Tori Carrington - Private Investigations

Joe sat back. Well, that had ended quicker than he’d thought. He’d entirely missed all the cues women usually gave when they were reaching the end of their monologues. Which caught him off guard. “Well, that’s…interesting.”

“Exciting,” she said, and that twinkle entered her eyes, making him wonder all over again what put it there. “At least after the bath part.”

“Hmm. The bath.”

She laughed, and he had the distinct impression it was at him. “You didn’t hear a single word I said, did you?”

His brows rose high on his forehead. Women were usually offended when they figured out he wasn’t paying attention. She appeared amused. He scratched his head. Go figure.

“Sure I did. I heard every word,” he said, feeling required to make at least the token objection.

She pushed her plate away and rested her elbows on the table, then crossed her arms. “So tell me what I said.”

Now this he was used to. All he had to do was choose a few words he’d picked up during the past half hour and he’d convince her he had been listening. “There’s the missing person…the bath…the gunmen.”

Her full lips quirked. “And?”

“And…” He was surprised at his own laugh. “Okay, you’re right, I wasn’t listening.”

Now why had he gone and admitted it? He’d never done that before.

Ripley waved her hand. “That’s okay. I don’t think I made much sense even to myself. I probably won’t until I figure out who those guys are and what they wanted.” She looked to her left, then her right, then leaned forward to peer into the bedroom. “Is it nearly two already?”

She began to get up, and he caught her wrist. “What did you say?”

She blinked at him. “Is it two already?”

He shook his head. “No. The other part.”

“What? That I’m going to figure out what those guys wanted?”

Yes, that was it. Now that his mind was functioning at least seminormally, an obvious thought emerged. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea if you reported them to the police first?”

“Police? Why would I call the police?”

She glanced at where his hand rested against her slender wrist. He swore he could feel the thrum of her pulse there. He removed his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Call me stupid, but if three armed men were pursuing me, and one was still possibly camping out in my room, the police would be the first people I’d call.”

She reached out and grasped his shoulder, bringing her face mere inches from his. He caught a brief whiff of peaches. “Don’t worry, Joe. I think I can handle a couple of armed men all by my lonesome. That’s part of what being a P.I. is all about.”

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re one scary woman?”

She was insane. It was as simple as that. And if he knew what was good for him, he would be picking up the phone right now and calling the police himself.

She smiled, then turned from him, allowing an unobstructed view of her from behind. Okay, maybe he’d call in a minute. The shirt she wore was creased at her waist on one side, revealing just a glimpse of a curved cheek. He cleared his throat.

“Besides, what do you think the police would say?” she offered along with the fantastic view. But he’d bet she didn’t have a clue what she was doing. “‘Do you know who the men were, Miss Logan?’ No. ‘Do you know why anyone would want to hurt you, Miss Logan?’ No. Then they’d flick their little notepads closed and tell me to call them if anything else happens.” She waved her right hand, hiking up the shirt even more as she walked away from him. It was all Joe could do not to slump in the chair and groan.

She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “By the way, you’re not married, are you?”

“Married?” He all but croaked the word.

She smiled. “I’ll take that as a no. Good. I wouldn’t want anyone getting jealous over my staying here.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, you know. Wives tend to get a little crazy when they find other women staying in their husbands’ rooms.”

“Yeah, um, crazy.” Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. “What do you mean by staying? What—here?”

She frowned. “Why, yes. Where else would I stay so long as one of those mean, nasty men is still in my room?”

Mean? Nasty? Joe scratched his head. Did those words come straight from the P.I. academy?

He didn’t get a chance to ask. Ripley waggled her fingers at him, then disappeared into the bedroom, not even the view she’d offered enough to take his mind from the situation at hand. “Good night, Joe. Oh, and thanks again.”

She closed the door.

Huh.

Joe sat there for long, silent moments staring at the white enamel of the door, trying to convince himself that what had just happened had, in fact, happened. Had she really locked him out of his own bedroom? He slowly shook his head. This was nuts. In fact, not much of what had happened tonight made much sense. First a naked woman smelling of peaches climbs into his bed buck naked and plants a wet one on him, awakening all sorts of reactions he had just been wondering if he’d grown immune to. Then she virtually takes over his hotel room, wearing his clothes and ordering room service on his tab. Now she’d just told him she was taking over his bed…without him in it.

The same woman who claimed to be a P.I. but struck him as anything but.

Making that phone call to the police was looking more and more appealing.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

He got to his feet, made it to the closed bedroom door in five strides and opened it. “I think you and I need to have a…”

His words drifted off along with his thoughts. Lying flat on her back, her mouth slightly open, one certain sexy, mystifying Ripley Logan was fast asleep in the exact spot he’d been lying in when they’d, um, first met. Slowly he neared the bed. Although why he was being quiet he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to wake her up. Didn’t he? He grimaced. Okay, maybe he didn’t. Well, not to kick her out of bed, anyway.

The top sheet was bunched around her knees. He reached for it to pull it up then caught himself. Since when had he developed protective instincts? If she was cold, let her cover her own damn self up. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood stoically for a whole two seconds then sighed and reached for the sheet again. Only something else caught his attention. Namely the soft cotton of her—his—shirt. She must have moved around a bit trying to find a comfortable spot. Her squirming had caused the sheet to come off and the shirt to ride up. The hem brushed her upper thighs, mere inches from the area that had driven him crazy ever since she’d covered it. He could imagine the springy curls just under the soft material. Joe swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room.

There was something decidedly decadent about standing there like that, watching her without her knowledge. Imagining her slick, swollen flesh just under the soft cotton.

Get a grip, guy.

Joe shook his head and turned toward the door to head for the couch in the other room. Suddenly, he stopped. Ripley lay on the far side of the bed. That still left three quarters of the king-size mattress free. He ran a hand through his hair. They were both adults, weren’t they? Certainly they were capable of sharing a bed without sex being a factor. There was plenty of room. They wouldn’t even have to touch. Unless, of course, they wanted to.

Ripley shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her side and bending her leg at the knee. The movement caused the shirt to pull tight across her shapely little bottom.

Without sex being a factor? Yeah, right.

He left the room and softly closed the door behind him.