Smokin' Seventeen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

kissed me on the top of my head. “Someday I need to talk to you about car care.”
    “I know about car care. I kept a case of motor oil in the back.”
    “That’s my girl.”
    His Porsche 911 turbo was parked a couple cars away. We got in, buckled our seat belts, and the vordo took over. There was a subtle hint of Bulgari Green shower gel when Ranger moved. His brown hair was silky clean and perfectly cut. His dark Latino skin was smooth and kissable. He was dressed in a Rangeman black T-shirt and cargo pants. The T-shirt spanned his biceps as if it had been painted on. The cargo pants were filled out in all the right places.
    “Have you ever done it in a 911?” I asked him.
    “I don’t think it’s possible.”
    “I bet I could do it.”
    He turned and looked at me. And then he smiled.
    “It’s the vordo,” I told him.
    “We’d be more comfortable if we went back to Rangeman.”
    I had my hand on his leg and my lips at his ear. “Too far away.”
    Ranger put the car in gear, drove two blocks and pulled into a blind alley between two buildings. He powered his seat back and cut the engine. “Do it,” he said.
    I pushed my seat back, kicked my sneakers off, and wriggled out of my jeans. I was wearing the red lace thong, and I had a brief horrifying memory of Grandma’s dream with the flying horse and the rhinoceros. This could be the rhino incident, I thought. He could fall out of the air and squash me like a bug. Okay, last chance to assess the sanity of the act. How bad do you want to do this? I sucked in some air. I wanted to do it
really bad
.
    I checked out the logistics of playing hide the salami in a sports car. Ranger was right. This wouldn’t be easy. If I crawled over him there would be no room for my leg. His door was too close. There was only one way I could see managing this. I got out, ran around the car, opened his door, and straddled him with one leg outside and one foot on the console.
    Beeeeeep!
My ass was on the horn.
Beeeep, beeeep, beeeep, beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!
    A bead of sweat streaked down the side of Ranger’s face. “Babe.”
    • • •
     
    Thirty seconds later I was back on my side of the car, feeling much more relaxed, struggling to get into my jeans before he eased out of the alley.
    I was going to hell. There was no doubt about it.
    “Tell me about vordo,” Ranger said.
    “It’s a sex spell. Morelli’s Grandma Bella put it on me, so Morelli would think I was a slut.”
    “If I thought this was the result of Bella’s spell I’d send her a gift.”
    “How else would you explain what I just did?”
    “Animal magnetism.”

TWENTY-EIGHT
     
    RANGER TURNED ONTO CLINTON. “I’d still like you to look at the security system on the new account.”
    “Sure. I can do it now if it works for you.”
    “I have a client meeting in a half hour, but you can go over the plans on your own. They can’t leave the building, so you’ll have to use my office or the apartment.”
    There wasn’t much traffic in the middle of the day, and we sailed through all of the lights. Ranger parked in the underground garage, got out, and gestured to the fleet cars. “Pick one.”
    “That’s nice of you, but it’s not necessary to loan me a car.”
    “I loan you cars all the time.”
    “And I almost always destroy them or lose them. I have terrible luck with cars.”
    “Working at Rangeman is a high-stress job, and you’re one of our few sources of comic relief. I give you a car and my men start a pool on how long it will take you to trash it. You’re a line item in my budget under
entertainment.
”
    “Jeez.”
    “Besides, you need to get home somehow, and I can’t take you. I have an afternoon filled with meetings, and I have a dinner meeting with my lawyer.”
    “I’ll take the Jeep Cherokee.”
    “I’ll tell Hank. The keys are in the car.”
    We rode the elevator in silence. He let us into his apartment, and I followed him to his study. The plans were on his desk.
    “Take as long as you want,” he said. “Let the control desk know when you leave.” He pulled me tight against him. “Or you can stay and spend the night.”
    “When is your next meeting?” I asked him.
    He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.”
    I unzipped his cargo pants. “Plenty of time.”
    Nine minutes later Ranger rolled off me. I saw him to the door, I grabbed a chicken salad sandwich from his fridge, and I settled in at the dining room table to review his security blueprint. Lula