Skin (8 page)

“Who were you talking to outside?” she asked.

“Just business.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back into the overstuffed chair.

Reese scowled down at her. This latest incident put a whole new spin on the investigation. He was more convinced now than ever that Anthony Donatello was working his way up the food chain. And apparently he had no compunction about killing off his family to get to the top.

Reese paced the room. He wanted to go back out on the street, back to the scene to look for casings, prints, anything. This was the hardest part of undercover work for him. The pretending to be a civilian, his hands tied, his patience tried to nearly breaking. He thrived on the street, where he could roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty.

“You really should call the cops, maybe they can dig up something.”

She shook her head adamantly, and he noticed the wound bleeding again. “My family takes care of their own business.”

“Where’s the doc? You’re bleeding more.”

“He went to his office to get supplies, he’ll be right back.”

“We should have just followed him over there.”

Frankie nodded. “I didn’t think to suggest that.”

Heavy silence hung between them. He knew from experience that once the adrenaline started to wane, fatigue and pain set in. “Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?”

Frankie flashed him a bright smile. “Yep, your place.”

Reese stopped in his tracks, the implications of that statement racing through his mind. “I don’t mix business with my personal life.”

“Trust me, there will be no mixing. Purely business.” She dug into her purse and pulled out several papers. “Speaking of business, sign this, now.” She handed him the contract, then dug out a pen from her purse and handed that to him as well.

“I want to go over this with my agent.”

“It’s standard, and your exorbitant fee is so noted.”

Reese gave the papers a quick scan. He was no fool, but he needed to play the model part. “If I find out you’re screwing me, I’ll sue you, saying I signed under duress.”

“If I was screwing you, you’d know it.”

He smiled. “That makes two of us.”

Frankie’s cell phone ring startled them both. She answered it. “Hello.” He watched her expression soften. “Yes, Unk, I’m here now.” She shook her head. “He said a few stitches, then I’m good as new. What?” Her brows knitted together. “I don’t need a bodyguard, Unk. I appreciate the offer, but —”

Reese snatched the phone out of her hand. “Mr. Donatello, Francesca will be coming home with me.”

Reese grinned down at an indignant Frankie. “I’m sorry, sir, if I give you that information, I’d have to kill you. Your niece is safe with me tonight. Good night.” He hit the End button and Frankie looked like she was about to give birth to kittens.

“Did you just tell my uncle you would have to kill him? Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.”

“What on earth for?”

“He wanted to know where I live. It’s none of his damn business.”

Frankie stared wide-eyed, her full lips parted. His body warmed. Why hadn’t he been the one to suggest she stay with him? He wanted her in his bed. Tonight. Suddenly the imposition of her staying at his place evaporated. Maybe they could find a physical release to ease the tension of the evening.

“You really are stupid.”

Reese grinned. “Isn’t that status quo for us model types?”

“Really, really, really stupid. My uncle will hunt you down for this.”

“No, he won’t. More than anything he wants you safe. I can make sure that happens.”

She opened her mouth to argue when Uncle Sanzo bustled into the room. “Come now, Francesca, let’s take care of your arm.”

As if she were going to her own funeral, Frankie rose by increments. Her feet dragging, she followed Sanzo. Reese followed behind her, and the old Italian doctor raised a brow and cocked his head at his niece.

“No sense in telling him no, Sanzo,” Frankie said. “He doesn’t listen.”

Reese chuckled. “Smart girl.”

Because she had an audience and because she refused to show weakness and because if she didn’t put up a front, she’d collapse into a pool of bawling mush, Frankie sucked it up, ready to take the stitches like a soldier. Until Sanzo injected her wound with Novocain. The sharp prick of the needle into her skin made her see black spots. Nausea welled in her belly and she felt the blood drain to her feet.

Reese’s strong hand gripped hers and he kneeled beside her. “It’s okay, Frankie, he’s done.” He smoothed her hair back from her face and gently pushed her head down between her shaky knees. “Take a deep breath.”

She felt clammy, and foolish, but she sucked air into her lungs and slowly exhaled. The trick worked. Almost instantly she felt better. Slowly he sat her back up. Their eyes caught and locked.

“Good girl,
cara,”
Sanzo crooned. “Now let me cleanse the area and three small stitches should do it.
Yo promiso,
no pain.”

F
or the second time that night, Frankie settled back into Reese’s SUV. The throb in her arm dissipated thanks to the pill her uncle and Reese insisted she take. At first she’d been wary of Reese’s concern, sure he was out to take advantage of her, but she hurt, inside and out.

In less than nine hours, she’s been threatened by her brother, shot at, stitched up, and now she was going to spend the night with a man she’d only met a few hours ago. A girl had the right to some narcotically induced help.

If she wasn’t smack dab in the middle of the situation, she wouldn’t believe it.

As if her eyes were the lens of a camera, Frankie looked over at Reese’s classically honed profile. A shot of adrenaline in fused her system. Her artist’s eye could find no fault with the image before her. She’d definitely use the sexy shadowed angle. An idea sparked with that thought. What about a lead-up? A teaser to the reader in the months prior to the anniversary edition? Could she play it out, and segue into the centerfold issue? Did she have the time? It would be close, very close.

“What do you think of us keeping you in the shadows for an issue or two, each time showing just a little bit more? We’ll reveal you one scrumptious inch at a time.”

Reese looked at her as if she’d just grown a second head.

Ignoring his expression, she grew more excited. “I can do shadow body and face shots, we’ll let the ladies get a peek of you each month, whetting their appetite for more, until the February issue, when we’ll go full frontal and full face!”

A new round of adrenaline pumped through her as the ideas formed. The idea of stripping Reese stitch by stitch sent her pulse racing. “It’s genius! Why didn’t I think of this earlier?”

Immediately she regretted her outburst.

“Look, Reese, I need to know up front if we’re on the same page here.”

Reese shot her a puzzled look before focusing back on the highway. “Be specific.”

Frankie sucked the bottom corner of her lip between her teeth, then let go. If she told Reese she wanted complete secrecy, would he sell her out like Sean had, despite their contract?

“What?” Reese demanded. His harsh tone startled her.

“Per our contract, unless given specific written permission, you cannot disclose any information regarding this shoot or
Skin.”

“I see we trust each other.”

“The only trust we need is between model and camera.”

He nodded but kept silent, his eyes on the road. In a show of truce, she reached over and touched his bicep, his hard muscles bunching under her palm. He cast her a scowl, and she withdrew her hand.

“It won’t work,” he said. “I’m not going to be around for months.”

“You don’t need to be. I have severe time constraints right now. I can get all of the shots I need in two weeks. We’ll do location shots. A day in the life of Mr. Skin.”

Reese groaned. “No way. No location. Studio only.”

“Yes way. Your contract states very simply, you go where I want you to go and take off what I tell you to take off. Consider your ass mine for the next two weeks.”

At his continued silence and obvious rancor, Frankie filled him in on a few more facts. “First thing tomorrow morning we’ll get you into the studio and do some test shots. I want to nail a color scheme ASAP. Then we’ll brainstorm locations. I’m thinking beach, maybe a ranch. Yes, slap a pair of chaps and boots on you —”

“Not without jeans.”

Frankie laughed, the sound low and throaty. The drugs had mellowed her some and she was glad her arm didn’t throb. “C’mon, now, Reese, do you have any idea how hot it would be to have you in just a pair of chaps and boots and a Stetson, standing next to a stallion? Maybe even with a slight erection. You, not the horse.”

Peals of laughter erupted when Reese shot her a look that would have split a lesser person in half. “We can caption it ‘Clash of the Stallions.’ ”

“I’m not a piece of meat.”

Frankie’s laughter died down some. “Yeah, you are. A big, juicy hunk of meat that is going to set my readers on fire.” She laughed again. “A big, juicy piece they’ll want to sink their teeth into.”

At Reese’s silence Frankie poked him in the rib with her index finger. “How about I pay you double and we go on tour after the anniversary issue releases?”

Reese shook his head.

“Think about it. You can make a fortune with endorsements afterward, not to mention all the freebies you’ll get. Fiscally it will be a windfall.”

“Yeah, for you.”

“For you too. It could lead to all kinds of offers. Book deal, movie deal. I’ve got a feeling, Reese, if we play this right we’ll both win big.”

And the bigger she won, the stronger her position would be within the family to retain control should Anthony bend any ears.

She sat back into the comfortable captain seat, feeling smug. And that in light of her most arduous day.

“So what perks do I get for being at your beck and call?”

“Your face and nether parts splashed all over my magazine.”

“I want more.”

She knew where the conversation was leading. And a couple of years ago she might have bit. Turning in her seat to face him, she said, “Look, since we’re going to be working very closely for the next couple of weeks, let’s get a few things straight right off the bat.”

Reese gave her a quick glance and a sly grin.

She inhaled deeply and despite the narcotic, her cut stung. She winced. “I don’t do models. I don’t do employees. I don’t even do sex these days. Not that that is any of your business.”

“What
do
you do?”

“I work.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It works for me. Make it work for you.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t do models either. Or employees. And while I do do sex, I’m a self-proclaimed workaholic, so we should get along just fine.”

“You forgot to mention you don’t do your employers.”

“I know.”

He flashed her another grin. He wasn’t getting it.

“You and I will not have sex.”

“Define sex.”

“Trading of body fluids.”

This time when he grinned the gesture nearly split his face in half. “I think that can be arranged.”

“I can almost see the wheels turning in your head. Don’t try and trip me up, or I’ll replace you so fast your head will spin.”

“Sure you will,” he said, then turned into an upscale condo complex. Security gates opened when he hit a hidden remote.

They parked in a secured carport. As she reached for the door handle, Reese put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me just make sure there’s no one lingering who shouldn’t be.” He’d been watching the rearview mirror and felt comfortable they weren’t followed, but with her family, who the hell knew?

Reese hopped out of the vehicle and gave the surrounding area a quick scrutiny. Ominous silence shrouded the night air. It was almost too quiet.

He came back to the truck and opened Frankie’s door. “All clear.”

“You sound like a cop.”

He grinned at her. “I watch a lot of TV.”

“You don’t strike me as the couch potato type.”

“There’s a lot to be said for couch potatoes.”

“I’m not buying it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not selling it.”

She eyed him suspiciously. There was more to Mr. Skin than a six-pack and a killer smile.

She let out a long breath, not realizing she was holding it. She needed a glass of Grandpa Donatello’s Chianti and a hot bath.

Reese hustled Frankie up the steps to his brand-new condo, compliments of the task force.

“What has you spooked?” she asked.

He pulled her closer into the alcove that shielded his front door from the parking lot. Her body heat wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He could very easily find a reason to get her in his bed. In fact, he had a reason. A good one. Women were vulnerable in the afterglow of sex, and pillow talk took on a whole new meaning to him.

He dipped his head toward the top of her hair and inhaled her cinnamon scent.

“Considering what happened to your father and almost happened to you, let’s just say I’m being careful.”

Her spine stiffened, the gesture causing her breasts to press against his chest. Reese didn’t retreat. Snapping her head back, Frankie’s eyes flashed angrily. “What do you know about my father?”

“I know he was a mob boss and someone wanted his job enough to kill him. Now it looks like they want your uncle’s and are willing to put you into the collateral damage category.”

She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. She moved into him, the gesture meant to push him back. He didn’t move. “Don’t believe everything you read in the paper or see on the five o’ clock news.”

Unable to resist, Reese swept a stray lock of hair from her face, his knuckles caressing the smooth skin of her cheek. He watched her eyes close for the briefest of seconds, as if she just wanted to melt into him. “Don’t be so naive, Frankie.”

Her quick flash of vulnerability didn’t last. Her eyes, angry again, flashed open, and she stepped back. “Believe me, I lost my naïveté a long time ago.”