“Yoga Class. I’m trying to find some inner peace.”
Good plan.
“Oh, hey, one more thing. Um, you don’t happen to own a leopard print thong, do you?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Thanks again.”
I hung up, not feeling like I’d really learned anything. Expect that Andi Jameson had anger management issues. Not that I blamed her. Keying a fifty thousand dollar car did sound sort of therapeutic. I mentally added her name to the list of contenders for When Mistresses Attack.
I flipped my phone shut and turned around to find Ramirez standing behind me.
I let out a little, “Eek!”
“Who was that?” he asked.
“No one. Nobody. Just a friend.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and I felt my cheeks growing hot. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be wanted for murder would he?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Just what are you implying?”
“Nothing. But you would tell me if Richard called you, right?”
“Of course I would.” Only it came out sounding so weak I don’t think either of us was convinced. Which of course made me even more defensive. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it? Just like you implied you were going to give my grandmother a handful of Catholic babies. I’ll have you know I’m not a baby factory. I have good legs! I’m not throwing that away. And I can most certainly have friends who call me who aren’t Richard. And I can talk to them any time I want without answering to you.”
“Oh Jesus.” Ramirez rolled his eyes.
“What? What is that? That eye rolly thing?”
“You’re getting hormonal on me now aren’t you?”
Okay, if there’s one thing you don’t ever say to a woman on the edge it’s that she’s hormonal.
“I’m what? Look, you’re the one that came to my apartment last night, Mr. I-can’t-keep-my-pants-on. So don’t you lecture me about hormones.”
Ramirez grinned, that infuriatingly sexy dimple flashing in his cheek. “I didn’t hear you complain last night.”
“Yeah, well, I was drunk.”
He took a step closer. “Are you drunk now?”
“What? No, I’m not drunk now, I’m-”
But I didn’t get to finish my rant as Ramirez’s mouth was suddenly covering mine. I was poised to push him away with enough force to knock that sexy grin off his face, but the second his lips touched mine, the only thing I felt was a serious case of lust. Starting in my chest and settling somewhere between my legs. I grabbed onto his neck, more for support than anything, my body melting like a Hershey’s kiss on a sunny day. That’s it. No denying it. I had a case of the I-want-Ramirezes and I had it bad.
Just as the back seat of Ramirez’s SUV was starting to sound pretty good, he stepped back.
“What was that?” I asked between short breaths. I think I was panting.
He grinned. “That was me proving a point. Any complaints?”
It was official. I hated him.
My head hurt and I think my hangover was back. Only I felt tired, grouchy and squishy stomached all at the same time.
Ramirez was first and foremost a cop. And despite the fact my grandmother might think he was a good catholic boy, he was not happily-ever-after material. Or even boyfriend material for that matter. Besides, I already had a boyfriend. Sort of.
“Look, I, uh, I need to use the ladies room.”
What I needed was a cold shower. And then a shrink. Ramirez the Hormone Machine had me so confused I didn’t know what I felt anymore. One minute I’m designing Strawberry Shortcake high tops and wondering when those cute suede boots would go on sale, and the next I’m tracking down murderers, dressing as a hooker and visiting porn studios. Not to mention making out with sexy detectives at my mother’s wedding. It was all too much.
I left Ramirez in the great hall and rounded the corner into the motel lobby, not even sure where I was going. I walked up to the front desk.
“Excuse me, where’s your ladies’ room?”
The clerk indicated a narrow hallway. “Down the hall, to the left.”
“Thanks.” I followed the hallway, ignoring the peeling paisley wallpaper and shag carpeting beneath my feet. In fact, I was so self-absorbed with the Law & Order meets I Love Lucy farce my life had become that I didn’t even see him until I plowed smack into the man coming out of the men’s room.
“Oh, sorry, I-”
I paused. My eyes growing wide, my jaw dropping and my heart doing one big thump in my chest. I looked up and stared right into the perfect blue eyes of Mr. Cinderella himself.
Richard.
Chapter Sixteen
“Maddie?” Richard looked wildly from side to side as if expecting I’d brought the entire mounted Calvary with me. Which, I guess I almost had, if you counted the wedding guests. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I tried to answer but I think I’d swallowed my tongue. It was like seeing a ghost. He was dressed in the same pressed slacks I’d come to expect, his button down shirt opened at the collar, covered by a tasteful sport coat. He looked like he’d just come from the office, or a client meeting, instead of being on the run for the last week. I almost wanted to reach out and touch him just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating this whole thing.
Either that or smack him across his perfectly shaved cheeks.
“Me?” I finally gasped out, in sort of a strangled cry. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nothing.” Richard shifted from foot to foot, still looking over my shoulder at the empty lobby. “I mean, I, uh, I’ve been staying here for a few days. I just needed to get away for a while.”
I snorted. “Away from Greenway or away from the cops? Oh, I know, maybe away from your wife.”
He froze. His eyes meeting mine. “You know about her.”
“Richard, I know everything.” Which was a slight exaggeration.
“Look, maybe we should just go up to my room and talk.” He looked over my shoulder again.
I bit my lip. I was dying to ask Richard about a million different questions, starting with what the hell is up with Cinderella? But, while I mostly believed Richard had nothing to do with the hole in Greenway’s head, I was still a little reluctant to go off alone with him.
He must have sensed it because he grabbed my hand in both of his and looked at me with those sad little boy eyes that always melted me. “Please, pumpkin?”
I took a deep breath. “Fine, we’ll go up to your room.” I told myself it was because I didn’t want Molly the Breeder to stumble into the lobby and witness me ripping the designer slacks wearing crap weasel a new one. Not because hearing him call me pumpkin suddenly filled me with a longing for a simpler time when deciding if I should be leaving my toothbrush in Richard’s medicine cabinet was my biggest worry. “But just for a minute,” I added. “I have to get back to the reception.”
“Reception?” He glanced down at my gown as if just noticing the purple monstrosity for the first time.
“Yes, reception. My mom just got married. The wedding was going to be in Malibu, but weather issues forced us…” I glanced around at the Elk’s Lodge chic interior. “…here. You were supposed to go with me, you know.”
“Right. Sorry, pumpkin.”
Only he didn’t look sorry at all. He looked nervous. And he kept glancing back at the lobby like any second he expected someone to come bursting through the doors with guns drawn. Maybe Ramirez.
I shuddered at that thought, suddenly as eager to get Richard out of sight as he was.
I followed him down the hall to the elevators and up to the second floor. He paused outside room two-fourteen and unlocked the door. The room wasn’t much to speak of. A double bed covered with a desert motif spread, two watery prints on the wall and a TV stand and small writing desk in one corner. All standard roadside motel issue. Richard immediately went to the windows and peeked out between the rust colored curtains.