Three To Get Deadly

“People are nuts,” Morelli said. “Freaking nuts.”

“So why don’t you want this to be a social visit?”

“Forget it.”

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the hair.”

“You’re secretly married?”

“I’m not secretly anything.”

“Well then, what? What?”

“It’s you. You’re a walking disaster. A man would have to be a total masochist to be interested in you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe I will have another schnapps.”

He poured two out, and we both threw them back. It was easier this time. Less fire. More glow.

“I’m not a walking disaster,” I said. “I can’t imagine why you think that.”

“Every time I get social with you I end up all by myself, naked, in the middle of the street.”

I rolled my eyes. “That only happened once…and you weren’t naked. You were wearing socks and a shirt.”

“I was speaking figuratively. If you want to get specific, what about the time you locked me in a freezer truck with three corpses? What about the time you ran over me with the Buick?”

I threw my hands into the air. “Oh sure, bring up the Buick.”

He shook his head, disgusted like. “You’re impossible. You’re not worth the effort.”

I curled my fingers into the front of his T-shirt and hauled him closer. “Not even in your dreams could you imagine how impossible I can be.”

We were toe to toe with my breasts skimming his chest, our eyes locked.

“I’ll drink to that,” Morelli said.

The third schnapps went down smooth as silk. I gave the empty glass to Morelli and licked my lips.

Morelli watched the lip licking, and his eyes darkened and his breathing slowed.

Aha! I thought. This was more like it. Got him interested with the old lip-licking routine.

“Shit,” Morelli said. “You did that on purpose.”

I smiled. Then he smiled.

It looked to me like his “gotcha” smile. Like the cat that just caught the canary. Like I’d been had…again.

Then he closed the space between us, took my face in his hands and kissed me.

The kisses got hotter, and I got hotter and Morelli got hotter. And pretty soon we were all so hot that we needed to get rid of some clothes.

We were half undressed when Morelli suggested we go upstairs.

“Hmmm,” I said with lowered eyelids. “What sort of a girl do you think I am?”

Morelli murmured his thoughts on the subject and removed my bra. His hand covered my bare breast, and his fingers played with the tip. “Do you like this?” he asked, gently rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

I pressed my lips together to keep from sinking my teeth into his shoulder.

He tried another variation of the nipple roll. “How about this?”

Oh yeah. That too.

Morelli kissed me again, and next thing we were down on the linoleum floor fumbling with zippers and panty hose.

His finger traced a tiny circle on my silk-and-lace panties, directly over ground zero. My brain went numb, and my body said, YES!

Morelli moved lower and performed the same maneuver with the tip of his tongue, once again finding the perfect spot without benefit of treasure map or detailed instructions.

Now this was a superhero.

I was on the verge of singing the Hallelujah Chorus when something crashed outside the kitchen window. Morelli picked his head up and listened. There were some scuffling sounds, and Morelli was on his feet, pulling his jeans on. He had his gun in his hand when he opened the back door.

I was right behind him, my shirt held together by a single button, my panty hose draped over a kitchen chair, my gun drawn. “What is it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”

“Cats?”

“Maybe. The garbage is tipped over. Maybe it was my neighbor’s dog.”

I put a hand to the wall to steady myself. “Uh-oh,” I said.