By Marilyn Lee
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Extra info for A Thing Called Love
Holding onto his temper proved difficult. His journalist integrity was one of his most precious possessions. He was not about to allow a dirty cop to trample on it. "None of it's true? Let me again remind you that you were not directly accused of anything. Neely obtained his information from reliable sources, Detective. " He began to check each point off on his fingers. "An informant inside the Garsitti mob pointed the finger at a dirty detective in the 8th, most of The Valley's illicit activity happens in your district, you live above your means, and you can't account for your actions the night your partner was killed.
She shook her head. Why bother trying to explain to him? Because, if he choose to, he could help clear her name. "I was very lucky. Remember, I was hit five times. " His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. She sighed. He clearly didn't find her arguments convincing. " When he nodded, she went on. "So there we were alone. I was a little ... " "Uncomfortable? Afraid? " She scrambled onto her knees and glared at him. "What's it to you if I was afraid? " "No. Just an editorial which might help clear your name!
A sudden remembrance of the feel of his mustache against her palm hit her. An unwilling warmth radiated through her. She slowly licked her lips, then shook her head. Now was not the time to let her libido get out of control. And he wasn't the man for her. He leaned back against the door and looked directly at the sofa, almost as if he knew she was crouching there. " She froze in startled surprise, until she glanced over her shoulder. Then she uttered a small sound of annoyance. He'd seen her reflection in the uncurtained French doors behind her.
A Thing Called Love by Marilyn Lee