THE VICARIOUS PLEASURE at getting the final word didn’t last long when Montoya’s only response was the creak of leather—as he held the steering wheel in a death grip.
Way to go, Iona. Why not draw attention to his reputation for charming women out of their knickers? Because that’s just what you want, to make this encounter personal.
‘Did Ram say something dumb about me?’ he asked after twenty seconds that had stretched over several lifetimes.
Iona risked a glance at him. His eyes remained fixed on the road as if he were trying to burn off a layer of tarmac.
‘Maybe,’ she said carefully, feeling increasingly awkward. Why hadn’t she kept her smart mouth shut?
With a face like that, the guy probably got hit on by supermodels—despite his less-than-charming personality—which meant snide remarks about being indifferent to his charms probably made her sound delusional.
He sighed. ‘Ram’s got a big mouth
and he gets a kick out of busting my balls. Don’t pay any attention to him.’
The knot of tension in Iona’s stomach released. He didn’t sound angry; he sounded embarrassed.
‘So you don’t have a reputation for charming the chiquitas out of their panties?’ she said, intrigued by his reaction.
Instead of taking the bait, he laughed. The low rumble of amusement shivered down her spine and re-ignited the stupid pinpricks she’d been trying to forget.
‘I do,’ he conceded. ‘But I didn’t do a whole lot to earn it.’
She didn’t believe him. Either he was being falsely modest, or he was lying. From the lazy, casually seductive tone he’d slipped into so effortlessly, she’d bet he could charm the average chiquita out of her panties from five hundred paces.
‘Ramirez tends to exaggerate my exploits.’ He protested a bit too much. ‘Because he’s been happily married for twenty-five years.’ He sent her a dimpled smile and the pinpricks were toast. ‘Don’t worry, Iona, you’re safe with me.’
The pulse of awareness that warmed the air at his softly spoken guarantee had her nipples hardening under the thin black camisole. She folded her arms over the tell-tale buds and cursed the knee-jerk thought that she wouldn’t completely object to a little danger.
‘Good to know,’ she replied, trying to convince herself she was grateful he had no designs on her panties.
Given her disastrous relationship history, the last thing she needed right now was to develop some ridiculous crush on Detective Sexy. She was already at enough of a disadvantage with the man.
‘So how did Demarest manage to relieve your old man of twenty-five grand?’ he asked, sliding effortlessly from charm offensive back to cop mode.
‘Why do you ask?’ she said, attempting to deflect the question. While she’d much rather be dealing with Montoya the cop, than Montoya the pantie charmer, she had no intention of revealing the grim details of her affair with Brad.
‘It’s not Demarest’s usual MO.’
‘What is his usual MO?’
He paused, and she had the uneasy feeling he had seen right through the stalling tactic. ‘All the victims we questioned were women, mostly over fifty, recently divorced or widowed. He poses as a producer, gives them a line about casting them in his latest movie, sweetens the deal with a little recreational sex and then asks for an investment.’
The flush spread up Iona’s throat at Montoya’s matter-of-fact statement. But she managed to choke back the urge to correct him.
Sex with Brad had been the opposite of recreational, at least in her experience. He’d been rough and demanding, but because he’d been her ticket out of Kelross Glen, she’d wanted to please him. Her stomach sank to her toes, her scalp burning at the memory of how hard she’d tried. Hard enough to persuade herself she actually liked Brad.
When Brad had dangled the carrot of knowing a wealthy benefactor in LA who might be keen to commission her artwork, she’d had no qualms about mentioning the opportunity to her Dad. But while her gullibility made her sick with shame, it was the way she’d let Brad use her in bed that made her feel sordid.
‘Demarest’s a sick bastard,’ Montoya continued. ‘The money’s not the main kick for him, it’s sleeping with the women he’s exploiting,’ Montoya hesitated. ‘Which is why I’m wondering how your old man fits into that? Where was the kick?’
She flinched at the perceptive comment. Montoya wasn’t buying it. Had he guessed her father hadn’t been the real mark? And why did the thought that he might find out the truth only make her feel a thousand times more unclean?
It really shouldn’t matter what this man knew or didn’t know. He was a stranger. And she didn’t even like him. In anything other than a hormonal sense, she added grudgingly.
But somehow it did matter.
‘Demarest was going to make a tourist film for my dad,’ she said, remembering one of Brad’s earlier carrots—that her father hadn’t taken. ‘We have a gift shop in Kelross. Demarest suggested making a movie about the history of the place for US investors,’ she added. It had almost been true.