Meet the Hot Cops: men in uniform like you’ve never seen them before! And national bestselling author Karin Tabke has a special year-end treat in store for readers: the first three installments in her sizzling Hot Cop series packaged together at the unbeatable price of only $5.99, available now from Pocket Star! Keep reading for an excerpt from SKIN, book two in the series, and download your copy of the Hot Cop eBox set today!

 

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.”