An Offer He Cant Refuse - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,48
into the palm of his hand. He set his glass aside and cupped the other sweet cheek, pulling her against him. Her mouth gave him one of those prissy kisses, all tiny smack.
He tightened his fingers. "Don't tease."
Her lashes lifted and her eyes were as hot as he felt inside. She smiled. "I'm trying to be gentle. Earlier you questioned my soft touch."
He groaned. Squeezed his fingers again.
He only got another prissy smack. "So what's this about gambling?" she asked.
Careful, Johnny. Careful, he warned himself. He tried shrugging without losing his hold on her. "I've been living in Las Vegas, Contessa. It's a given. We slip quarters into slot machines like other people put 'em into parking meters."
"Is that right." She slid her tongue across his bottom lip.
Sliding everything but her straight out of his mind. He lifted her higher against him and slanted his head to get himself a real kiss.
A voice called up from the court, stilling his movement. "Johnny? You up to playing?"
Oh, yeah, he was up to playing. With Tea. To hell with sixteen-year-old secrets when until now she'd been hiding that bootylicious butt and let-me-at-'em breasts. He'd play investigator with her all night long.
"Go ahead, Doug," he called back. "I'm still nursing my lip."
"Then we need Tea."
And just like that, the little flirt slipped out of his arms.
Smiling, her skirt twitched over her butt as she sashayed off.
Maybe he liked her better dressed as a librarian, he thought, downing the damn glass of rum and juice as Phillip bounded
" up the steps to the terrace.
"Let's whip up another batch," the older man said, smiling as if he hadn't just ripped away Johnny's fun.
For the sake of politeness, though, he pretended an interest as Phillip went behind the bar and pulled fruit juices and booze out of a minifridge. 'This is my special recipe," he said, dumping ice in a blender.
"Yeah?" Johnny craned his neck to see how the play was going. With any luck, Tea would be back soon, and in his arms.
"Actually, it came from someone else. A man who lived in your house, as a matter of fact."
"Really," Johnny replied absently, watching Tea bend over to pick up a ball. Her partner Doug was watching her too, and he wondered if the other guy was really gay, or if he might just be straightened out by that one glimpse of such a fine, fine female tush.
Phillip lowered his voice. "His name was Giovanni Martelli."
Johnny closed his eyes, then ground his teeth as the blender pulverized the ice. He'd almost let the opportunity slip away! The blender went silent, and Johnny swung toward the bar. 'The Martelli who was murdered at my house?"
Phillip lifted a brow. "You know?"
"California real estate law. Full disclosure and all that."
The other man continued to fuss with the drinks, so Johnny prodded. "Did you know him well?"
"Well enough. He put in that little course and I'd go over there on Sunday afternoons and play a few rounds with him. Doug, unfortunately, abhors golf."
Phillip wasn't bubbling over with details, but Johnny couldn't tell if it was because he didn't know any more or if he was reluctant to share them. He accepted another frosty glass of the rum concoction, and stared into it. One of his father's other legacies, he thought, besides the mystery behind his death.
He looked up. "This Giovanni, he was a car salesman, is that right?"
Phillip poured out more glasses of the drink. "He appeared to be doing well at a dealership down the valley in La Quinta. Luxury sedans."
Which jived with what Johnny remembered.
"Maybe the motive was robbery then," he wondered aloud, suddenly questioning if the police had thoroughly investigated that angle. At the time, his mother had whisked him back to Yakima, so most of what he knew was secondhand. He'd tried to find the original detective on the case, but the man had long since retired and moved to no-one-knew-where. "Were there other - "
"Nothing was missing," Phillip said, walking nearer. "And we've never had any kind of trouble around here, before or since." Tilting the pitcher, he topped off Johnny's glass. "Is the murder bothering you?"
"No." Not until 1:09:09 that night. "Just curious, is all."
"Me too," Phillip admitted. "Even after the rumors that he was involved with the Mafia and that he assassinated one of their own. I liked Giovanni Martelli. He was impossible not to like, especially in the mood he was in during the last few months of his life."