Skin (18 page)

His left hand massaged as his other hand moved upward to her waist, then to the clasp in the front of her bra, which he released with a flick of his fingers. She gasped as one full breast spilled into his hand.

“That is so sweet,” he hoarsely said.

He nipped her throat and sucked her skin, pushing his groin hard against her back. Frankie braced herself against the wall, holding herself steady. Reese moved even closer to her. He felt every bit the Neanderthal at that moment. Possessive.

While that thought should have scared him into the next state, he chalked it up to the heat of the moment.

Reese pushed her shirt up, exposing the heat of her breasts, while his right hand played across her hard nub. Her breaths came hard and shallow, her hips moving against the rhythm of his hand.

“Please, Reese,” she moaned.

“Please what?”

“Please make the ache go away.”

With his fingertip he pulled the front of her panties down, then slid his finger up toward the pulsating nub, just barely touching her. “Like that?” he breathed against the back of her neck. He brushed his lips against the fine hair standing to attention, prompting more soft writhes of want.

“More,” she panted.

He slid his finger deeper along the wet slit of her nether lips. “Like that?”

He felt her body tighten, her muscles bunch then release. “More,” she pleaded. He heard her lick her lips. He wished it was lighter so he could watch the expression on her face. He slid his fingertips slowly up and down her slit, the soft sluice of her sounding loud in the closed confines of the closet. Her breathing quickened, her body hard and hot.

Reese wanted her like he never wanted a woman before. He clamped his teeth together. He would not cave and give her what she wanted — not…yet. Her warm, wet juices on his fingers invited him to put other, bigger things inside her. His dick hurt with the need to mark her. Under his hands he felt a soft, warm flush of perspiration erupt across her skin. Their hot breaths commingled, causing the heat and humidity in the small space to climb off the charts.

His keen sense of sound told him they were still alone in the house, and Frankie was about to blast off.

He slipped his middle finger into the deep, hot depth of her. Her moans filled the room. He pressed his left hand low against her belly and pushed his finger deeper into her.

Closing her eyes, Frankie threw her head back against Reese’s chest, the sweet pressure of his thick finger inside her, tapping her sweet spot, excruciating in its sublimeness.

When he pressed against her womb, pushing deeper into her, she tried to dig her fingernails into the wall.

Moans of rapture escaped her throat with each thrust of his hand. In a quick movement Reese released her body, spun her around, and pressed her back against the corner of the closet. His big body moved closer. Her mouth gaped open, a silent plea for him to fill her.

He hiked her leg over his hip. Frankie rubbed the heel of her palm up the bulge in his jeans.

He filled her with his finger, and with the new position he hit her spot and she screamed. His mouth swallowed the noise and his tongue quelled the next one. Bucking wildly against his hand, Frankie hung on to his shoulders and rode out her orgasm.

His finger pressed and held her as she crested. As each wave crashed through her, her body twitched, and he silenced her moans of pleasure with his kisses.

Barely able to stand, she hung on to his shoulders, her pussy twitching in the aftermath of his lovemaking. Their hard breathing mingled in soft cacophony, and he kept his finger inside her. It occurred to Frankie that at that moment the only sound she could hear was their breathing.

Licking her dry lips, Frankie smiled in the darkness. Maybe she could return the fantasy.

Slowly Reese withdrew his finger from her. “No,” she pleaded. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

“Fantasy over.”

A surge of anger flashed through her. Just that easy? That quick? Fantasy over? What was she, just something to pass the time? “It’s not over until I say it’s over.”

In a quick fluid movement he pressed her against the corner of the closet, and in one swift and oh-so-sinful moment he slid a finger inside of her still spasming body. “Is that what you want?”

Before she could respond, he slipped another finger into her. She gasped, her hips jumping against his hand. Her body already primed, he brought her to another monster orgasm. As she cried out, new voices filtered into the closet. A new threat stood just feet away. Reese slapped his hand over her mouth to drown out her cries of pleasure.

“You hear that?” a vaguely familiar Italian-accented voice asked.

“Si,
from the closet,” another, more heavily accented voice said.

Frankie felt Reese remove his gun from his back holster. Adrenaline kicked in. She may have been writhing in the throes of passion just a minute ago, but now she felt for the bat.

The door slowly opened. Reese kept his hand firmly placed across her mouth, and for once she didn’t resent his caveman action. As the door opened and light filtered in, she saw Reese’s silhouette and the barrel of the gun aimed directly at the unfortunate who happened to fill the empty space.

T
he door opened wider, and Reese’s finger caressed the trigger. Frankie held her breath.

“Hey, what the —” the first accented voice said.

Pfft. Pfft.

Frankie bit back a gasp, and the unmistakable sound of two rounds fired from a silencer sounded as loud as a thunderclap in the eerie silence. The dull thud of one body, then another followed. The second one fell against the door, slamming it shut. Darkness engulfed them. She felt Reese move toward the closed door, the muffled voices from the other side barely discernible.

“Looks like these boys won’t be reporting back to anyone soon.” It was the first voice from earlier, the one who was supposed to be going to her office. Frankie held her breath. Had they been watching?

“We gonna leave them here, or you want to clean up this mess?” the familiar second voice asked.

“Nah, leave them. Looks like they’re from out of town. It’ll send a message loud and clear to their boss.”

Frankie crept up behind Reese, pressing her shaking body against his back. His hard warmth comforted her, and for some odd reason she felt if anyone could protect her from the bad guys, he could.

They both listened to the two retreating voices. After several long moments when no sound permeated the closet, Reese whispered, “I think they’re gone.” He felt for his cell phone and began to dial 911. Frankie grabbed the phone from him and flipped it shut.

“No cops, Reese.”

“Bullshit. Your house is vandalized and we witnessed a double murder.”

“Let’s get out of here first and see who got whacked.” Her soft, businesslike voice seemed as if it came from someone else.

“Who they are won’t change my mind.”

“Open the door.”

That was easier said than done. It took both of them pushing in unison to get the door opened enough for Reese to stick his long arm out and roll the body away so they could step out.

The minute Frankie set eyes on the one nearest to the door, she gasped. “Tommy!”

She bent down and felt for a pulse. But the neat, dime-size hole right between his eyes told the complete story. Dead on impact.

“You know this guy?”

Nodding her head, Frankie moved down to his feet. She pulled back each of his pant cuffs, revealing one blue sock and one green sock. “Tommy ‘Two Socks.’ My brother’s second cousin on his mother’s side. I thought he went back to the old country.” Or worse.

She stood and glanced at the other man, who lay facedown in the mattress stuffing, the back of his head splattered all over the headboard, or what was left of it.

Reese stepped over Tommy and rolled the other body over onto his back. He looked up at Frankie expectantly. She shook her head. “Never seen him before.”

Reese scanned the room. “From the looks of it, I figure these two here did the trashing earlier, then left. The two guys who shot them came in looking for you, and left when they saw the place was trashed.” Reese pointed the muzzle of his gun at the two dead guys on the floor. “Dumb and dumber came back and got whacked. The two unidentified must have been waiting outside for you to get home and saw these two yahoos.”

At Reese’s description Frankie shuddered. Someone not only thought she possessed her father’s will, but they wanted her dead on top of it. Had she waited to come home, she’d be the one lying on her bedroom floor with a bullet hole in her head.

But who? She could not,
would
not believe her brother hated her so much to want her dead. And he wasn’t stupid. Well, he wasn’t the brightest in the family, but Anthony would not dare piss off Unk. And Unk would kill Anthony himself if he so much as suspected her little brother was behind her death. Who, then? She was convinced at this point it must be one of the other Bay Area families. But who? And why, for God’s sake? And didn’t they know they would face the wrath of Carmine Donatello? Perhaps they didn’t care, maybe because Unk was on the list as well. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to believe she was in the middle of her worst nightmare.

“Give me one good reason why I don’t call the cops, Frankie.” Reese pulled her back into the morbid present.

Frankie carefully collected her thoughts. “Because this is none of their business. I’m calling my uncle.” She stepped past the bodies, ignoring Reese’s shout for her to stop. She hurried down the steps of her trashed home to her studio, where she’d left her purse and camera bag.

Both were gone. “Son of a bitch!”

She turned to head back to Reese and found his wide chest barring her way.
“I’m
calling the cops,” he said.

“My purse and camera bag are gone.” Color drained from her face. “It had my cell phone and PDA with all my info on it.”

Reese flipped his phone open.

“Give me your phone. I’m calling my uncle. He’ll know what to do, especially with one of the guys being Tommy.”

Reese raised a dark brow. “What does that say to you, Frankie? Your brother’s cousin tossing your house?”

“What makes you so sure he tossed my house?”

“Two plus two equals four.”

Frankie shook her head, her confusion over what had become her life confounding her beyond reason. “I — I don’t understand. Tommy disappeared years ago. He — he —”

“He what?”

“My father caught him in bed with one of his ladies.”

“So he disappeared?”

She nodded. It was par for the course with her family. You messed with a man’s woman, you disappeared. “I thought he was dead.”

“Why does he wear different-colored socks?”

“Tommy’s color-blind. He could never match.”

“I think Tommy still kept in touch with the family, your brother specifically, and he was here on your brother’s behalf. What was he looking for?”

She studied Reese’s earnest face. She almost fell for the look. Confiding in an outsider had cost her huge the last time.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

Frankie shook her head and pushed past him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her hard against his chest. His warm breath fanned her cheeks. “There’s nothing I hate worse than a lying woman.”

“I’m not lying. And if I am? What’s the big deal? This is none of your business.”

“It’s a big deal because I have no job if there is no you.”

She jerked away. “So that’s how it is?”

He softened his voice. “It’s more than that. Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me.” How could she make him understand the way it went down in her family without ratting them out? “No one can help me. Don’t you understand? My family does things their way, and there’s no way out of it until you’re dead.”

“You’re wrong, Frankie. The world doesn’t work that way. There are some good guys out there.”

“If you mean the cops, you can keep them. They’re worse than a sideways don. I’d rather be married to the mob than spend one night in bed with a cop.”

Despite her words, his offer stopped her cold. No one, except Unk, had ever offered to help her with anything, well, not unless they wanted something from her. While Reese wanted to keep his job, she detected sincerity in his voice. And she did need help. Help finding the will, help keeping her shoot on schedule, and, most important, help staying alive.

“I’d rather be a poor model than a dead one. I’m calling the cops.”

He started to dial 911.

“No! Damn you, hang up!”

Reese cocked a brow but didn’t close the phone.

“Hang up.”

“Only if you let me help you.”

A million protests swirled through her head, but each one came back to Reese and his offer. It was time to take a leap of faith — and God help her if she was wrong about him.

She extended her hand. “You’ve just been promoted to bodyguard.”

Slowly he closed the phone. Reese took her hand and squeezed. “My rules.”

“We’ll see,” Frankie said, then dropped his hand. “I need to get my camera from my office.” She hurried back to the room and grabbed the Nikon from the sill, stuffed a few boxes of film into a spare camera bag along with a timer and minitripod, then hurried back to Reese.

Moments later, they were speeding down the freeway. “Take me to my office. I have credit cards there and clothes.”

He shook his head. “No way.”

He was right. She settled back into the comfortable seat and contemplated her position. The air racing in from the open windows blew away the last whispers of shock that clouded her mind; it also cleared the last shred of naïveté she possessed. It was time to take the proverbial bull by the horns and fight back. She smiled grimly. No problem. Sicilian blood coursed hot in her veins, and no one played as hard to win as Sicilians.

It occurred to her as she glanced around the cab of the truck that it wasn’t the same one Reese had yesterday. “What happened to your other truck?”

“That was a loaner while this one was in the shop.”