of her magazine.

  Anthony had spooked her, undermined her confidence. It would not happen again. She would not allow Anthony to get between her and her magazine.

  Despite the drugs and beer she’d consumed last night, several aspects of the evening with Reese sunk in while she slept. She’d made her decision to do everything in her power to keep Reese happy in order to further herself, and Skin. If that meant sharing a little of herself with him, so be it.

  Frankie smiled. Yep, as she saw it, she would do whatever it took so that the ladies of America would get their world rocked, and she’d be damned if she’d let anything come between him and her readers. It was all or nothing. And she wanted it all.

  And now, with such a compromising position presenting itself so nicely, what better way to hone her skills as an emotionally detached businesswoman.

  “Turn over,” she said, her voice just as low and husky as his had been.

  Slowly, Reese did as commanded. “Tell me your fantasy.”

  “I told you I don’t have one.”

  “Make one up.”

  “Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.” And so she would give him what he wanted. But he’d have to work a little harder for it.

  “I can take it.”

  She focused and took a few test shots. “The lighting in here sucks.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  Frankie reached across Reese, her chest barely brushing his back, and turned on the table lamp. As she moved back, he rolled to his side and grabbed a hank of her hair, stopping her.

  “Are you afraid of me?” Reese asked.

  Her skin flushed warm under his regard. Maybe. Just a little. “You don’t scare me.”

  “Then tell me your fantasy.”

  She pulled her hair from his hand and leaned back, focusing her camera. “Once, I was out at a bar, sitting by myself, minding my own business like a good girl.” She took a few shots, then attached a different lens to her camera. “As I sipped my wine, a man walked in. A tall, dangerous-looking man. Immediately we locked eyes. I thought maybe he was someone my father brought in from out of town to keep an eye on me. And I didn’t care, I wanted him.”

  Frankie knelt next to Reese and focused in on his face. His eyes shone bright, and she had his undivided attention. “I wanted him to come up behind me, to touch me, to whisper in my ear to meet him in the dark alcove in the corner. In my fantasy he does. His breath is hot against my ear and his hand slides up my thigh and then under my skirt. I’m so wet for him I can’t stand it. ‘I want to fuck you,’ he says, and I almost come on the bar stool.”

  Reese’s chest rose and fell, his breath coming out in short, hot bursts. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Fuck him.”

  “Oh, yes. He slips his hands around my hips and gently pulls me off the stool and guides me toward the dark corner. He follows so close I can feel his hard-on against the small of my back.”

  Reese’s hand slid to the edge of the mattress nearest to her thigh. “Sex with a stranger turns you on?”

  “With this stranger it did.”

  His fingertips traced the skin of her knee, just enough to let her know he was interested. She shivered. “Tell me what happens next.”

  Frankie stood and stepped back. She smiled a half smile at him, liking his body on high alert. “Use your imagination.”

  Reese groaned and rolled over onto his chest, grinding his hips into the mattress. “Not fair.”

  “I never said I played fair.”

  Reese cocked a dark brow but said nothing.

  “Don’t move,” she directed, and angled her camera, taking several shots.

  “I’m about to impale the mattress.”

  Frankie laughed. “Oh, I won’t keep you like that too long.” She took a few angled shots. “Put your arms up and rest your head on them.” In a languid movement he did just that. The muscles across his shoulders and arms rippled with the action. Something deep inside her moved. He had the grace and stealth of a leopard, and she was sure he possessed equal physical strength.

  Primal emotions sprung up from nowhere. She envisioned what their children would look like and her body went rigid. Holy hell — she did not just think that! What was wrong with her? In all the time she’d been with Sean, she’d never considered giving birth to his children. Lord, she needed to see her shrink.

  “You going to take the picture or what?”

  Reese’s abrupt comment jolted her out of her ridiculous revelry. He’d turned half on his side, his pecs bulging under his weight. She swallowed hard. “Yes, of course. Turn back around.”

  Just business, she repeated in her head. Just for business she grasped the top of the sheet and pulled it down his back, revealing a hint of his round left cheek. She wondered what he would do if she ran her fingertips down the curve of his ass, then slid them down between his legs and caressed his heavy balls. She imagined the sharp hiss of his breath, his body rising, him turning and pulling her down to him, kissing her so hard her lips would be bruised for days.

  “Frankie!”

  “I’m focusing.”

  She took the necessary shots and backed out of the room to her borrowed one. Minutes later she heard the shower running. She pictured him in the shower, hot water spraying his naked body, beading on his tight skin, steam rising in the tile stall. Her fingers itched and her blood quickened. She had to shoot him like that. She didn’t bother to resist the temptation or opportunity.

  Camera in hand she hustled to the bathroom, excitement zipping through her. Stealthily she turned the knob. Disappointment flooded her. Locked. Anger flashed. What the hell? She’d expected it to be wide open with a neon sign flashing for her to enter and join him.

  Not to be denied the stellar hot shots she knew she could get, Frankie reached up to the top of the doorjamb and felt for the key. Dismayed when she didn’t find one, she checked every jamb in the condo and came up empty. Had he removed them, suspecting she might try to get in? Or God forbid, had he caught a case of shyness? Refusing to believe that, and more determined than ever, she dug through her purse for a bobby pin. Instead she found a large paper clip. It would do. She pulled it straight and inserted it into the small hole in the knob. It clicked and she smiled triumphantly, turning the knob.

  She opened the door to the hot, steamy bathroom, the thick air swirling around her. The semisteamed shower doors did little to hide the man on the other side. What she saw set her body on fire.

  Reese lathered up.

  With his head back and his eyes closed, ever so slowly his big hands rubbed the creamy lather across his chest, moving slightly upward as he slid across his pecs. His dark brown nipples hardened beneath the soft friction. His hand slid lower, across the hard tautness of his belly. Steadying her breath, Frankie raised her camera.

  Reese’s hand slid down to his burgeoning cock. His body flinched when he wrapped those long fingers of his around the thick shaft.
His chest expanded when he caught his breath. Frankie’s own breath echoed in her ear. In a slow, rhythmic slide he began to pump.

  A heaviness filled Frankie’s body, blood rushing to fill every capillary she possessed. Her hips rocked in silent approval with his. When his back arched, her back arched. Frankie bit her bottom lip and held back a cry of pleasure. For the first time in her life she understood what “in heat” actually felt like.

  Her legs felt like waterlogged sacks of sand, making it hard for her to take a step closer. The sound of the pulsing water covered the low click of her camera. He was turned slightly away from her, unable to see her taking shots of him — unless he turned around. She gave no thought of being caught. All that mattered was the shot.

  She watched, through her lens, spellbound as his hand pumped faster. Her heart rate accelerated and she licked her lips; her hips keeping their own subtle cadence. He was truly a magnificent specimen of a man. She’d been a fool to have considered another model. Pressure built at the apex of her thighs.

  His hoarse voice called out her name. Frankie gasped, unable to keep the sound from escaping. Her hips jolted simultaneously. Heat flashed across her skin. Her blood vessels opened and filled. Her body throbbed. If she didn’t get out of there, she’d break her cardinal rule.

  Quickly she backed out of the bathroom, giving him time to clean up and her heart rate time to calm down. She leaned against the wall just outside the bathroom, the cool air easing her body’s elevated temperature. Something too primal to name encompassed her. She didn’t bother to examine it; instead, she allowed it to lead.

  This time when she opened the bathroom door, she did it with fanfare, announcing her entrance. “Hellooo.”

  Reese stopped lathering his chest and smiled, slow and cocky, as if he knew a secret. Had he been aware of her presence during his little show? Had he done it knowing she found a way in? No, she suddenly realized, he’d made it painfully clear he didn’t want her in the bathroom. And she felt a stab of shame. Was she stooping too low? Getting the shot no matter the cost?

  Her gaze darted away from his and caught the four door keys sitting on the edge of the vanity. Anger surfaced but she quelled it. She had no right taking those pictures. Her business head kicked that notion aside. Maybe not, but he had agreed to whenever and wherever.

  She focused back on Reese’s lathered body. Her limbs warmed again. Reese Barrett had the body of a gladiator. Tall, ruggedly muscled, and scarred. She’d never really liked the perfect beauty of so many of today’s models. She liked a man who had character, his body reflecting that. She was betting the masses of women out there felt the same way.

  She wrinkled a brow at his indifference. While it appeared he could turn off his lust for her, her body parts still hummed.

  “I’d love to get a few shots of you all lathered up. What do you say?”

  He nodded and pulled back the shower door. Her eyes instantly dropped to his firm but fallen erection. She couldn’t help it. He was just so damn attractive down there.

  Reese gritted his teeth. It took every ounce of willpower not to spring back to attention. The fact that he’d just jerked off didn’t seem to play into the mix. The way Frankie stood there staring at him, a mixture of surprise, wonder, and, damn it, lust on her face almost did him in. He was only human after all, and when the object of his own lustful thoughts stood so close and looked so interested, what the hell was he supposed to do?

  Shit! His reverse psychology method was about to backfire in his face. He felt his cock twinge and watched Frankie’s pouty lips form a silent O.

  Gritting his teeth, Reese let his thoughts go to the cold, snowy planes of his home in Wyoming, and the way the wind would whip snow into mountainous drifts, how it made travel of any kind impossible. He’d damn near frozen more than a few times during his hours on horseback looking for stranded mustangs. He remembered Missy throwing a hissy fit one Christmas when he refused to allow her to make a round with him during a blizzard. His body tingled, but not with heat: this time the feeling was cold, frosty, chilling. Missy’s laughing face floated into his thoughts and suddenly her eyes closed, and her laughter quieted, never to be heard again.

  Reese squeezed his eyes shut. Even after all these years, he couldn’t forgive himself his part in her death. All desire for sex drained like the spring thaw from his body. His muscles tightened and his brows drew tight.

  Frankie watched Reese’s face morph from sexy to hard, then bitter, in less time than it took her to snap a round of shots.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, and she realized she really wanted to know. When had this man’s feelings become important to her?

  He turned the water off, his actions abrupt. He grabbed the towel from the rack and briskly dried off. Skin still damp, he wrapped the towel around his waist and shot her a dangerous look. “I’d like a little privacy.”

  Frankie nodded, and for the second time in the last few moments shame coursed through her. She turned and hurried out of the bathroom.

  Pacing the living room floor, Frankie realized she was reverting back to her old emotional involvement habits. She reminded herself what mattered was getting the shot. Period. Feelings, emotions, whatever they were, had no purpose in getting “the shot.” This was business, and her business was to launch Skin off the charts. To that end it was all about the shot.

  The door to the bathroom opened and she watched Reese walk into his bedroom and shut the door. The click of the lock was not lost on her. That was okay. She didn’t want any more pictures of him in the condo anyway.

  She hustled into the bathroom, still steamy from the man who just exited it, and jumped into the shower.

  She’d washed her bra and panties the night before. Without his permission, she borrowed a black button-down shirt. She’d change when she got to the office. She had an overnight bag and extra clothes she kept there in her little powder room.

  When she strutted out of his bedroom, he looked her up and down. “Nice shirt,” he drawled.

  “I’ll send it out to be laundered. You’ll have it back by the end of the day.”

  “Polite people ask.”

  Bent on putting more distance between them, she picked up her camera bag and purse, careful of her stitches. “I’m not polite.”

  Few words were spoken as they drove to the studio. Reese’s closed face and body language offered no opening for conversation.

  Frankie didn’t push it. She’d let her guard down last night and blabbed too much. It was retreat time. Professional-distance time. Time to be the bitch she needed to be to not only survive in this world she lived in but to succeed in it.

  When Frankie walked into her office with her hair hanging damp down her back and Reese following close behind, Tawny raised a brow and choked back a smile. Frankie ignored her assistant’s smug look and put the key into her office door.

  Her gaze immediately zeroed in on the wrapped box on her desk. The gaily wrapped package beckoned her. Setting her camera bag down, perplexed, she picked up the box.

  “Birthday?” Reese asked.

  She shook her head and pulled the ribbon, then removed the lid. Just as she lifted it, Reese grabbed her hand. “Let me do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit unusual to have a gift on your desk in your locked office?”

  Her gut lurched and she felt sick to her stomach. Her hand slid from the box top. Reese moved between her and the box and pushed her back with his right hand. “Do you have a ruler?”

  “Top drawer.”

  Reese slid open the desk drawer and pulled out a plastic ruler. Stepping as far back from the box as he could while still touching it with the tip of the ruler he slowly lifted the lid. Frankie’s muscles tightened, and the feeling of nausea swelled. What she expected, she didn’t know. When nothing exploded or leapt from the box, Reese stepped closer and peered into it. His brows slammed together and he shot her a disturbing look.

  “What?” Fran
kie asked, afraid of the answer. Her fear angered her. And what angered her more was the distraction. She didn’t have time for this crap. She stepped over to Reese and looked down into the box. Her blood chilled. Son of a bitch! She stepped back, tripping on her feet. Reese caught her, then steadied her.

  “What does it mean?” he asked.

  Frankie’s hand shook and she put it to her throat to still it. The alarm clock lay faceup, the glass shattered and the time set to nine o’ clock. “It means my time is up.”

  “Who has access to your office?”

  After the first wave of shock and fear swept through her, another wave followed, this one hot and filled with fury. Her office was her sanctuary, her private space, and someone had violated it.

  “Anthony!” She grabbed the clock from the box and shoved past Reese, ignoring his calls for her to stop. She marched down the hall to the office her brother had claimed as his and without an invitation she burst in.

  He started when the door slammed against the wall, then his eyes narrowed. “You never learned manners, Frankie.”

  She threw the clock at him, narrowly missing his face. He caught it. “If you’re man enough to take me out, little brother, be man enough to tell me to my face.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She pointed to the clock in his hand. “That was on my desk this morning.”

  Anthony looked at the clock in his hand. Realization dawned. He was pretty good, Frankie thought. He almost looked as surprised as she’d been.

  Anthony set the shattered clock down on his desk. “I didn’t put that in your office.”

  “Then who did you pay to do it?”

  He sat back in his chair, relaxed, and didn’t seem to give a shit she’d been told her time was up.

  “I don’t work that way, sister, and you know it.”

  “Why do you want Skin?”