Unmanned by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online

callused. He swept his thumb across my knuckles, reminding me that I was still alive.
    “This is L.A., Rivera, if I worried about every disgruntled commuter I’d have fifteen different kinds of ulcers.”
    He blew out a breath. “I didn’t even know there were fifteen different kinds.”
    “I’m practically a doctor.”
    He nodded. “Yeah. Smart
and
sexy,” he said, and moved in closer. His chest felt hard against mine, and when he kissed me, I remembered I didn’t really want to be dead. “Go to your mother’s house, McMullen,” he murmured.
    “Not on your life.” My voice sounded kind of iffy.
    “If I beg?” he asked, and kissed me again, a little tongue this time. It had been—and I kid you not—seven hundred and two days since I’d shared my bed with a man. Wait. No, that’s not true. It had been seven hundred and two days since I had shared my bed with a
straight
man. I sighed.
    “No,” I said.
    “How about if I promise to sleep with you?”
    That gave me pause. “You’d prostitute yourself for me?”
    “I’m a giver.” His dick was hard. “What do you say?”
    “No,” I said, but it was more difficult to make my lips function properly this time. Seems they had other things in mind.
    He kissed the corner of my mouth. “I’m fantastic in the sack.”
    “So I’ve heard.”
    “Yeah?” He kissed my neck. “From who?”
    “Whom.” My breathing was getting a little shaky. “The correct pronoun is ‘whom.’”
    “Good thing you told me. Wouldn’t want to screw up the grammar while we’re screwing.”
    My breath stopped completely. “Are we going to…” I drew back a little. “You know.”
    He had backed me up against the living-room wall. I seemed to be straddling one of his thighs, or some other hard part of his anatomy.
    “The dog’s busy,” he said, touching my face again, “and life’s short.”
    I tried to nod, but there was a lump in my throat.
    “You’re not going to cry, are you?” he asked.
    “Crying’s for wimps. And hormonal teenagers.”
    His fingers felt warm and soothing against my face. “When I drove around the corner and saw you…” The muscles in his jaw jumped. “…on the ground…”
    “You’re not going to cry, are you?” I whispered.
    “Maybe a little,” he said, and placed both hands on the wall behind me, locking me in.
    “That dog’s not going to eat forever,” I said.
    He grinned, kissed me hard, and led me toward the bedroom.
    Then his cell phone rang. We froze. His brows lowered.
    “If it’s another fiancée, I’m never sleeping with you again,” I said. We have something of a history. Not much of it is good.
    “After today?”
    “After today.”
    He grinned, then reached into his pocket (I wished I had thought of that) and pulled out his phone. Flipping it open, he glanced at the screen, gritted his teeth, and held my gaze just an instant before pressing the TALK button.
    “Yeah.” There was a murmur from the other end, a moment’s hesitation as he stared at my lips, then, “Okay,” he said, and shut the phone. “They’ve got a witness.”
    “A witness?”
    “Someone saw a man running down Hillrose Street about the time of the shooting.”
    I felt a little desperate. And kind of hormonal. And sort of like a teenager. “Won’t he still be a witness after we…?” I nodded toward the bedroom.
    He kissed me again, pushing me back against the wall, ravaging my mouth. My ovaries squeaked. “I don’t just want a quick fuck here, McMullen,” he growled.
    My throat felt stretched tight. “What do you want?”
    His cell rang again. Irritation ticked in his jaw. “Rest up. Get naked, then clear a week,” he said, and searing my lips one more time, turned away, already snarling into his phone as he stalked off.

5
    When men age they’re called sophisticated. When women age they ain’t called at all.
    —Doris Blanchard, quick-draw and philosopher
    O KAY, I’LL ADMIT IT ; my body wanted sex…long, hard,