Skin

by Karin Tabke

  “By the time we go full frontal with you, Reese, you’ll be the fantasy of every woman and her mother.”

  “What’s your fantasy?”

  Frankie stared at him, refusing to go down that road.

  Reese reclined against the white carpet. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  “I’m not interested in your fantasies, only your body.”

  “That’s one of my fantasies.”

  She spread her hand across his lower abdomen and frowned. Though he was still aroused, his erection had lost some of its volume. Grinning, she told him, “Appropriate-touching alert.” Then rubbed the palm of her hand up the outline of his shaft from the base to the tip. Reese’s hips bucked and she felt the hot surge through the fabric beneath her hand.

  “Good boy.”

  “Did your last man indulge your fantasies?”

  Frankie looked Reese directly in the eye. “I think we need to revisit a few ground rules here.” As if she were sizing up a bag of fruit, she spread her hand across Reese’s reinvigorated erection. Maintaining her business mien, she couldn’t help an inward smile for the perks of her job. Satisfied, she set the camera. Placing her hand in the perfect position, she said, “Flex.”

  He did and the shutter clicked.

  She turned to look at the shot on the screen. Perfect. She turned back to Reese and his long, warm fingers caressed the side of her hand. She steeled herself.

  “I’m not interested in a relationship with you, Reese,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You’ve misunderstood my signals, Frankie. A relationship is the last thing I want.”

  “Then…” Her face warmed. Why did she always think a guy wanted a relationship and she was the last one to find out they really wanted an in with her family? She looked at Reese with new interest. His candor surprised her. “You just want to have sex with me? No strings?”

  “If it works for you.”

  “Sex isn’t part of my current agenda.”

  He stood and slowly buttoned his jeans. She couldn’t wait to get him on location.

  “Change your agenda.”

  “If I did that, I wouldn’t get any work done.”

  He grinned, his teeth brilliant under the bright light. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, then.”

  She frowned, not used to men rejecting her so early in the game.

  “Here’s Stella,” Tawny blurted out as she pushed through the thick black curtain into the studio. Frankie’s temper flared. She was going to kill the little blonde.

  What if she had been in the middle of a crucial shot?

  “Damn it, Tawny, how many times do I have to tell you to knock first?”

  The petite assistant slid to a halt and had the decency to look chagrined.

  “Not to mention I have the ‘Closed Set’ sign out.”

  “I — I’m sorry, I just thought you’d be happy to have Stella here.”

  Frankie let out a long breath. She was. “I am.” Turning to Reese, she said, “I need a break, and you need your scheme done. I’ll be back in about a half hour. Do you want anything from Baccio’s across the street?”

  “No thanks.”

  Frankie shot Tawny a glare. “I’ll be across the street.”

  Tawny nodded but kept her eyes downcast. As soon as Frankie exited through the curtain, Tawny smiled at Reese. “I’ll be back in a flash,” she said, and disappeared through the curtain.

  Looking over her shoulder, Tawny grabbed her cell phone off the clip at her hip and punched in a number.

  “Yeah,” a gruff male voice answered.

  “She’s on her way to Baccio’s.”

  The phone clicked in her ear and she scowled at it. The prick. If it wasn’t for her, he’d have nothing. She gave the phone a one-finger salute and snapped it shut, then inserted it back into the clip. She looked up to find Reese staring at her from a part in the black curtain.

  “Ready?” she asked, her voice an octave too high.

  Reese nodded, and she silently cursed under her breath while she manufactured a saccharine smile. “Well then, let’s get busy!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Frankie strode into Baccio’s deciding her body needed a triple espresso to kick her brain into overdrive. She needed to pack up and get down to Carmel. She was taking Reese along. A two-for-one deal she couldn’t pass up. She warmed as she thought of the shots she’d get down there. And during the downtime she’d tear that place apart one square inch at a time until she found the will.

  She glanced around and scowled as the corner door to the street opened. Anthony.

  Her brother strode into the café, his signature smug smile twisting his handsome lips. For a long moment she wondered why she didn’t take her mom up on her invitation and chuck it all, move to Arizona and live the life of a normal person. She watched her brother approach. As a child he wasn’t completely to blame. Connie had made sure there was no love lost between the siblings.

  As adults it was too late for them now. Anthony was the son of a once powerful mafia boss. Those were intimidating footsteps to fill. There was no time, even if there was motivation, for him to resurrect a relationship with Frankie. She accepted it as fact and ignored the stab of pain that went with it.

  He walked straight toward her. She stiffened. “Anthony, I have no intention of discussing Skin with you.”

  “Then how about Father’s will?”

  She narrowed her eyes with renewed irritation, stopping a few steps from the counter and turning to order. Beatrice scowled at her, and Frankie scowled back. Old biddy.

  “Bea,” Anthony said, “how about a triple for my sweet sis, and a mocha over ice for me?”

  The old woman’s gap-toothed grin beamed. Anthony smiled at Frankie, the gesture for once apparently genuine. Frankie’s antennae shot up. Anthony, congenial?

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Peace, believe it or not.”

  “Or not. Please, Tony, you can’t stand me and I can’t stand you. There will never be peace until one of us is lying six feet under next to Father.”

  “Look,” he said, lowering his voice and looking around for avid ears, “I think that codicil my mother produced is a fake.”

  Frankie gasped, shocked at his candor. “Why would you tell me that? You get everything.”

  “Not exactly. I get control of joint family business, but it’s discretionary. Carmine and the capos have the ultimate say. I will not be don.”

  Ah yes, the ultimate power.

  “I happen to want to live, and until the notarized copy of Papa’s most recent will is found, it wouldn’t surprise me if I have a price on my head.”

  “Who would want you dead? Why do you think it’s fake?”

  “The surrounding families have been very quiet these last couple of weeks. Too quiet. That means they have something in the works, and I’m figuring it’s to get me out of the way. So it could be any of them. You can’t tell me you haven’t felt the tension.”

  Frankie nodded.

  “Why do I think it’s fake? Because it doesn’t read anything like what Father told me he was going to do. It doesn’t add up.”

  Exactly, because Skin was promised to her. “Why would your mother produce a document to the contrary?”

  “She’s afraid for me. And she’s terrified of Unk. While I can’t get her to admit it’s a fake, she feels she’s doing what is best for me.”

  Or covering her own ass. “What does she have against Unk?”

  Anthony shrugged. “I’m not really sure, I’ve never been able to put my finger on it, but there is definite tension between the two. A mutual dislike.”

  “Here you go, caro,” Bea said, sliding the two cups across the counter. When Anthony went for his wallet, the old bat smiled and fluttered her lashes. “On me.”

  Frankie shook her head. She spent a fortune every month at the café and had yet to gain “on me” status.

  Sipping her espresso, Frankie moved to on
e of the tables in the corner by the front window. “After last night I’d think you’d have an aversion to windows,” he said.

  “How’d you know about last night?”

  Anthony raised his brows. “Everyone knows about last night.”

  She impulsively touched her fingertips to the Band-Aid on her arm. She’d been so caught up in her business woes, she’d completely forgotten.

  “I wasn’t the target. It was Unk.” They moved further into the café and sat down at a table in the back, near the restrooms. “Who wants Carmine dead?”

  “Everyone who wants a piece of the Santini pie.”

  Frankie’s eyes narrowed. It was a very large, lucrative pie. “I only want what is rightfully mine.”

  “Would you consider co-owning Skin? Without the naked men?”

  “No. Start your own magazine.”

  “Like Sean and Lindsey?”

  Pain stabbed her heart. Not for Sean, but for what she thought they had and what she thought she lost. And for his ultimate betrayal. “Yes, exactly.”

  Frankie regrouped. This was her chance to appeal to Anthony in a civilized manner to back off. If he refused? Well, then she was her father’s daughter after all.

  Leaning toward him, she said, “Let’s be clear here, Anthony. Father promised me Skin. I don’t believe he gave you control of his share. It was and has always been understood that Skin was Unk’s and mine.”

  “That might be true, but Father held the control in trust —”

  “I’ll take my chances, Anthony. If I have to plead my case to the family, so be it. You have no experience in this field, and you can make no valid case why you should be given control of the trust. I’ll do what’s necessary to keep what is mine.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, I’m telling you if the will doesn’t surface, the one where Father left me Skin, my gloves come off and I’ll go to the family for their blessing.” She set her cup down and looked hard at him. “Besides, why would you want to mess with a moneymaking venture? I mean come on, Skin is a cash cow and it’s going to get even bigger with what I have planned. Isn’t that the bottom line?”

  “I won’t have the family involved in your version of Playgirl.”

  Frankie laughed, genuinely amused. “It’s just business, Anthony, get with it.”

  “Is embezzlement just business too?”

  His question stopped her laughter cold. “What?”

  “The money you stole from Father.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Anthony’s face clouded in disgust. “I knew you’d deny it.”

  A sudden realization dawned on her. And her gut roiled. Silently she cursed herself for ever believing Anthony would fight fair. “You’re good, Anthony. I see what you’re trying to do here, but spreading rumors so the capos will look at me walleyed won’t work.”

  Anthony set his cup on the tabletop and stood. “Watch me.”

  Frankie quickly followed his lead. All signs of amicability evaporated. She nodded, leaned close to him, and softly said, “As usual, your true colors bleed through. I don’t care how any will reads. I don’t care what crazy accusations you come up with, but mark my words. You will not take my magazine from me.”

  She pushed the chair out of her way and strode toward the front door. Anthony hurried up behind her. “You’re making a big mistake, Frankie. I hold all of the cards.”

  “Then I guess, Anthony, you need to produce a bona fide will to prove it.”

  The cool autumn air hit her in the face and she squinted against the sharp bites of rain. The weather had changed. Only an hour ago the skies sported white fluffy clouds. How quickly Mother Nature changed her mind. Without turning to face Anthony, Frankie continued toward the street.

  She stepped out onto the asphalt, scanning both ways for oncoming vehicles. The street clear, she stepped between two parked cars and hurried away from her irate brother.

  “Sleep with your eyes open, sister,” he called.

  Frankie wheeled around. “Are you threatening me?”

  He strode toward her, his hair blowing in the chilly air. He looked like Satan’s minion. And for the first time in her life, she felt afraid of her brother.

  “A warning.”

  She tamped down her fear and laughed in his face. “Poor baby Anthony. He can’t have his way and Mama isn’t here to get it for him. So he resorts to juvenile threats of violence.” She turned and strode away from him.

  Anthony grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around in the middle of the street. “Don’t force my hand on this.”

  She shoved him away, breaking his grip. “Don’t force mine.”

  The sound of a revved engine drew her attention down the street. A black car rounded the corner behind Anthony. Dark tinted windows glinted at her.

  “Anthony!” She grabbed his arms. He pulled away. She grabbed him again, this time twisting him toward her in order to push him to the side and out of the way of the oncoming car. “Anthony, move!” she screamed when he fought back.

  He grabbed her back toward him, his face twisted in hatred.

  “No!” she screamed as the car approached. An instant later she was hit from behind and propelled straight into Anthony’s chest, the velocity of the hit sending them flying several feet into the air before they landed between the two parked cars she’d only moments before walked between. The black car sped by. Frankie lay stunned, her brother on top of her, trying to comprehend what just happened.

  “Are you all right?” Reese asked from above her.

  “What the hell happened?” she gasped, her body shaking violently. She’d almost been killed — again.

  Anthony sputtered and cursed, pushing up off Frankie.

  Reese reached down and pulled Frankie to her feet, bringing her close. He let Anthony help himself up. Frankie pushed away, her limbs wobbly. As she brushed debris from her skirt and shirt, she looked down at her brother through narrowed eyes, anger overriding her shock. “You idiot, I was trying to get you out of the street. That car was gunning for you.”

  Anthony stopped midbrush, realization dawning on him. “You thought that car was going to run me down?”

  “Yes, and it would have if Reese hadn’t pushed us out of the way.”

  Anthony’s features hardened before his eyes darted nervously up and down the street. “You tried to save my life?”

  “You’re my brother.” And God help them both.

  Anthony stood silent for a long moment. From the back-and-forth play on his face, she bet he was talking himself out of thanking her. Typical. Their mutual dislike and the fact he’d just threatened her aside, she didn’t want to see her brother dead.

  She stepped to the curb and with shaky hands continued to brush the road dust from her clothes. She glanced at Reese, who didn’t look the least bit disturbed. She leashed her body’s urge to shake. Licking her dry lips, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

  “I thought you’d be busy with Stella until closing time.”

  The fine lines around Reese’s blue eyes crinkled. “I got bored.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Do you really believe that car was after your brother? Collecting herself, Frankie nodded. “It came straight for him.” And didn’t he just admit to her that he felt the surrounding families were gunning for him?

  “It came straight at both of you.”

  “Your imagination is running wild, Reese. If, and that’s a big if, that car was looking to mow me down, it wouldn’t have been so obvious. It’s not how the family works.”

  “So you’re saying if someone was trying to kill you, it would be your family?”

  Frankie opened her mouth to deny what he said, but caught herself. Her subconscious knew he spoke the truth, but her heart refused to believe it. “No! You’re confusing me. There is no reason for anyone in my family, including Anthony, to want me dead. And what if Anthony did? He isn’t so stupid to almost get himself killed in the process of
killing me.”

  Reese stared at her, incredulous. “You really should listen to yourself. A pattern has been established. You’ve been shot. A threatening box is put on your desk in your locked office telling you in no uncertain terms your time is up, and now you nearly get run over. Are you blind or too foolish to see it?”

  Frankie shook her head. The clock prank was all Anthony. His way of giving her the jitters. He did that kind of crap. She considered explaining to Reese what was brewing in the family, and then he would understand that there was no one after her. Anthony and her uncle, maybe — okay, probably — but not her. But her family strife was just that, her family’s strife. Sharing it with an outsider could get someone else hurt.

  “I’m a realist, and I have my reasons. Anthony may be a lot of things, but he isn’t a killer. He doesn’t have the balls or the stomach for it. He’s the type that likes to pull the wings off flies and watch them suffer. Just like he’s trying to do to me right now. There’s no fun for him if I’m not suffering.”

  “Maybe it isn’t Anthony.”

  “Okay, Reese, I’ll play devil’s advocate with you.” Maybe that would shut him up. “If my brother isn’t after me, who the hell is and why?”

  “Who have you pissed off?”

  Without missing a beat, Frankie answered, “My father and he’s dead.”

  “What did you do?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Stop fooling yourself, Frankie.”

  “Anthony was the target.”

  Reese scowled down at her, slowing his pace as they entered her building so she could keep up. “Looked to me like maybe you both were.”

  She’d never hurt anyone. Unable to wrap her brain around the fact that someone wanted her dead, she continued. “Listen to me. Last night that shot was meant for my uncle. He’s in an enviable position. He inherits my father’s power and all that goes with it, even if it may just be temporary. Never mind Anthony will in all probability get it. Anthony has to prove himself to the family, then there has to be a vote. If Carmine is knocked off, then maybe another interim don — er, boss will be named. Maybe not. So I can see why someone would want Carmine out of the way. I can see lots of people wanting Anthony’s head on a pike. He’s made a lot of enemies over the years. With my father out of the picture, there won’t be the retaliation for knocking him off like there would have been if my father was alive.”