Page 64 of Triggered By Love
“You’re lying.”
“Try me. Go ahead. Say something mean and nasty.”
“Ahhh!” She clamped her mouth shut. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Besides, he was manipulating her—plain and simple. He was a detective and knew how to use psychology. He had a one-track mind, and that was to delve into her secrets because he was obsessed about solving a cold case.
A slithering chill crawled down her back.
But so was she.
She wanted to avenge Brando. More than anything, she wanted the person who ordered the hit in jail. The shooter was dead, but he was only a foot soldier.
Someone had hated Brando, or maybe it was her, or her father, or could it be Chase? Or Stone? Or her mother? Someone had wanted to hurt someone she loved bad enough that they’d sent a killer to her debut Manhattan Fashion Week show.
“If they’d wanted to kill Brando,” she mused. “They could have found a different venue.”
“Ah, so you finally admit you were the target,” Jason said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Shut up.” She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She most certainly didn’t need his help. He was incompetent. He had nothing. “You have no clue.”
“That’s why I want to know about Richie,” he said, not missing a beat. “I know he dated you about five years ago. His social media is still up, but you’ve unfriended him.”
“What’s your point?”
“How does he feel about your father running against his father?”
“How would I know? I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Why is that? Does he bother you? Has he tried to contact you recently?”
She studiously kept all expression from her face. The last thing she wanted was Jason or anyone dredging up that phase of her life.
“I see I hit a sore spot.”
“You hit nothing.”
“I’d say I hit your G-spot.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She made a show of yawning. What an utterly infuriating man. Braggart too, except her insides quivered involuntarily, and a soft warmth throbbed between her thighs.
“Humor me a moment. Let’s say Richie is upset your father is running against his dad, especially since your father is leading in the polls. He’s used to the perks of being a congressman’s son. He has his crimes covered up, access to travel with his dad to exotic foreign countries, a pipeline to all the drugs he wants, bribes and kickbacks paid into his bank accounts, even a pseudo-important position as a board member to peddle influence and run cover for corruption.”
Amazing. The dumb detective summed up the sleazebag son’s reason for existence, but Avery wasn’t going to give him any accolades. Instead, she was grumpy because he’d tossed hitting her G-spot like it was an offhand brag—not a sacred sensation in honor of being bonded with love.
Too bad Brando never hit the spot.
She slapped herself mentally for her disloyalty.
Brando was big and loving, but not rough enough to slam her that hard. He worked magic with his tongue—patiently licking and lapping as long as it took for the faint shimmering feeling to swell. So leisurely that she often wearied of waiting and took matters into her own hand to finish herself off.
Maybe she was a New York firecracker, but with the steam fuming from her at the disrespect Jason treaded over Brando’s memory, she was fit to be tied to a fiery stake and spit fireballs at him.
She forced her mind from the spot back to Jason’s provocations. “Richie’s way too lazy to care about his father getting defeated. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Their family has enough money and influence to let him be a playboy for the rest of his miserable life.”
“Ah, ’tis a miserable life to have the world eating from your hands,” Jason said in a snarky manner. “Tell me, did he have you eating from his hand, too?”
“He’s nothing to me. I refuse to talk about it anymore.”
“’Tis curiouser and curiouser,” he said. “Most women love to skewer their exes. What better payback than siccing the police on him and making him a suspect for a murder? Perhaps he was jealous of that brave and wonderful firefighter.”
