have used sunblock.
"I'm going to take a shower," I said to Morelli. "It's been a long day."
"Is this a sexual shower?"
"No. This is an I've-been-sweating-all-day-at-the-shore shower."
"Just checking," Morelli said.
The bathroom, like the rest of the house, was faded but clean. It was smaller than my apartment bathroom, and the fixtures were older. But the era of construction was more graceful. Morelli had stacked towels on a shelf above the toilet. His toothbrush, toothpaste and razor took up the left side of the sink vanity. I'd placed my toothbrush and toothpaste on the right. His and hers. I gave myself a mental shake. Get a grip, Stephanie . . . this isn't a romance novel. This is the result of a firebombing. There was an over-the-sink medicine cabinet, but I couldn't bring myself to open the door. It seemed like prying, and I was sort of afraid what I might find.
I showered and brushed my teeth and was toweling my hair dry when Morelli knocked on the door.
"Eddie Kuntz's on the phone," Morelli said. "You want him to call back?"
I wrapped the big bath towel around myself, cracked the door, and stuck my hand out. "I'll take it."
Morelli handed me the phone, and his eyes locked on my towel. "Shit," he whispered.
I tried to close the door, but he was still holding on to the phone. I was holding the towel with one hand, and the phone with the other, and I was nudging the door closed with my knee. I saw his eyes darken and soften, like liquid chocolate. I knew the look. I'd seen it before, and it had never turned out well for me.
"This isn't good," Morelli said, his gaze now wandering the length of the three-inch opening between door and jamb, from the towel to my legs and back to the towel.
"Hello?" Kuntz said at the other end of the line. "Stephanie?"
I tried to twist the phone out of Morelli's hand, but he was holding fast. My heart was going ka-thunk, ka-thunk in my chest, and I was starting to sweat in unusual places.
"Tell him you'll call him back," Morelli said.
I CLENCHED MY TEETH. "Let go of the phone!"
Morelli relinquished the phone but kept his foot in the doorway.
"What?" I said to Kuntz.
"I want a progress report."
"The report is that there's no progress."
"You'd tell me, right?"
"Yeah, sure. And by the way, someone soaked my car with gasoline and firebombed my apartment. You wouldn't happen to know who that someone was, would you?"
"Jeez. No. You think it was Maxine?"
"Why would Maxine firebomb my apartment?"
"I don't know. Because you're working for me?"
Morelli reached in and took the phone. "Later," he said to Kuntz. Then he disconnected and tossed the phone in the sink.
"This isn't a good idea," I said. But I was thinking, Why not? My legs were shaved. I didn't hardly have any clothes on so that awkward step was eliminated. And after everything I'd been through, I deserved an orgasm. I mean, it was the least I could do for myself.
Morelli moved in and nuzzled my bare shoulder. "I know," he said. "This is a terrible idea." His mouth brushed just below my earlobe. We locked eyes for a heartbeat, and Morelli kissed me. His mouth was gentle, and the kiss lingered. When I was in high school my best friend, Mary Lou, told me she heard Morelli had fast hands. Actually, just the opposite was true. Morelli knew how to go slow. Morelli knew how to drive a woman crazy.
He kissed me again, our tongues touched, and the kiss deepened. His hands were at my waist and then at my back pressing me into him, and either he had one hell of an erection or else his night stick was rammed into my stomach. I was pretty sure it was an erection, and I thought if I could just get that nice big, stiff, magical thing deep inside me all my worries would fade away.
"I've got some," Morelli said.
"Some what?"
"Some condoms. I've got a carton. Serious investment. Top of the line."
The way I was feeling I figured that carton wouldn't take us to Sunday.
And then his mouth was on me again, kissing my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breast at the top of the towel. And then the towel was gone and Morelli took his mouth to my nipple and fire flashed through me. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing . . . teasing. His mouth dropped lower, trailing a string of kisses to