Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (29 page)

“Hell yes, I’ve thought about us. I can’t think of anything
else.” He leaned forward, his expression painfully serious. “I am currently unattached, not sleeping with anyone, single and available.” Then he cracked a devilish grin. “But I’m open to offers.”

Oh no. He was going to buy a brand-new,
just for Lola’s pleasure
box of condoms before I got into his bed. Or at least he was going to
commit
to buying one. I tilted my head and watched him carefully. “So you’re not sleeping with anybody?”

He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

I arched a brow. I was pretty sure Jack Callaghan had never been a Boy Scout.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said as he refilled my wineglass. “Time to spill some of your secrets, Lola.”

Ooh. He’d let me grill him only so he could have a turn. Sneaky. I kind of liked that. I held my palms up. “I’m an open book. No secrets here.”

Now his eyes narrowed. “Why’d you and Sergio break up?”

My shoulders slumped. Man, he was good. He’d managed to ask me the one thing I really hated talking about. My turn to be evasive. I ate a lettuce leaf from the salad bowl, followed by a slice of ruby red tomato.

He watched me as I caught tomato juice dribbling down my lip with my tongue. “Well?” he said finally. Damn.
Great willpower, Jack
. Not even a slip in train of thought.

“It was time,” I said. He could be vague; I could be vague.

“What does that mean?”

“Not sure I remember, it was so long ago.”

He cocked his head and gave me a
gimme a break
look.

I smiled. “I’ll save that story for another time, too. We can have an ex-bashing discussion—how’s that sound?”

His left eyelid tightened for an instant. Then he moved on. Thank God. Jack’s voice grew casual. “What’s new with your case, Detective?”

Ah, a safe topic. And one I welcomed. I jumped at the chance to process my information aloud. “How’s this for shocking? George Bonatee and Assemblyman Ryan Case own Tattoo Haven.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking puzzled and dazzling at the same time. “Why is that so shocking?”

“Because Zod—”

“The guy who pierced you?”

“Right, the tattoo guy. His real name is Todd, and he’s Case’s son. He had motive to kill Emily if she was threatening to take her accusations against him to the police, which she apparently hadn’t done yet. And then there’s Bonatee and Case. They wouldn’t have wanted their names dragged through the mud, so they both have motives. Mrs. Case, too,” I said, realizing that she might have been willing to kill in order to protect her husband’s career and reputation.

I drew in a breath, trying hard to ignore Jack’s proximity, the tone of his voice when he’d mentioned my piercing, and the way his fathomless eyes studied me. I hurried on. “And then there’s the fact that Bonatee met his son for the first time and maybe wanted custody of him. Of course, that theory holds more water if Emily was blackmailing him, something I haven’t been able to prove. And Muriel, of course,” I said, adding one last-ditch suspect, “only because she’s a whack job and may have been working for the killer. Any one of them could have gotten Emily out of the way.”

He considered it. “Yeah,” he said. “But look at the facts: Even though Emily may have believed it, there’s no concrete proof that the infection was caused by the tattoo. Whatever Emily had was circumstantial.”

“Right, but it
can
happen, we know that, and if Emily had the chance to cause enough ruckus, it might have been investigated and then all hell would have broken loose for those
families.” I ran through it all again in my head, taking another bite of steak.

Jack put his elbows on the table, propping his chin with one hand. “How’s your belly button?”

Warmth immediately crept up my neck. Uh-oh. Back to unsafe territory. It wasn’t like I could show him with my dress on, but damn it if I wasn’t tempted to undo the tie and let the thing fall open right here and now. I could model my navel—and my underwear ensemble. “Great.”
Gulp
. “Next question.”

He smiled. “Any other leads?”

It was go-for-broke time. “I got a threatening phone call this afternoon.”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and his body language shifted from flirtatious to tense. “What do you mean a threatening call?”

Self-explanatory, wasn’t it? “The kind that’s—you know—threatening.”

He gave me a
no shit
look. “Who do you think it was?”

“I don’t know. Could have been any of them. Bonatee, Case, Muriel, Mrs. Case, Zod…”

“You don’t know if it was a man or a woman?”

“I couldn’t tell. The voice was disguised.”

When Jack started to say something, I forked a piece of steak into my mouth. Death threats were a worse conversation. “Mmmm,” I groaned, hoping to change the subject and get back to flirting. “This is amazing.”

“Cut it out, Lola. You brought this up. Someone threatened you. What’d they say?”

There went the mood. I put down my fork and leveled my gaze at him. “He, or she, said to butt out, that I wouldn’t be so lucky next time.” Oh! This was a totally valid reason—besides the lust bubbling inside me—to stay with Jack tonight. I really
shouldn’t be home alone. And who knew where Antonio was tonight.

He hesitated for a minute, considering me. “You’ve almost been run over, and now you’ve been threatened?” I nodded, not liking the accusation in his tone. “Someone killed that lady,” he said. “That means they won’t have a problem trying for you next.”

“I know that.”

“Dangerous business you’re in.”

I put my palms down on the table and spread my fingers. “Uh, no.”

“No? It’s not dangerous?”

“Well, yeah, it can be dangerous.” I curled my lip. “But this is what I do.”

“Do you have a gun?” he asked.

Not this again. “No, I don’t. Do you?” I waved my steak knife at him before he could interrupt. “What is it with men and guns, anyway? Is it an extension of your manhood, or something?”

He scoffed. “No. And I’m not a detective. I don’t need a gun.”

“Well, I don’t
want
one. I might shoot the wrong person and end up guilt-ridden and in prison.” Hadn’t I just explained this to Manny?

“How are you going to protect yourself if this guy follows through with his threat?”

I fell back on what was fast becoming my line and made my tone coy again. “My body is my weapon.”

“That’s the truth.”

But the tension didn’t ease. “Jack.”

“Lola.”

I said a quick prayer in my head, hoping he’d give me the response I wanted. “This is a deal-breaker for me. I’ll leave right now if you can’t accept that I’m a private investigator.”

Of course, I had no way to get home. He’d have to drive me.

He took a sip of his wine and leaned back. “I can accept it. But I think I’d prefer it if you, say, worked at the water company. Or maybe a nice state job.”

“Is there another
but
in there?”

“Yeah. But I’ve wanted you for too long to be scared away by your job. I’m not going anywhere.”

Be still my fluttering heart. He wanted me, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

A few minutes later, I was standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes he’d cleared from the table, when his hands slipped around my waist, his palm flat on my stomach. His finger pressed against the belly button post under my dress, and he breathed against the side of my neck. “I want to see it.”

I swallowed, sure he could hear my racing pulse. How my voice stayed steady, I’ll never know. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” I almost slapped my hand over my mouth.
¡Ay, Dios!
Had I actually just said that?

Apparently, because he immediately backed away, and when I turned around he was unbuttoning his shirt. One by one, like slow torture. Then—
bam
—I was staring at his tanned chest, an enticing spattering of hair calling to be touched. I felt faint.

My knees turned to putty as he moved closer again and gently—but purposefully—pulled on the tie that held my dress together. It fell open.

He looked me up and down; then his eyes seemed to cloud as he looked at my navel. He dropped to one knee, fingering the silver post.

“It’s a little b-bruised still,” I stammered.

“I like it,” he breathed.

I wound my hands through his hair and leaned back against the counter to stay upright. My fantasy, come to life. “I like you—”

His fingers slipped under the narrow elastic of my panties, and I moaned. Oh God, this was so much better than a daydream.

My legs were going to give out any second. With my dress open, my sheer lingerie front and center, and Jack on his knees in front of me, I couldn’t hold out much longer.

His warm lips and tongue explored my belly. I wove my fingers deeper through his hair, tilted my head back, and let my eyes flutter closed. This was it. My moment with Jack Callaghan, fourteen years in the making.

My head pounded and my eyes flew open.
No!
It wasn’t my head; it was someone at the door.
No interruptions!

Jack pulled away.

No—no—no—no! Don’t stop
.

Then I heard the hammering again, followed by a man’s voice yelling, “Dolores!”

Manny?

Jack stood up, intertwined his fingers behind his neck, and closed his eyes for a second. “You expecting a visitor?” he said tensely.

“Of course not,” I said.

The pounding grew louder. He headed for the door. I hurried after him, fumbling as I tried to rewrap my dress.

He flung open the door, and I froze, not quite reassembled.

Manny looked me up and down, his gaze hitching at the gaping fabric of my dress and my suddenly numb fingers trying to make a knot with the ties. “Dolores,” he said, full-on agitation lacing his voice.

I spouted the first sentence my brain could form: “How’d you know I was here?”

Manny gave me a look that said,
Uh, I’m a detective
. Then he took a deep breath, his eyes seemed to soften, and he said, “Your brother’s been in a car accident.”

T
he room started to spin. I reached for the wall. “Wh—what?”

Jack slipped his arm around my waist, holding me steady. “Is he okay?” he demanded.

Manny nodded. “He’s in the hospital.”

“But his car’s in the shop—” Realization hit me. I pressed my hand to my mouth. He’d been in
my
car. “Oh my God.”

Jack’s grip on me tightened.

“He’s okay, right?” I chided myself and answered my own question. “Of course he’s okay. He has to be.”

Manny stood stiffly by the door. “Some bruised ribs and abrasions. He’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

“Hit and run,” Manny said.

“He never saw it coming.”

I twisted and looked up at Jack. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was—the phone call I’d gotten earlier had been more than a threat. It was reality. And now Antonio had been hurt.

“My parents? Are they with him?”

“Yes. I’ll take you,” Manny said.

“No, I’ll take her.” There was no mistaking the possessiveness
in Jack’s voice. He released me and snatched his wallet and keys from a metal box on the kitchen counter.

Suddenly forced to stand on my own, I wobbled on my heels. Manny caught my elbow, but Jack strode to me and slid his arm around my waist again to steady me.

I took a deep breath as Manny stepped back and Jack guided me out the door.

After three hours at the hospital, I was reassured that Antonio was going to be just fine. Jack drove me home and followed me up the stairs. “I’ll stay with you,” he said as I unlocked the door.

“You don’t have to,” I said. Any thoughts of seduction I’d had were long gone, but I wanted the comfort of being with him. The threats had taken on a whole new spin, and I was jumpy beyond belief.

“Yeah, I do.”

Thank God. “I’m going to change. You can borrow—” What did Jack sleep in?

“I’ll find something.” He wandered off to Antonio’s room as I dropped my purse and headed to mine. It was a disaster. I’d forgotten about the mess I’d left behind before “the date.” I ignored it, no small feat, considering I had Magdalena Cruz’s compulsive clean genes in me.

I slipped out of my dress and bra and into safe pj’s. The photos of Jack were scattered on the dresser. I tucked them away in the drawer. I didn’t want to take any chances that he’d see those pictures. Explaining them was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have. Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I went to make sure Jack had found what he needed.

My stomach fluttered when I saw him. He sat on the couch in a plain white T-shirt, a pair of blue drawstring pajama pants that I’d never seen my brother wear, and Antonio’s guitar
perched on his knee. His head was lowered as his fingers picked out a quiet melody. An Eric Clapton song, I think.

I stretched out on the opposite end of the couch and let my eyes drift closed. Antonio was safe, and I was here with Jack. Things were less than ideal, but I wanted to forget about it for a little while. After a few minutes, the music stopped, and I felt his finger on my silver toe ring. My eyes fluttered open again, and I readjusted my position to distract myself. Exhaustion didn’t stop my body from reacting to his touch. Damn, it was hard being a woman. I had zero control over my emotions and hormones.

He lifted my feet onto his lap, laid one hand on top of them, and stretched the other along the back of the couch. “You okay?”

“Considering someone tried to kill Antonio and it should have been me? Nope, not okay.” I waited for him to say again that being a PI was too dangerous, that I was in the wrong profession, that it was my fault Antonio was sleeping in a hospital room tonight. I’d heard it from my parents, from Gracie, from my grandparents—why not from Jack, too?

“You have to figure out who’s behind all this.”

I wiggled my finger in my ear and blinked. “What?”

“You’re not safe till you find the killer.”

“You’re not going to tell me I should quit?”

One side of his mouth pulled up, that enticing dimple appearing. “Nope.”