“How can you be so sure?”
Morelli shrugged. “Gut instinct.”
I cracked my knuckles.
“You're lacking some critical attributes of a good bounty hunter,” Morelli said.
“Like what?”
“Patience. Look at you. You're all tied up in knots.”
He applied pressure at the base of my neck with his thumb and inched his way up to my hairline. My eyes drooped closed, and my breathing slowed.
“Feel good?” Morelli asked.
“Mmmmm.”
He worked my shoulders with both hands. “You need to relax.”
“If I relax any more I'll melt and slide off the seat.”
His hands stilled. “I like the melting part.”
I turned my face toward him, and our eyes held.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I've already seen the movie, and I hate the ending.”
“Maybe it'll have a different ending this time.”
“Maybe it won't.”
His thumb traced over the pulse in my neck, and when he spoke his voice was low and cat's-tongue rough. “How about the middle of the movie? Did you like the middle?”
The middle of the movie had smoked. “I've seen better middles.” Morelli's face creased into a wide grin. “Liar.”
“Besides, we're supposed to be watching for Spiro and Kenny.”
“Don't worry about it. Roche is watching. If he sees anything he'll call my pager.”
Was this what I wanted? Sex in a Buick with Joe Morelli? No! Maybe.
“I think I might be getting a cold,” I said. “This might not be a good time.”
Morelli made chicken sounds.
My eyes rolled to the top of my head. “That is so juvenile. That is just the response I'd expect from you.”
“No it's not,” Morelli said. “You expected action.” He leaned forward and kissed me. “How's this? Is this a better response?”
“Umm . . .”
He kissed me again, and I thought, well, what the hell—if he wants to get a cold, that's his problem, right? And maybe I wasn't getting a cold, anyway. Maybe I had been mistaken.
Morelli pushed my shirt aside and slipped the straps of my bra over my shoulders.