Killer in High Heels

Marco and me a discounted room for the night, so call me in the morning. Oh, and by the way, did you know I have a date to see Bette Midler with him tomorrow night?”

Oops. “Sorry. I forgot about that. I thought we’d be long gone by then.”

“No prob,” she replied. “Actually, it might be kind of fun.”

I paused. “Seriously?”

“What?” she asked, her tone defensive. “I think he kind of likes me.”

Or more accurately, certain parts of her anatomy. But, considering I wasn’t one to be giving dating advice, I let it go, instead promising to call her in the morning.

I hung up and turned around to find Ramirez watching me. He’d abandoned his phone and was lying on the bed, one elbow propped up beneath him. His eyes were dark and intent with a predatory look to them. Like any minute he might pounce on the blonde in the miniskirt.

I cleared my throat, my mouth going total Sahara on me.

“Come here,” he commanded, cocking one finger at me.

Well, who was I to argue with a cop? I sat down on the bed facing him.

His eyes did a slow sweep of my face, roving over each inch until I was sure I was blushing like a virgin. He lifted one hand to my cheek and softly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“What am I going do with you?” he whispered, his mouth so close to mine I could taste the coffee and Dentyne on his breath.

At the moment I could think of about a hundred things he could do with me. All of them naked.

But he didn’t wait for a reply, instead leaning in closer and brushing his lips softly over mine. I melted on contact. I swear this guy could apply for a PhD in kissing. He was that good. So good, I was seconds away from being that “Free H O” myself.

His hands slid up to the nape of my neck, burrowing into my hair as his five o’clock shadow scratched against my cheek, leaving a tingling sensation that spread clear down my spine.

Then settled somewhere south of my belly button.

He wrapped his arms around my middle and laid me back on the pillows, his six-days-a-week-at-the-gym body pressing against mine. Hard chest, long legs, thickly muscled arms. I closed my eyes and said a silent thank you to the saint of totally ripped bodies, reminded of how long it had been since I’d been with a man. Never mind a man as rock solid as Ramirez. (And I wasn’t just talking about his pecs here.)

He broke away from my lips and dragged a wet trail of kisses down my throat. I arched my back and bit my lip to keep from laughing as his lips tickled my supersensitized skin. One warm hand came down on my knee, then slowly slid up my thigh, flirting with the hem of my skirt.

My eyes popped open. Oh crud, had I put on those ugly high-cut hipsters this morning? They were great for preventing leather miniskirt chafing, but the stretched-out elastic and faded blue horizontal stripes didn’t exactly scream “sexy mama.”

“Um, could we turn off the lights?” I asked.

Ramirez paused. “Sure.” He leaned over and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. The room plunged into semi-darkness, the lights from the Free H O sign casting a pinkish hue through the thin curtains.

Much better. Ramirez leaned in close again, his hands resuming their upward decent on my hipsters. I prayed he couldn’t feel how full-coverage they were in the dark. Something, as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about. With one quick flick of his wrist, he had them off and across the room before you could say Hanes Her Way.

The sudden cool breeze in my hoo-ha region left me panting just a little. Something that multiplied exponentially as Ramirez lowered his lips to the inside of my thigh. He made a low, growling sort of sound in the back of his throat, doing butterfly light kisses along my inner thigh. His hands slid up to my waist, lifting my leather skirt until it could double as a belt.

I suddenly realized he was wearing way more clothes than I was. I made short work of his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head, revealing that Budweiser-worthy six pack. I tried not to drool as I ran my hands over his stomach. Okay, I admit, I didn’t try very hard. I was goo, absolute putty in his hands. I’d never seen a body like this outside of a Brad Pitt movie.

He leaned into my touch, his fingertips flirting with my thighs as he did a low growl into my ear. I suppressed a giggle, his hot breath on my earlobe sending shivers down my spine. I felt goose bumps raise the hairs on my arms.

And legs.

Damn! I hadn’t shaved my legs this morning. Had I even shaved them yesterday? I couldn’t remember. I self- consciously wiggled out of his grasp, gently nudging his hand away from my bare, stubbly thighs.

Okay, so as long as the lights stayed off and he didn’t touch my legs, I’d be fine. I tried to reassure myself and relax back into his touch as his lips broke from my earlobe and began nibbling their way south. Down my neck, across my collarbone, into the deep V of my blouse. I closed my eyes again and sighed out loud, arching my back as his warm breath penetrated the thin fabric of my shirt.

He slid one large hand beneath the hem, moving upward until he reached the lacy edges of my Vicky’s Secret. I couldn’t help wriggling beneath him like a schoolgirl as his fingertips pulled the lacy fabric away and closed possessively over my barely B’s. You know, I was beginning to think that being arrested wasn’t all that bad. There were the perks of being patted down by the LAPD’s resident sex god. A status that Ramirez sealed for himself as I heard the zipper on his jeans give way and got a firsthand glimpse of what a lacy Vicky’s Secret could do to a man.

Oh. My. God.

My throat did that Sahara thing again, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a little drool traveled down my chin.

This so beat an evening with my battery-powered rabbit.

Ramirez seemed oblivious to my stares of admiration, fully consumed with popping the clasp on my bra. Not that I was complaining. The rasp of his warm hands against my bare skin was enough to make a girl forget her own name. I was seriously two seconds away from ripping the thing off myself when I finally felt the clasp give way and Ramirez gave another satisfied moan against my neck.

“This has got to go,” he mumbled, tugging at my blouse.

And then he started to undo the buttons. With his teeth. Did this guy have moves or what? Not that I was complaining. I was in heaven. I was one touch away from being a puddle of melted hormones in his hands.

I felt the first button release, then the second, Ramirez’s hot breath tingling against my bare skin. Button number three gave way and I braced for the feel of his warm wet kisses along my breasts. Only I didn’t feel any. In fact, he shifted, pulling away from me.

I opened my eyes and looked up to find him propped up on one elbow, picking something out of his teeth.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

His eyebrows hunched together as he blew air out through his lips in a spitting motion. “I think I just got grass stuck in my teeth.”

I looked down at my shirt. Sure enough, there were little bits of dirt and grass from my lawn dive stuck in the grooves of my formerly white buttons.

I let out a big sigh. Fine. I give up. Fate obviously had it in for me.

“This is so not working.”

“What’s not?” Ramirez asked, running his tongue over his teeth.

“This!” I sat up and gestured from his spitting form to my stubbly legs. “This isn’t the way this is supposed to happen. I smell like a jail cell, my legs aren’t shaved, I’m wearing day-old underwear, and I’m in desperate need of a lip wax. Look at me,” I gestured down at the lawn on my shirt and busted Cavallis dangling off my feet. “I’m a mess. I can’t have sex with you looking like this.”

Ramirez stared at me, blinking. “I think you look fine?” he said. Only it came out more of a question.

I narrowed my eyes. “Was that a statement or a question?”

Ramirez bit the inside of his cheek. “Which is the answer that will get us back to the kissing part?”

“Don’t you care that this is our first time?” I asked, doing a hands-on-hips pose. “Our first time is supposed to be special. It’s supposed to be at your place with scented candles from Illuminations and Enya playing in the background. I’m supposed to be wearing a cute little lace camisole and matching panties from Frederick’s of Hollywood. I’m supposed to look sexy. This,” I gestured to my ruined outfit again, “is not sexy.”

Ramirez rolled over onto his back and blew a long breath up toward the ceiling. “You’re killing me here; you are