by Lois Greiman
“I believe you’ve met my family.”
He smiled a little. A teaspoon of tension seemed to drain from him. “I’d trade half a dozen old bastards for three crazy brothers and a father with a flattop.”
“Even if he called you Pork Chop?”
“God.” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder you’re as sane as you are.”
“Gee,” I said, “I don’t think you’ve ever said anything quite that nice to me before.”
He chuckled, turned toward me, and suddenly his arm slipped around my waist. “You’re not half ugly when you get cleaned up.”
“Stop it. I’m blushing.” The sad part was that I might truly have been. We were standing pretty close, and there was something about him … something indefinable and alive.
Running his hand up my arm, he brushed the hair away from my face. “I had a dream about you,” he said.
“Yeah?” I didn’t manage to say more. Dreams had started this whole debacle, and I couldn’t help but wonder if his was the death-on-the-sidewalk kind or the steamy-shower kind. I have to admit, I really prefer the steamy-shower kind. Especially if they come true.
“You were naked,” he said.
“Oh?” My chest hurt a little. I wondered vaguely if my heart was about to pound its way through my rib cage and grab his ass. “Was I still alive?”
“You were screaming my name.” He slipped his hand behind my neck. His skin felt hot and rough against mine.
“Because you were trying to kill me?” I guessed.
“Because you hadn’t had an orgasm for a millennium.” He moved closer still. I could feel his erection against my belly. “You hadn’t forgotten how, though.”
I swallowed. “It’s probably like riding a bicycle,” I said.
“Christ, it has been a while for you, hasn’t it?” he asked. “Tell me the truth…” His breath felt warm and hopeful against my cheek. “Those other guys…” I could see the muscle in his cheek tighten. “Do you have feelings for them?”
There were so many things left unresolved. Ramla’s sister. Micky’s son. My stupid septic system. But at that moment the world seemed to narrow down to Rivera’s whiskey-dark eyes.
I wanted desperately to kiss him, but I stayed as I was, nearly as desperate to refrain from stupidity. “Which ones specifically?”
“Are you intentionally trying to make me crazy?” he asked, and pulled me closer.
“Don’t blame the physician,” I said.
He almost smiled. “Pretty clever how you made sure I was there every time you were cuddled up to a different guy.”
“You’re delusional,” I said, and he kissed my jaw.
“You saying you didn’t plan it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He slipped his other hand behind my neck. “So you’re just irresistible?”
“You seem to have been resisting pretty well.”
“Hardly any damage at all.”
I raised a brow.
“From spending the nights beating my head against the wall.”
“It was probably a real hardship spending your time with the supermodel with hair.”
“She’s my sister,” he said.
“Well, it didn’t look like you were feeling too brotherly when I saw you at Caring Hands.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“The senator had asked me to meet him there the day you and he had words,” I explained.
“The senator…”
I nodded.
“Asked you to go there.”
“Yes.”
He inhaled deeply. “He asked me to meet him there.”
“At the same time?”
“Two o’clock.”
Weird. My mind clicked over that fact. “He must have been trying to get us together.”
Rivera shook his head. “He was dead set against me meeting Thea. I didn’t understand why until yesterday.”
“Then why would he want us there at the same time?”
“Did he call you in person?”
I shook my head, remembering back. “His secretary.”
“A guy named Rick called me for him. Said it was urgent. How about dinner at Vegas?”
“What?”
“The night I saw you with Curly Top. What made you choose that restaurant?”
“I got a coupon,” I said.
“One night only?”
“How’d you know?” I asked, but he was shaking his head.
“Fucking bastard.”
“You don’t think your father set it up.”
He snorted, but just then a shadow stepped from the shadows.
I jerked.
“Miss Chris.” D sauntered toward us. His cowboy hat was gone, but his sunglasses remained.
“D!” I straightened abruptly and glanced at Rivera, who had eyes only for the supermobster.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He shrugged, grinned. “The senator makes a rousing speech. If I hadn’t known he cuckolded old Altove, I would have been pretty moved.”
“How did you know—” I began, but Rivera interrupted me.
“You know a lot of things, don’t you, Dagwood?”
Their gazes met and clashed. D was grinning a little. Rivera was as serious as a hangover.
“I know she’s too good for you,” D said.
“But not for you?”
D laughed. He looked loose and amused. “Archer’s a nice guy. Drinks a little too much, maybe. On the other hand, that smalltown cop hardly drinks at all, but he’s got some issues. Celibacy being—”
“Holy crap!” Understanding hit me like a falling house. D had set it all up. Every seemingly accidental meeting with Rivera and each time I had been with a different man. The restaurants, Caring Hands. I scowled.
“What about the meeting at the dog park?” I asked. “Was that just a coincidence?”
Rivera was glowering. “I got a call from an informant,” he said. “Asked me to meet him there.”
“But he never showed,” I surmised, and shifted my eyes to D’s.
His were laughing.
“A little competitions good for the soul,” he said.
“Who do you think—” I breathed.
“You one of them?” Rivera asked.
D turned slowly toward him.
“My competitors,” Rivera said. “You one of them?”
D smiled. “Miss Chris,” he said, not facing me. “Tell the lieutenant here that I’m a sixth-level black belt.”
“Listen, D, I—”
“Tell your mobster I don’t care if he’s a damn junkyard dog.”
D smiled. “Is your lieutenant suggesting he would like to fight me for your honor?”
My heart clenched tight in my chest. “No,” I said. “No, he’s not.”
“Bare fists,” Rivera said.
I turned on him with a snarl. “Don’t be stupid,” I hissed.
“Good to see he’s got some balls,” D said.
“First man down is out of her life,” Rivera said.
“Rivera.” I felt breathless, shaky. “Don’t be stupid. He’s—”
“What?” Rivera turned toward me, eyes burning. “A felon? A lying bastard?” His face was sharp-edged and earnest. “Not good enough to say your name out loud?”
“Dangerous,” I breathed.
“Thank you,” D said. “But I say the last man standing gets to take our girl Chrissy to bed.”
“Don’t even think about it!” I hissed, but D smiled as he made the first strike.
Rivera was somber as he blocked it. I swore at them both, scared and frustrated and madder than hell as I pulled out my Mace….
About the Author
LOIS GREIMAN lives in Minnesota with her family, some of whom are human. Write to her at [email protected]. One of her alter egos will probably write back.
Check out her website at www.loisgreiman.com.
ONE HOT MESS
A Del
l Book/April 2009
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2009 by Lois Greiman
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the
colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33829-1
www.bantamdell.com
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books By This Author
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
About the Author
Copyright
