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.

I felt a shiver ripple through me and chose to believe the shiver was from the cool air … as opposed to a premonition of doom. “So you’re sure Roche will page you if he sees Kenny?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Morelli said, lowering his mouth to my breast. “Nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about! He had his hand in my pants, and he was telling me I had nothing to worry about!

My eyes rolled to the top of my head again. What was my problem? I was an adult. I had needs. What was so wrong about satisfying those needs once in a while? Here I had a chance for a real quality orgasm. And it wasn’t as if I had false expectations. I wasn’t some dumb sixteen-year-old expecting a marriage proposal. All I expected was a goddamn orgasm. And I sure as hell deserved one. I hadn’t had a social orgasm since Reagan was president.

I did a fast check of the windows. Totally fogged. That was good. Okay, I said to myself. Go for it. I kicked my shoes off, and stripped of everything but my black string bikinis.

“Now you,” I said to Morelli. “I want to see you.”

It took less than ten seconds for him to get undressed, five seconds of which he used up on guns and cuffs.

I snapped my mouth closed and surreptitiously checked for drool. Morelli was even more amazing than I’d remembered. And I’d remembered him as being freaking outstanding.

He hooked a finger under my bikini string, and in one fluid movement removed my panties. He tried to mount me, and hit his head on the steering wheel. “Been a long time since I’ve done this in a car,” he said.

We scrambled to the back and fell together, Morelli in an unbuttoned washed denim shirt and white sweat socks, and me in a fresh rush of uncertainty.

“Spiro could kill the lights, and Kenny could sneak in the back door,” I said.