Cooking Most Deadly by Joanne Pence Page B

you go as well?”
    Could all that sarcasm be masking a twinge of jealousy? She wondered if he’d ever experienced such a thing before?
    â€œI knew you’d understand,” she said, hugging him. “Let’s go eat.”
    The man looked positively baffled as he followed her to the table. Once the food was on, though, they quickly put aside Stan and his cheap innuendo.
    â€œYou’re a genius,” he said, dipping his last bite of lobster into the warm, clarified butter.
    â€œI know.” She took a piece of her lobster with her fingers, slathered it in butter, and lifted it to his lips.
    He ate, then caught her hand and licked the butter from her fingertips one by one. She shut her eyes, reveling in the slow, lazy sensuousness of his tongue against her fingertips. When he finished with her pinky, she reached for another piece.
    â€œUh, uh,” he murmured, taking her hand and drawing her from her chair to his lap. “You taste much better than lobster.” He pretended to take a bite out of her chin, her jaw, her neck. His hand slid down her waist to her hips. Where he touched, she sizzled.
    â€œI miss you so much when we’re not together,” she whispered. “The days seem so empty.”
    â€œAnd the nights,” he murmured, carefully pulling her top free from the waistband of her slacks.
    She loved him, but her head spun. She felt confused. A little scared. Never one to keep things inside, she had to tell him how she felt.
    She drew back. “I have to talk to you, Paavo,” she said seriously. “I know we agreed that our relationship needed time to grow, to mature, and to see how things might work out between us, but…”
    His hands stilled. Eyes wide, he stared at her.
    Could he be reading her mind? she wondered. Could he be looking so stricken just because she thought it might be time for them to discuss marriage?
    Suddenly, the phone rang. They both nearly jumped out of their skins at the shrill sound.
    It rang again. “You’d better answer it, Angie. It might be important.”
    â€œI’m sure it’s not. Let the answering machine—”
    He stood, lifting her out of his lap and helping her stand. “I told Homicide they could reach me here tonight, if anything came up.”
    â€œAll right, all right. I’ll get it.” She kissed him. “You stay right there.”
    He started to follow her to the phone.
    â€œFreeze, Inspector!”
    He threw up his hands and, as she picked up the phone, he sat back down.
    â€œYes?” she said curtly.
    â€œHey, there, Angie. How ya doin’?”
    She groaned inwardly. She knew that jubilant voice. Paavo’s homicide partner.
    â€œActually, I’m kind of busy.”
    â€œSay, is the Big P.S. there?”
    She winced. P.S.—an afterthought. That’s what she’d be once Paavo took this phone call. “He’s here,” she said with a sigh. “Hold on.”
    She handed Paavo the phone. “It’s your partner.”
    He put the phone to his ear. “Yosh, what’s up?”
    He listened for a couple of minutes, then frowned. “What was her name?”
    Angie caught the “was.” God, no, she thought. Another homicide. She prayed she was wrong.
    â€œCity Hall? Is that why the chief’s worried?”
    Was someone killed at City Hall? she wondered. She rubbed the chill from her arms.
    â€œGot it,” he said, then placed the phone back in its cradle. As he turned, the expression on his face told her Yosh’s call was more than just informational.
    â€œYou don’t have to leave, do you?” she asked.
    â€œI’m on call this week.”
    â€œMy God, Paavo, there are other homicide inspectors in this city! We were supposed to have this time together.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Angie. This isn’t the way I wanted our evening to end.”
    She looked at the unhappy, yet determined look in his