Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 by Lori G. Armstrong

above my head. He held them there. Watching my eyes, he lowered his face until I couldn’t see anything but him. Couldn’t feel anything but him. Th
    en he covered my lips with his and I was lost.
    My legs parted and hooked his hips.
    He drove inside me.
    I arched off the bed, breaking the kiss on a gasp.
    “Jesus, you’re good at that, Martinez.”
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    His low rumbling chuckle reverberated though us both. Warm breath teased my ear as he whispered,
    “Missed you,” and proceeded to show me just how much.
    M M M
    Coff ee brewed while he showered. I gazed out the back door at the frost sparkling in the fi eld behind my house.
    A fl ock of turkeys pecked the hard ground; tan and gray feathers fl ew as they fought for bits of nothing.
    Th
    e weather had changed. Seemed like a lot had changed in the endless days Martinez had been gone.
    Was he interested in what I’d been doing? Would he care about Jericho’s appearance in my life? Would he tell me anything about the Hombres’ meetings he’d had in Denver?
    By unspoken agreement, we avoided business discussions. At times it made me crazy, the separation of our private lives from our public selves. It didn’t seem to bother him. And I’d sound needy and desperate if I brought it up.
    Screw that.
    Th
    e kitchen fl oor behind me creaked. Martinez circled his arms low on my waist and shrouded his face with my hair. “You didn’t have to get up.”
    “Someone had to make coff ee.”
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    “It can wait.”
    “Mmm.” I leaned against him. “Why aren’t you racing out of here like usual?”
    He pushed aside my tangled mane, rubbing his freshly-shaven jaw against my cheek. “Because I’ve got nothing going on until this afternoon. Late this afternoon.”
    My stomach swooped. “You did miss me.”
    “Yeah.” He delicately bit the skin where my neck curved into my shoulder. Th
    e magic spot that shut down
    my normal brain functions and literally made me weak-kneed.
    Martinez untied the satin sash and loosened the lapels of my robe. Leisurely, he ran his hard-skinned palms up my belly, over each rib, and cupped my breasts.
    “Come back to bed, blondie.”
    “We making up for lost time?”
    “Something like that.”
    My robe slithered to the fl oor.
    Coff ee was overrated anyway.
    M M M
    “Uncle.” Winded, I slumped forward on his damp chest.
    He casually dragged his fi ngertips up and down my spine.
    After we’d caught our breath, Martinez lightly pushed 65

    my hair from my face. “You okay?”
    No. Between him being gone, a front row seat to Lang Everett’s death, and fi nding out about Jericho, I’d been off balance. I wasn’t surprised he’d noticed, but I doubted he wanted the gory details.
    So I said nothing. I just closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear while I breathed him in.
    “Julie?”
    “Hmm?”
    “Tell me what’s going on.”
    Was he picking a fi ght? Already? I rolled away and perched on the edge of the bed. “Nothing.”
    Next thing I knew, he’d spun me and pinned me to the mattress. “Get off me, Martinez. I need to take a shower.”
    “Answer the question,” he said in that deadly, don’t-fuck-with-me tone.
    “I did. Now let me go.”
    “No.”
    He had me at a disadvantage, physically and mentally, which I hated, which he also knew.
    “Fine. You were gone, what? Two weeks? Why didn’t you call me?”
    Martinez didn’t move a muscle. “Th
    at’s what’s bug-
    ging you?”
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    “Yes.”
    Coolly, he said, “I could ask you the same.”
    Defl ect. Another tactic he used. “Yeah. Well. I had a lot on my mind.”
    “A lot besides me, apparently.”
    “Don’t do this, Martinez.”
    “What?”
    “Act like an asshole and try to make me cry. I’ve cried enough lately, all right?”
    His mouth hardened. “You’d rather take a punch than shed a tear.”
    “No shit.”
    “So, who hit you?”
    “No one.”
    “Th
    en why were you crying?”
    “Jericho, among other