Let’s just say Toni is convincing.
How have I gotten myself into this mess?
We’re in a car, like one of those cars with a divider and a driver. This seems surreal, only my pounding heart and unleashed libido seem to think it’s very, very real.
“We need to sort out those clothes Winnie bought you,” Miguel says to Toni. “Maybe Sam can help you with that, and I’ll cook us some dinner when we get back.”
“You cook?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and I feel my cheeks heat. I didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation.
He gives me a wry look but his dark, probing eyes are dancing. “I do. I actually know how to read and write, too.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, like… you have people that drive cars for you and assistants and things so I just assumed that you had people that cook for you, too.”
“You mean a wife?” he says, and are those dark eyes twinkling at me? And why the hell does my body tingle like that when they do?
But I owe it to the entire female population to not let him get away with that zinger.
“Oooh you did not just say that. Did you just seal your fate as a ‘make me a sammich, woman’ type?”
“Of course not,” he says in that voice like satin bed sheets, “I just offered to cook dinner, but I like the way your cheeks flush when you’re affronted.”
“Can Prince sleep in my bed?” Toni asks.
“No,” Miguel and I say in unison. We share a moment. I swear, I think we really share a moment, like a mutual adulting thing, and then that quickly, it’s gone.
“Prince sleeps in his crate, and I’ll be taking him home after things are settled for the night,” I explain. She sighs, and for one minute, I wish I could leave him and he could sleep beside her, because what’s more comforting than the warm body of a pet who loves you unconditionally?
I look out the window, tallying up the details I know about her mother. I need to get to a laptop, and I need to ask some questions, but I don’t want to ask Miguel anything when Toni’s listening.
“Do you have a laptop I can use at your place?” I ask him.
“Of course.” He folds his hands on his knee, and I casually glance at his strong fingers, very strong masculine fingers, and as I watch, he slowly strokes one thumb meditatively over the other. When I look up, he’s staring at me. He doesn’t blink or look away, just holds my gaze.
“I’ll give you anything you need,” he says.
Oh, yes he would. My hormones sing.
I swallow. I know he’s talking about the case. He has to be.
“Thank you.” I swallow again, pulling myself back to the present. For one blindingly ludicrous moment, I wonder if we were to have a one-night stand if I could put these hormones to rest and get on with life.
“I’ll need all the information you can give me,” I say. Toni’s staring out the window, and her eyelids droop. Poor thing. I wonder how long it’s been since she’s had a good night’s sleep. I reach out and stroke her hair.
“You tired, honey?”
She shrugs. “Yeah,” she whispers on a yawn.
“What time do you normally go to bed?” Miguel asks, furrowing his brow. He probably knows literally nothing about taking care of kids, and I’d hazard a guess he doesn’t normally end up in situations he’s unfamiliar with, which is why he texted me last night. He’s usually the one in control, the one who calls the shots.
I’ll help him for tonight, and only because I care about Toni. That’s the only reason.
Toni shrugs. “Whenever I want to.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Seems like even if her mom was around, there’d be a good case for negligence.
“Did your mom ever go out at night?” I ask her.
Toni nods, still staring out the window while she strokes Prince’s ears. “Yeah, sometimes. She always made me lock the doors, though.”
As if that makes it any better. The girl’s seven.
Miguel and I share another look, this one intentional. I really want to ask those questions. Given how sleepy Toni is, though, I’d bet she’ll go to sleep soon, and then I’ll ask Miguel everything. See what he knows.
We pull up to a row of large townhomes, and my heart gives a lurch in my chest. No wonder he has a driver. There’s not exactly on-street parking here. Behind us, the sun sets, casting an enchanting reddish orange glow on the brick-stone homes.
“Wow,” I breathe, unable to hide my admiration. “It’s beautiful here.”
He nods. “It’s my favorite place to come home to.”
He’s got homes all over the world, I remember from reading my “research” on his net worth this morning, all the way from his vineyards in Tuscany to San Diego.