Page 78 of My Fallen Saint

“Do you?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I say, and he laughs.

I scoot around him to grab one of the muffins from the hospitality basket. It’s blueberry and it’s warm and I’m in love with this hotel. “Can I ask you something?” I say, ripping a chunk off and then holding out the muffin to him.

He takes a piece, then pulls out a chair and sits, while I hop up onto the kitchen counter.

“What’s the story with Ronan?” I try for casual even though my mind’s been whirring all day.

“What do you mean?”

“I—well, just how well do you know him?”

“Pretty well. He’s like a brother to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “So he knows about Alex?”

He drags his fingers through his hair. “He does. And you’re asking me all of this because…?”

“Bell,” I say. “Lorenzo Bell.”

“What about him?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that Ronan arrived so late on the night Bell is killed?”

He chuckles, covering his mouth with his hand. “You really do have a suspicious mind. Where is this coming from?”

“Ronan,” I say, kicking my heel against the cabinet. He’s right. All I have is a weird feeling in my gut that something’s off. No proof. Not even a solid basis for a hunch. Not really. But I tell him what I do know, anyway. “In LA, he talked about not understanding what Sue went through unless you’d experienced something like it yourself. I got the impression that he had. Experienced something, I mean.”

“And that makes him a killer?”

I slide off the counter. “No. It makes me wonder. Because if he did suffer like she did—like the residents in the back tower did—wouldn’t that be a motive to take out someone like Bell?”

“I think you have a suspicious mind. And,” he adds holding out his hand for me. “I think you’re far too sexy to be so cynical.”

He tugs me toward him, and I take the hint, putting my hands on his shoulders as I straddle him. “Well, I was a cop.”

“Ronan drove to Vegas. The murder was when? Around midnight?”

I nod.

“He was in Victorville about then. He texted me to ask about my meeting.”

“Uh-huh.” I close my hand around his tie and tug him toward me. “And where were you, Mr. Saint?”

“You know what, officer?” He closes his mouth over my breast, biting down through the thin knit of my blouse and making me see stars as I squirm in his lap, already wanting more. He obliges, easing his hand down the back of my slacks. “You can interrogate me any time.”

I gasp, rising a bit as his fingers slide down my crack, his thumb teasing my ass as his fingers slip easily inside my already wet pussy. “We’re supposed to be changing for dinner, remember?” I can barely get the words out.

He uses his free hand to grapple for his phone, then dictates a text as I slide my hand between our bodies. “Sorry to miss dinner,” he says as I cup his cock through his jeans. “But Ms. Holmes and I have our hands full.”