Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [63]
219
“Not entirely. I’m trying to distract you so you’ll tell me what happened to you today.”
Damn. The booze had worked for a little while and made me forget about my dad. I averted my gaze. He tipped my chin up. “Fine. We’ll deal with that later. Tell me how you ended up in another bar fight.”
“I don’t know. First she shoved me inside, then she was talking trash. I was content to let it go. She wasn’t.” I studied him. “How much did you see?”
Martinez grinned. “All of it.”
“I won.”
“I noticed.”
Then I noticed his attentions had become obvious. I bumped my hips into his. “Jesus. Are you hard?”
“As a rock.”
“Why?”
“Evidently seeing you drunk and kicking ass turns my crank.”
“Eww. It’s not a girl-on-girl thing, is it?”
“No.” He swept my hair over my shoulder, letting it spill over his fingers like a waterfall. “Must just be a you thing, blondie.”
Here was my chance to change this shit day into something meaningful. Something important. Something good. “Tony, do you love me?”
His eyes never moved from mine. “What do you think?”
“I think I’d like to hear you say the actual words.”
220
“Same goes.” His focus shifted to my cut. “I’ll take you home and patch you up.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you going all Dr. Quinn?”
No answer.
“Is this where you tell me you’ll kiss it and make it all better?”
“If you’re lucky.” His lips brushed mine.
My belly jumped. “That mean you’re staying
over?”
He opened the passenger door for me. “Do you want me to?”
“No,” I lied.
“Good. Then I guess I am staying.”
“Bastard.”
Martinez laughed, placed his hands on my ass, and shoved me in the truck.
He’d barely slapped on the Big Bird Band-Aid when he had me naked, hot, and squirming under him in my bed. Then he had me naked, hot, and wet pinned against the wall in the shower. In the chair. On the floor. Then back in bed.
Exhausted and dazed, I murmured, “You are nice 221
when you’re mad at me.”
“Mmm.” He’d situated us so half my body stretched across his; one hand clamped on my ass, the fingers of his other hand threaded through mine. His jaw rested on the top of my head.
This was the side of him no one knew. This was what I’d craved, the part of him that was mine alone.
“I missed you.”
“I know.”
With his heat and scent and contentment surrounding me, my consciousness was floating away. “I feel it for you every day, Martinez, I’m just not so good at saying it.”
“Try.”
“I am.”
“Try harder.”
222
The next morning Kevin was on funeral duty
with Amery so I had the office to myself. I brewed a pot of coffee; caffeine would dull the edges of my full body hangover, too much booze, too much sex—not that I was complaining about the latter.
The office manager for our newest corporate client, Tomahawk Ammo, e-mailed me a list of potential secondary suppliers she needed checked out right away. At least it gave me something to do.
I wrapped up the project and typed up the invoice. While I was dropping a copy on Kevin’s desk, I noticed Post-it Notes stuck to his computer monitor, all relating to Prairie Gardens.
Last night he’d mentioned Amery ranting about suing the facility. Much as I hated to admit it, she had a good case. But a case I wanted no part of. 223
Our firm specialized in piddly-ass cases the larger investigative companies waved off as small potatoes. We refused to work with ambulance-chasing lawyers—where the big bucks were in the PI biz. We’d built up a list of repeat clients, secured contracts with enough places that small cases added up to a tidy sum. Neither Kevin nor I were looking to get rich. We liked what we did, we were damn good at it, and our client list was diverse enough we were rarely bored. Kevin and I were equal partners with an equal amount of power when it came to making decisions. So far, we’d had few disagreements. But we’d have a big problem if he thought Wells/Collins Investigations would support Amery in her legal battle against Prairie Gardens.
I turned on Kevin’s computer and backtracked his online surfing since we’d taken Amery