The sudden cool breeze in my hoo-ha region left me panting just a little. Something that multiplied exponentially as Ramirez lowered his lips to the inside of my thigh. He made a low, growling sort of sound in the back of his throat, doing butterfly light kisses along my inner thigh. His hands slid up to my waist, lifting my leather skirt until it could double as a belt.

I suddenly realized he was wearing way more clothes than I was. I made short work of his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head, revealing that Budweiser-worthy six pack. I tried not to drool as I ran my hands over his stomach. Okay, I admit, I didn’t try very hard. I was goo, absolute putty in his hands. I’d never seen a body like this outside of a Brad Pitt movie.

He leaned into my touch, his fingertips flirting with my thighs as he did a low growl into my ear. I suppressed a giggle, his hot breath on my earlobe sending shivers down my spine. I felt goose bumps raise the hairs on my arms.

And legs.

Damn! I hadn’t shaved my legs this morning. Had I even shaved them yesterday? I couldn’t remember. I self-consciously wiggled out of his grasp, gently nudging his hand away from my bare, stubbly thighs.

Okay, so as long as the lights stayed off and he didn’t touch my legs, I’d be fine. I tried to reassure myself and relax back into his touch as his lips broke from my earlobe and began nibbling their way south. Down my neck, across my collarbone, into the deep V of my blouse. I closed my eyes again and sighed out loud, arching my back as his warm breath penetrated the thin fabric of my shirt.

He slid one large hand beneath the hem, moving upward until he reached the lacy edges of my Vicky’s Secret. I couldn’t help wriggling beneath him like a schoolgirl as his fingertips pulled the lacy fabric away and closed possessively over my barely B’s. You know, I was beginning to think that being arrested wasn’t all that bad. There were the perks of being patted down by the LAPD’s resident sex god. A status that Ramirez sealed for himself as I heard the zipper on his jeans give way and got a firsthand glimpse of what a lacy Vicky’s Secret could do to a man.

Oh. My. God.

My throat did that Sahara thing again, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a little drool traveled down my chin.

This so beat an evening with my battery-powered rabbit.

Ramirez seemed oblivious to my stares of admiration, fully consumed with popping the clasp on my bra. Not that I was complaining. The rasp of his warm hands against my bare skin was enough to make a girl forget her own name. I was seriously two seconds away from ripping the thing off myself when I finally felt the clasp give way and Ramirez gave another satisfied moan against my neck.

“This has got to go,” he mumbled, tugging at my blouse.

And then he started to undo the buttons. With his teeth. Did this guy have moves or what? Not that I was complaining. I was in heaven. I was one touch away from being a puddle of melted hormones in his hands.

I felt the first button release, then the second, Ramirez’s hot breath tingling against my bare skin. Button number three gave way and I braced for the feel of his warm wet kisses along my breasts. Only I didn’t feel any. In fact, he shifted, pulling away from me.

I opened my eyes and looked up to find him propped up on one elbow, picking something out of his teeth.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

His eyebrows hunched together as he blew air out through his lips in a spitting motion. “I think I just got grass stuck in my teeth.”

I looked down at my shirt. Sure enough, there were little bits of dirt and grass from my lawn dive stuck in the grooves of my formerly white buttons.

I let out a big sigh. Fine. I give up. Fate obviously had it in for me.

“This is so not working.”

“What’s not?” Ramirez asked, running his tongue over his teeth.

“This!” I sat up and gestured from his spitting form to my stubbly legs. “This isn’t the way this is supposed to happen. I smell like a jail cell, my legs aren’t shaved, I’m wearing day-old underwear, and I’m in desperate need of a lip wax. Look at me,” I gestured down at the lawn on my shirt and busted Cavallis dangling off my feet. “I’m a mess. I can’t have sex with you looking like this.”

Ramirez stared at me, blinking. “I think you look fine?” he said. Only it came out more of a question.

I narrowed my eyes. “Was that a statement or a question?”

Ramirez bit the inside of his cheek. “Which is the answer that will get us back to the kissing part?”

“Don’t you care that this is our first time?” I asked, doing a hands-on-hips pose. “Our first time is supposed to be special. It’s supposed to be at your place with scented candles from Illuminations and Enya playing in the background. I’m supposed to be wearing a cute little lace camisole and matching panties from Frederick’s of Hollywood. I’m supposed to look sexy. This,” I gestured to my ruined outfit again, “is not sexy.”

Ramirez rolled over onto his back and blew a long breath up toward the ceiling. “You’re killing me here; you are aware of this, right?”

I bit my lip. “Sorry.” And as I stared at his six pack abs, I was. Very, very sorry. Sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “If you want to wait, we’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

He raised one eyebrow at me. “You are sure you want to wait?”

No. “Yes.”

Ramirez blew out another sigh. “Okay. In that case, I’m taking a shower.” He stood up and crossed the room in one long stride. “A very cold shower,” he added, sending me a look that was all heat before closing the bathroom door behind him.

I flopped my head back on the pillows again.

I was so gonna get Fate for this.

I spent the night tossing and turning and trying really hard not to let my stubbly legs come in contact with Ramirez’s. Was there any worse torture in the world for a woman who’s gone this long without sex to be sleeping next a man like that? If there was, we should be using it on the terrorists because by the time the sun finally peeked through the paper-thin curtains, I was ready to tear my hair out.

Ramirez got up first and I could hear him getting dressed though I steadfastly refused to open my eyes. One look at that body and I knew I’d be a goner. Hairy legs or no hairy legs, I’d jump him. By the time I felt it was safe to look, I heard the door to the room shut and popped my head out of the sheets to find him gone. There was a little note on the nightstand written on the back of a KFC napkin: Went for coffee, be right back. R

Okay, so maybe he didn’t sign it with a heart or an XOXO, but the man was going for coffee. Gotta love that.

I took the opportunity to drag my tired self into the shower and in lieu of my usual mousse and blow-dry routine, twisted my wet hair up into a French braid. I scavenged in the closet and found a T-shirt and pair of sweats and plopped back down on the bed. I’d just flipped on The View when Ramirez came back in with two Starbucks cups in one hand and a bakery box in the other.

“Bless you,” I said, taking one of the steamy cups. I sipped it. A tall mocha latte with whipped cream. Oh, I liked this guy.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He lifted the lid on the bakery box. Krispy Kremes. I really liked this guy.

“So,” he said as we sat on the bed eating the doughnuts picnic style, “do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Hmmm…always the good news,” I said around a bite of crispy, sugary dough and oozing cherry filling. This so beat Dana’s box o’ bran breakfasts.

“Okay.” Ramirez swallowed a bite. “I talked to Detective Romanowsky. They did an autopsy on Bob last night and it turns out he did not die yesterday. The ME found signs of freezer burn.”

“He was frozen?” I asked, amazed that even talk of a dead body wasn’t making these doughnuts any less delicious.

Ramirez nodded. “Which makes it a little harder to pinpoint actual time of death, but taking into account the condition of the body and the last time anyone saw him, Romanowsky thinks we’re looking at sometime on the twelfth.”

I did some mental calculations. Today was the twenty-first, so counting backwards that would make the twelfth…last Wednesday. I perked up as I realized the significance. “That was before I was even in Vegas!”

He nodded again as he licked a bit of jelly off his fingers. “Exactly. So he says you’re cleared to go home as long as you make yourself available for further questioning.”

Which should have made me happy. I was in the clear, right? Only the idea of going home didn’t fill me with a whole lot of good feelings. Now that I knew not only had both of my dad’s friends been murdered, but also that the Mob was trying to frame Larry, I knew he needed help more than ever. I wasn’t sure what I could actually do, but I knew leaving town wasn’t it.

“Does the good detective have any idea who bumped off Bobbi?” I asked, hoping all signs pointed to Monaldo.

Ramirez shook his head. “Nothing concrete. At least not that he would share with me.”

I took another bite, letting the gooey cherry goodness ooze onto my tongue. Last Wednesday. Why did that date ring a bell with me? I racked my little brain as I took a steamy sip of mocha latte. Then it hit me. The eBay auction I’d swiped from Monaldo’s office. BobEDoll had listed his pair of Pradas the same day our Bobbi had bit the dust. I wasn’t totally sure what one thing had to do with the other, but it was quite a coincidence.

“I have something to show you, but I don’t want you to get mad,” I said, setting my doughnut down and wiping my fingers.

Ramirez paused, coffee halfway to his lips. “Great. What now?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well if you’re going to be like that, maybe I won’t show it to you.”