Skin (24 page)

Reese did not hesitate with his answer. “I give you my word.” Of course, it could be completely worthless. She was willing to take a chance on this man.

“If you’re lying to me, you’ll regret it.”

He shot her a narrowed glare. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m just stating a fact.”

He turned his attention back to the road and the twitch in his cheek flared with renewed vigor.

After a long, drawn-out minute, Frankie said, “I need film and clothes.”

“We’ll stop in Monterey.”

“No, take One into Carmel.” She smiled smugly at him. The boutiques she had in mind would set him back a few dollars. “I prefer the shopping in Carmel. Then we’ll go back to Seventeen Mile Drive to my father’s house.”

Reese set his jaw. “I only have so much cash on me.”

“Then I suggest you get your plastic out. I’ll pay you back when all of this messy family business blows over.”

Reese grunted. It was the first of many. Frankie had no qualms about plunking down two hundred bucks for a pair of jeans, and she liked variety. She bought three pairs that looked the same to him. While she tried on clothes, Reese went outside and checked in with his team. No activity around the Carmel house, not even a drive-by.

Frankie bought sweaters, a jacket, shirts, shoes, and finally film. Out of necessity, Reese picked up a few things for himself. As he dumped the bags into the back of his truck, she announced, “We’ll need food. Pisotle’s is around the corner. Best deli in Carmel. Lots of goodies.”

Now, food Reese could relate to. Despite his large breakfast, he was hungry again.

After loading up a small shopping cart with enough food to feed a small army, Reese strolled down the impressive wine aisle. Frankie shook her head. “Don’t bother, my father has…had an excellent selection in his wine cellar. You’ll find anything you want at the house.”

He nodded, paid the ridiculous tab, and loaded the SUV.

Despite going back to the place she last saw her father alive, Frankie felt excited. She gave Reese instructions to the entrance of Seventeen Mile Drive. The western sun had begun a slow descent over the Pacific. The light show in store would be amazing. A kaleidoscope of oranges, reds, and pinks would blend into a swirling cheerful mesh of color to later blend with violets, then blues, then finally black. Her photographer’s eye was dying to catch the stunning transformation.

“I want to get a few dusk shots on the beach before we do anything,” Frankie said.

Reese only shrugged.

“Turn at the next driveway on the left,” Frankie said, looking at the road again. She’d nearly missed the turn, as her thoughts were focused on Reese. As he turned into the wide driveway, they were met with solid steel gates. Frankie hopped out of the truck and strode to the large metal box embedded in a stone foundation. She slid back the metal lid to a code pad and keyed in a code that opened the main box, which exposed another keypad, this one considerably more involved. It had colored buttons as well as numbered buttons. She deftly entered the necessary code and the heavy gates lurched, then swung slowly open.

Frankie hopped back into the truck and they continued down the wide, tree-lined drive, the gate closing in a low rumble behind them. Reese whistled when they pulled up in front of a Gothic monstrosity. It reminded him of the Tahoe house of Michael Corleone in
Godfather II.
The place went on for miles.

“Nice place.”

“I grew up here. My father called it Casa di Falco.”

As they walked up to the front door, it occurred to Frankie she didn’t have the key. “The caretakers’ cottage is in the back. The Winstons will have a key.”

Reese turned back to the truck. He held her door open, waiting for her, and he noticed several cameras inconspicuously mounted in the surrounding trees.

“This place is tighter than the Pentagon,” Frankie assured him. It gave him a modicum of comfort. Frankie hopped in. Reese closed the door, then got in himself.

They drove down the driveway, past the main house to a densely wooded side yard. To the right, a large formal pool with fountains beckoned. If it was warmer, a swim might not be a bad idea. Reese wondered if it had a hot tub. He parked the truck in front of an actual cottage. Frankie stepped out and went to the front door and knocked. Reese expected Peter Rabbit to answer. No one answered.

Reese followed her out of the truck. “Peter Rabbit go out?”

Frankie smiled and shrugged. “Probably.” She tried the doorknob, and it turned. “I don’t think they’d mind if I came in for the key.”

She walked into darkness. Only a few shards of filtered sunlight made it through the trees and into the entryway. Dust motes stirred in her wake. “Mrs. Winston? Mr. Winston? It’s Francesca.”

Silence. “I came for the house key.” The great room that served as living room, dining room, and kitchen was tidy, but it looked like no one had been in the house for some time. Why?

“Strange,” she said to herself.

Reese walked up behind her. “Strange how?”

“It looks like they haven’t been here for a while. And I know they were here two weeks ago.”

“I’m not getting a good feeling about this, Frankie. Let’s get a place in town and come back later.”

“No,
I need to be here.”

He cocked a brow, then scowled. “There’s plenty of beach around. Why here?”

“I’ll explain later.” And she decided it didn’t matter if he was a cop and privy to the details of her father’s will. In fact, it was a plus if he was a cop. Then it was a safe bet he wasn’t out to kill her. She’d take advantage of his training and experience as long as she could.

She stepped to the back of the great room to a battered rolltop desk. She pushed the lid up, pulled open one of the drawers, and plucked out a key.

She dangled it in front of Reese. “See? With this and the alarm code we’ll be fine.”

“Is it unusual for them to be gone?”

“Maybe. It looks like they’ve been gone for a while.”

“Vacation?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking of.”

Reese shook his head. “Frankie, your family is scary. How do you live constantly looking over your shoulder?”

“I never have.” She chewed her bottom lip. Had something happened to the Winstons? “Things are different since my father died. The old ways are gone.”

“Just like that?”

“No, it’s been coming. It’s probably why Father is dead. He was old school. He didn’t like the new ways.”

“What is the new way?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’d be surprised what I’d understand.”

“Look, my family is what it is. I make no excuses for them.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You’re a lousy liar, Donatello. And stupid if you’re not scared.”

“My family
wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Maybe not the old guard, but like you just said, times are different.”

She swallowed and nodded. She couldn’t say it out loud, not to him, not to anyone. Especially herself. “Let’s get down to the beach before we lose our light.”

“That’s fine, but I’m taking some of the groceries, I’m hungry.”

Frankie headed down the short hallway and said over her shoulder, “There’s wine in the pantry there and a corkscrew in the drawer next to the sink. Grab a couple of glasses from the cupboard.”

He grinned. She stopped and turned completely around to face him. “No hanky-panky, I have a job to do, and just in case you forgot, so do you.” She wheeled around and headed down the hallway, returning a few minutes later with an armful of blankets and towels. “I don’t think the Winstons will mind.”

He grinned again, this time wider. His blood warmed the minute she told him to grab a bottle of wine. Maybe she had work on the brain, but he had something else entirely on his. Not only was she vulnerable emotionally to him right now, but he needed to get all cop thoughts out of her mind. And what better way to do that than shucking his clothes at sunset on one of the greatest places in the world with a beautiful woman who couldn’t take her eyes off him?

F
rankie navigated the steep trail down to the white and black sands of the beach below like a mountain goat. Reese followed, carrying a picnic basket he’d found in the pantry and then loaded with wine, meat, fruit, cheese, and bread. He was salivating more over the delectable ass taunting him like a bone in front of a hungry dog than the salami and cheese in the basket.

It took a good ten minutes to navigate the trail, and once they touched the bottom, Frankie turned and smiled. The breeze blew her hair back, her nipples puckered beneath the white fabric of her white cotton shirt, and the sun’s bright rays haloed her like a vixen saint. Reese caught his breath. She was beautiful, and he realized at that moment he wanted more from her than sex. For the first time in his life he was willing to step outside of the exile he’d placed himself in since the death of his sister. The notion shattered his resolve with the force of a wrecking ball. It was impossible.

Frankie laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of his stalled stance and down the beach. She tossed the blankets under a leaning cypress and pulled him closer to the crashing waves. “Strip!” she called, and laughed at his surprised reaction.

She continued to pull him, her hand in his, warm and trusting. He tensed, and she must have felt it. She stopped and looked up at him, the sun illuminating her curves. He wanted to smash his mouth against hers, strip her bare, then take her in wild abandon there on the sand.

“What’s wrong, Reese?”

He pulled her toward him, but she dug her heels into the sand. “No time for that.”

She turned and yanked his arm, dragging him toward the surf. “I need you to strip then walk into the water, dive in, then turn around and come wading out, smoothing your hair back real slow, like a male version of
The Birth of Venus.”

When she let go of his hand, she pulled her Nikon from its case, and quickly loaded it, he realized she was serious.

He groaned and rolled his eyes. Scanning the private beach, he was grateful for at least that. He shucked his boots, then his shirt. As he was unbuttoning his jeans, she called over the breeze. “Hurry up.” She jogged toward him and unhooked the first three buttons of his jeans. His dick responded to the touch of her hands through the denim.

She looked up at him and grinned.

When he hesitated, she pushed him. “Hurry, we’re losing light.”

Frankie watched as Reese jogged down to the water. She admired the hard play of his muscles across his back and the rhythmic symmetry of his glutes, thighs, and calves. She couldn’t wait to see the front of him all wet and glistening. She kicked off her shoes and followed. When he stood knee-deep, he turned around. “It’s fucking cold!”

“Stop whining and dive.”

He stood defiant, his brows drawn low over his blue eyes. She eyed the sinking sun. She had maybe thirty minutes and was hoping she’d get one or two decent shots. She couldn’t control the lighting; she was flying on pure instinct. “Now.”

He turned and dove. She followed him into the low surf, stopping when it hit her knees. Like an orca, he surfaced several yards from her. She focused, and the minute he turned she began her magic. Reese didn’t need to be told twice what she wanted. As he stalked toward her, his hard body glistening, his muscles rippling under the glow of the setting sun, her female parts warmed. She slowly backed up as he came forward, his gaze locked on her lens.

“Slower. Yes, that’s it, close your eyes and throw your head back. Oh, yes, perfect, now dig your fingers into your hair. Excellent, now slowly, open your eyes and walk toward me.”

His eyes morphed dark and even through the lens she could tell his intentions. He waded toward her and she backed up, her shutter opening and closing at a maddening pace.

“Shit! I ran out of film.” She bolted for her bag and yelled over her shoulder. “Don’t move!”

The breeze stirred up, for each second the sun sank, so did the temperature. When she finally had her camera reloaded, Frankie realized she had lost the lighting for the surf shots. But not for a few quick poses of Reese lying all sexy on the beach. “On the sand, lie down and let the surf come up to your thighs,” she called, jogging toward him.

“It’s fifty degrees!”

“So cry about it.”

Reese lay down on the sand. Frankie smiled, bent down, and grabbed a small handful of wet sand. She smeared it across his chest and stood back, allowing a low wave to ripple up to his chest. From his expression, she could tell he was not amused. “Drop the scowl! Just a few shots, then we’ll get you all cleaned up.”

She was as good as her word. With the usable lighting all but gone, she offered her hand to Reese. He took it, but instead of letting her pull him up, he yanked her toward him. She screamed, holding her camera up in the air. He wrapped his wet arms around her waist and rubbed his wet hair all over her chest.

“Reese!” she squealed, holding the camera away from the deadly salt water. “My camera!”

He rolled over on her, her arm still high in the air. He picked her up and walked out into the water. She shrieked, kicking and screaming.