Gemma Halliday: Killer in High Heels

I closed my eyes, my temperature rising about fifteen degrees.

“Feeling sexy yet?” he murmured against my skin.

I shook my head. “Unh uhn,” I lied.

His mouth traveled upward, nibbling at the inside of my elbow. “How about now?”

I swallowed back a sigh as his sexy day-old stubble skimmed over my skin. “Nope.”

He wrapped one arm around my middle, pulling me flush against his rock-hard body. His mouth hovered over mine, so closely I could feel his hot breath on my lips. “Now?” he whispered.

“Okay, maybe just a little.”

He grinned, showing off that deceptively boyish dimple. “I knew you’d come around,” he growled, his deep voice vibrating against my lips. Then his mouth closed over mine. Softly, slowly, igniting an instant fire that started somewhere in my belly and quickly spread south.

I kissed him back. Hard. Okay, fine, I was female. Around Ramirez, I was always thinking about sex too. So much so that right at the moment, I didn’t care if my legs weren’t shaved, if my underwear didn’t match my bra, or that my upper lip was still red and swollen from my duct tape facial. Screw it. We were all alone, the bad guys with guns were behind bars, and Ramirez was kissing me. Oh boy, was he kissing me.

I shuddered as his hand snaked up my thigh, sliding past the hem of my denim skirt until I was praying to the gods of prophylactics that Ramirez carried protection in his wallet. I wrapped one leg around his solid body, pulling him close, my fingers seeking out his button fly. I was just popping button number two when the door to the hotel room burst open.

“Maddie, guess what,” Marco cried, prancing into the room. “Madonna got us tickets to see Bette Midler! I’m going to see the divine Miz M in person tonight. I am in heaven, dahling, absolute heaven! I am so-” He paused. “Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

I glared at him. If looks could kill, Marco would be one dead duck.

Ramirez made a primal growl that belonged on Animal Planet, then stood up, adjusting his jeans.

“Oops. Sorry,” Marco said with a sheepish grin. “My bad.” He looked down to the pile of duct tape on the floor. “What’s with the tape?” he asked, then got a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Is this something kinky?”

“No, it’s not kinky. Sticky and painful is more like it,” I reassured him. Then filled him in on my run-in with Maurice while Ramirez rebuttoned his fly. By the time I was done, Marco’s jaw was dragging on the floor.

“Oh, honey, you are amazing! You’re the shit. You are the fabbest lady I know. You totally took down a coldblooded killer!”

I hoped Ramirez was getting all this. “Well,” I said modestly, “Dana kind of helped. It was her stun gun, after all.”

“Oh no, honey, it was all you. Oh!” He clapped his hands together. “We have to celebrate. Drinks tonight after the show?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

“Fab! Well, I’m going to make like a cheap stocking and run. I’ve got to find something to wear to fawn over Bette. I’ll, uh, leave you two to your private celebration here then,” he said with a wink before skipping back out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Ramirez grabbed my hand and pulled me to him again, wrapping one arm around my waist, the other hand caressing the back of my neck. “Now,” he growled, “where were we?”

He didn’t give me a chance to answer as he zeroed in on my lips. This time more urgently, with purpose. Not that I minded. I had to admit, as my hands roved up to his six-pack that belonged in a Cool Water commercial, my hormones switched into urgent mode too. Ramirez groaned as my fingers moved south to that button fly again. He leaned me back on the bed, falling on top of me. Whoa. Was that a Colt.45 in his pocket or was he just happy to see me?

I was two buttons away from finding out when the hotel room door popped open again.

“Sonofabitch,” Ramirez swore.

“Ohmigod, yes, that’s totally the spot!” Dana staggered in the door, giggling and flushed as Rico nibbled on her neck. “Oh!” She paused when she saw us. “Whoops. Looks like this room’s already occupied.”

I cleared my throat as Ramirez rolled off me, muttering something about strangling the blonde. “Uh, kind of. I mean, we were just…” I trailed off, blushing too hard to finish the thought.

“Uh huh, us too.” Dana giggled again as Rico pinched her behind.

“So I guess you two made up then?” I asked, even though the hickey forming just below Dana’s ear answered that question clearly enough.

Dana nodded. “Rico called me this morning after Officer Taylor released him from holding. Can you believe Slim Jim’s pressing charges? Anyway, Rico apologized for getting all jealous and I apologized for totally overreacting and now we’re going to…”

“Make up?” I supplied before she could venture into too-much-info territory.

“Uh huh,” Dana giggled. “Besides, I couldn’t stay mad at my little love guns,” Dana crooned, smooshing Rico’s cheeks until his lips puckered out.

“Awe,” he cooed back in baby talk, “I wuv you, my little bullet baby.”

Ugh. Urban Soldier endearments.

“Hey, what happened to your wrists?” Dana asked, looking down to where the sticky tape residue had mingled with lint from Ramirez’s jeans, leaving me looking like I had Smurf bracelets on.

“Long story,” I answered. I gave her a quickie version, highlighting the attempt on my life and the good fortune of a dog that liked leather purses.

“Ohmigod!” Dana yelled when I’d finished. “I knew that stun gun was a good idea!”

“Yeah, well, for once it zapped the right guy. Anyway, we’re meeting Marco for drinks to celebrate tonight. You in?”

“Totally!” Dana said. Then shot a glance at Rico. “If I’m not otherwise engaged.”

“Speaking of which…” Rico said, catching Dana’s eye.

“Right. Well, I guess we’ll leave you two alone,” Dana said as she and Rico staggered out the door in a lip-lock.

Ramirez slammed it shut behind them, then turned his dark eyes on me. “You have way too many friends.”

At the moment, I had to agree.

In one long step he crossed the distance between us and we were engaged in a lip-lock of our own. And this time urgency was definitely the name of the game. His hands were everywhere at once. Tugging at the hem of my skirt, sliding up my belly, fumbling with the clasp of my bra. And I was keeping pace. This time I had all five buttons undone before you could say “BVDs.” We were on a mission. Nothing was stopping us now…

“ Oy, I tell ya, that game was rigged. There’s no way that dealer coulda had a run like that unless he was-oh. Sorry, Mads.”

…nothing except Mrs. Rosenblatt.

I closed my eyes and thunked my head against the headboard, wondering what a girl had to do around here to get laid.

“Mads?”

My eyes popped open. “Mom?”

Ramirez stood up, pulling his hand out of my shirt like it had been bitten by a snake. “ Mom? ” he squeaked out in a falsetto. Mobsters he could handle, but my mom, now that scared him.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Mom said from the doorway. “It was time for Mrs. Rosenblatt’s blood pressure pills and she left them up here in the room. But had we known you had company…” Her eyes strayed to Ramirez’s undone fly.

“Shit.” Ramirez turned around and rebuttoned. Again.

“Yeah, you shoulda put a sock on the doorknob or somethin’,” Mrs. R. said as she crossed the room and dug into her suitcase. “Then we’d know you had some lovin’ going on in here.”

“Duly noted,” I muttered.

Mom cleared her throat, looking from my askew bra to Ramirez, standing awkwardly in the corner.