Knock 'Em Dead. Rhonda Pollero
I assured him as I made teasing circles with my fingernails up and down his back. Then I slipped my hand between us and stroked him through the fabric of his cargo shorts. The parachute-thin material and my determination made it impossible for him to do anything but respond.
Okay, so it wasn’t rip-your-clothes-off passion, but Patrick got with the program and began nuzzling my neck, nibbling and kissing his way down the side of my throat to my collarbone.
I sucked in an excited breath when his teeth tugged the straps of my tops off my shoulder. At the same time, his hand slipped up and tested the weight of my breast.
My fingers weaved into his hair, pressing him to me as heat poured into my belly, feeding my sense of urgency. A small moan gurgled in my throat when his thumb flicked across my erect nipple. With incredible one-handed dexterity, I managed to free the button at his waistband and had the pull of his zipper between my thumb and forefinger when I heard a sound.
Patrick leapt away from me before my I-need-sex-saturated brain could even process the sound. He stumbled into one of my office chairs, leaving me to face the man framed in my doorway.
Liam McGarrity was wearing jeans, a faded cotton island-print shirt, and an unapologetic grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your, er, thing.”
Before I got off the desk with what little dignity I had left, I straightened my clothes and waged a fruitless battle against the heated blush beginning to sear my cheeks and throat. It wasn’t until I put my feet on the floor that I realized one of my three-inch wedges had come off, leaving me no option but to hobble over to my chair like Quasimodo on his way to ring the bell.
The urge to dive under my desk was tempting but impractical. The amusement in Liam’s eyes didn’t do much to improve my mood. I fluffed my hair with my fingers in a futile effort to look less like I’d just been caught in the act. Well, the lead-up to the act.
Liam sauntered over to Patrick and extended his hand. “We met at the hospital.”
The two of them shook hands as Patrick stood. His button was still undone but his erection was history.
“Yeah, right. You’re the investigator?”
“That’s me,” Liam replied, still gripping Patrick’s hand. “How was New York?”
I was starting to feel invisible, since the two of them hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction. “Patrick flies international, not domestic.”
Liam shrugged. “Sorry. My mistake.”
“Not a problem,” Patrick said, his cheeks slightly flushed. He fished his car keys out of his pocket as he turned in my direction. “I’ve got to hit American Eagle Outfitters before they close.”
My mind went blank and it must have shown on my face.
“The hiking trip?”
“Right.” I nodded. Then my body tensed. “You can’t leave in the morning. Jane’s arraignme—”
Patrick held up his hand and offered a warm smile. “I’ve already switched my flight to six PM. I’ll be there for you and the girls.”
The fact that he called us “girls” rankled for about thirty seconds. The realization that he still planned to go on his vacation was just damned irritating. Especially since Liam was just standing there, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, obviously enjoying his role as a fly on my wall.
Patrick came to my desk and leaned over the roses to kiss my cheek. “Oh yeah. I almost forgot.” He reached into his back pocket and handed me a stack of bills.
“Thank you.”
“I could only get three,” he said.
“That’ll help,” I assured him. “We’ll pay you back.”
He tapped the tip of my nose. “Don’t worry about that now. We still on for dinner?”
“I’ve got a meeting in Boca at five.”
“Not a problem. Just call if you’re running late.”
It was really hard to stay mad at Patrick when he’d just handed me three thousand dollars, delivered roses, changed his flight, and happily took off any time pressure I might feel about our dinner.
Conversely, it was a piece of cake to transfer my pissed-off mood to Liam. “What are you doing here?” I demanded as he folded his large frame into one of my chairs.
“You told me to meet you here, remember?”
Oh, crap. “It slipped my mind.”
“I guessed as much when I walked in and your boyfriend had you bent over your desk. Those must be some magic roses.”
I pulled one from the vase and breathed in the fresh, clean scent. It was better than focusing on the fact that Liam smelled of soap and masculinity. Obviously my endorphins were still pumping. Either that or a few hours sharing a bench with prostitutes had turned me into a slut.
“How’s the wife?” I asked, slapping a sarcastic smile on my face.
“Ex-wife, and she’s great. Her salon opens next week.”
“How nice for her.”
He shot me that famous, lopsided, toe-curling grin. “Don’t you like Ashley? She’s a decent person and she likes you.”
If she’s such a freaking saint, why’d you divorce her? Why are you still sleeping with her? Why do I give a flying fig? “I hardly know her. Can we talk about Jane’s case now?”
“Your meeting.”
I got coffee for both of us, then did a thorough recap of the case. “So, I got to thinking, maybe Jane and Paolo were drugged. What if the killer slipped something in their drinks? That would explain why she doesn’t remember if they had sex or not. And why she fell asleep. And how the killer could slip in, kill Paolo without a struggle, then slip out unnoticed.”
“Interesting theory.”
My mood brightened. “So, will you help me?”
“No.”
My jubilee faded. “No?”
Liam shook his head, causing a lock of his jet-black hair to fall haphazardly across his tanned forehead.
“Why not?”
“I took a job from a new client an hour ago.”
“But you called me this morning. You said you’d help.”
“At a reduced fee. Sorry, sweetheart, but I got a better offer.”
“From who?”
“Ellen Lieberman.”
“Doing what? Following some insurance-defrauding plaintiff all over town?”
“Nope.”
“Doing background checks on corporate clients?”
“Nope.”
My blood pressure was soaring. “Walking her dog?”
Liam chuckled softly. It was a deep, resonant sound that seeped straight into my cells. “Nope.”
I grabbed my purse. I was tired of playing games with him and said as much. “Go be Ellen’s flunky. I don’t care what you’ve got to do. I’ve got to get to Boca.”
“So do I.”
“Because?”
“That’s my job.”
I froze. “What?”
“Lieberman hired me to keep you out of trouble.”
My eyes narrowed. “Since when does she care