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It took all her energy to prop herself up on her elbows to watch him. “Maybe I spray it on.”
He looked up at her. “Do you?”
“No, but I’ve been tempted.” She lowered her voice to a sexy purr. “There’s a thin line between fair and ghostly pale.”
He kissed the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “If you ever become a ghost, please haunt me.”
“I’ll put you at the top of my list.” He rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh, and she squirmed in gleeful anticipation. “You should write a sex guide and title it Make Love Like a Matador.”
His laughter buzzed against her knee, and he caught himself before the whole house heard him. “What would I advise, wrap a woman in a cape and stick it to her?”
“No, you’d have to give advice on how to lure a woman close, how to be handsome and dangerous, irresistible.”
“Do I already know that?”
Sliding her hand between her thighs, she stroking herself lightly. “Show me.”
His low moan sounded of real pain. “I’m going to lose my mind over you.” Moving closer, he pulled her legs over his shoulders to open her fully and gave her a luscious kiss. “Everything about you,” he whispered, “makes me want to eat you alive.”
She lay back and stretched out her arms. “Tiny bites, so it’ll take forever.”
He teased her with the tip of his tongue, lavished kisses along her cleft and used his thumbs to open her fully. Rolling his tongue into her, he followed with twisted fingers to tickle her deep.
Her whole body throbbed with a new burst of heat, and she grabbed his hair and pushed down against him, wiggling to enhance the joy swelling within her. He drew away to find another condom and crawled up over her to kiss her while her own essence flavored his lips.
Entering her with a gentle thrust, he rocked to go deep to spare his knee but his lazy strokes soon carried her to a steamy release. Libby held him tight, let the universe blur around her and spoke his name in a grateful whisper. He leaned into her, chasing his own dream and shuddering as he caught it. They lay in a tangled sprawl, too blissfully happy to move, until the heat of afternoon sun crested over the balcony and splashed their bed.
Detective Nuñez interrupted their dinner. Santos didn’t invite him to join them, but instead had Mrs. Lopez escort him into the den. “Let’s hope the news is good.”
Libby felt so relaxed after their lazy afternoon, she hated to consider what that might entail. She took her place beside Santos on the den sofa and reached for his hand. As always, his touch was calm and steady. She pressed his fingers, and he squeezed back.
“Thank you for coming here personally,” Santos said. “What have you learned?”
The detective sat on the edge on a black leather chair and flipped through his notebook as though searching for a forgotten detail. “The man injured in the accident earlier today is Rigoberto Avila. He’s the man in the photo you gave me. He’s a commercial artist who lives with his sister, Victoria Rubio.” He glanced up. “Their mother was married multiple times, and they had different fathers. Avila is in a coma, and the outlook isn’t good. We searched the wreckage of the pickup and his apartment but found no rifle. There were some sketches of you, similar to the drawings you gave me.”
He closed his notebook with a snap. “I have a man watching Avila’s apartment, but Victoria hasn’t come home. There is one interesting thing.” He rose to his feet in sections like a collapsible ruler unfolding and stood gazing over them. “The manager of the apartment house said Victoria has a year-old baby. ‘A handsome boy,’ the woman said. Victoria claimed he’s your father’s son. You should have told me about him in the beginning.”
“What?” Santos gasped. “She can claim anything she chooses, but my father never spoke of her. I never saw her with him. Many women came to see him when he was ill, but she wasn’t among them. If she’d had a child with him, she should have come forward, and we could have proved or disproved it with a DNA test.”
“Perhaps your father threatened her,” Nuñez countered.
“My father never even raised his voice to a woman. He’d not have threatened her. He was between wives, so another child wouldn’t have disrupted his life.”
“Were you living here in the late summer two years ago?”
“No, I had my own apartment, but I was here often. My father was dating Ana Santillan then. He favored blonde women, and I never saw him with a petite brunette.”
The detective made a hasty note. “What about your mother?”
Santos struggled to his feet. Without speaking above a whisper, he promptly silenced the detective. “Leave her out of this.”
Libby stood and took a step to the side so if Santos threw a punch at Nuñez, she wouldn’t be caught in the middle. Apparently taking the same precaution, Nuñez moved around the coffee table and headed for the door.
“You should speak to your attorney, Mr. Aragon. From the few facts we have, Mr. Avila could have been responding to threats you and your father made to his sister. I’m very good at discovering the truth, and you should cease hiding it.”
Santos waited until he heard the front door close and then swore a menacingly vile oath. He didn’t translate the curse for Libby. “If Nuñez can find Victoria, we can match the baby’s DNA to mine, but I can’t understand why she’d hide the fact if my father sired him.”
“That wouldn’t make any sense, would it?” Libby agreed. “The baby would be proof, and she could have taken your father to court for support if he refused to acknowledge the boy.”
