Naked in Death (In Death, #1)(50)

"You're a suspicious character, Roarke."

"I think that's a compliment." He bent his head to bite her lip, as the steam rose and the spray began to pulse like a heartbeat. "Tell me what you meant, the first time I made love to you, when you said, 'I can't. '"

He angled her head back, and Eve closed her eyes in defense as water chased the shampoo away. "I don't remember everything I said."

"You remember." From another fount, he drew pale green soap that smelled of wild forests. Watching her, he slicked it over her shoulders, down her back, then around and up to her breasts. "Hadn't you had an orgasm before?"

"Of course I have." True, she'd always equated them with the subtle pop of a cork from a bottle of stress, not the violent explosion that destroyed a lifetime of restraint. "You're flattering yourself, Roarke."

"Am I?" Didn't she know that those cool eyes, that wall of resistance she was scrambling to rebuild was an irresistible challenge? Obviously not, he mused. He tugged lightly at her soap-slicked nipples, smiling when she sucked in a breath. "I'm about to flatter myself again."

"I haven't got time for this," she said quickly, and found her back pressed against the tile wall. "It was a mistake in the first place. I have to go."

"It won't take long." He felt a hard slap of lust when he cupped her hips, lifted her. "It wasn't a mistake then, or now. And I have to have you."

His breath was coming faster. It stunned him how much he could want her still, baffled him that she could be blind to how helpless he was under the clawing need for her. It infuriated him that she could, simply by existing, be his weakness.

"Hold onto me," he demanded, his voice harsh, edgy. "Goddamn it, hold onto me."

She already was. He pierced her, pinned her to the wall with an erection that filled her to bursting. Her frantic, helpless mewing echoed off the walls. She wanted to hate him for that, for making her a victim of her own rampant passions. But she held onto him, and let herself spin dizzily out of control.

He climaxed violently, slapped a hand on the wall, his arm rigid to maintain balance as her legs slid slowly off his hips. Suddenly he was angry, furious that she could strip away his finesse until he was no more than a beast rutting.

"I'll get you a shirt," he said briskly, then stepped out, flicking a towel from a rack, and leaving her alone in the billowing steam.

By the time she was dressed, frowning over the feel of raw silk against her skin, there was a tray of coffee waiting in the sitting area of the bedroom.

The morning news chattered quietly on the view screen, the curiosity corner at the lower left running fields of figures. The stock exchange. The monitor on a console was open to a newspaper. Not the Times or one of the New York tabs, Eve noted. It looked like Japanese.

"Do you have time for breakfast?" Roarke sat, sipping his coffee. He wasn't able to give his full attention to the morning data. He'd enjoyed watching her dress: the way her hands had hesitated over his shirt before she'd shrugged into it, how her fingers had run quickly up the buttons, the quick wriggle of hip as she'd tugged on jeans.

"No, thanks." She wasn't sure of her moves now. He'd f*cked her blind in the shower, then had withdrawn to play well-mannered host. She strapped into her holster before crossing to accept the coffee he'd already poured her.

"You know, lieutenant, you wear your weapon the way other women wear pearls."

"It's not a fashion accessory."

"You misunderstand. To some, jewelry is as vital as limbs." He tilted his head, studying her. "The shirt's a bit large, but it suits you."

Eve thought anything she could wear on her back that cost close to a week's pay couldn't suit her. "I'll get it back to you."

"I have several others." He rose, unnerving her again by tracing a fingertip over her jaw. "I was rough before. I'm sorry."

The apology, so quiet and unexpected, embarrassed her. "Forget it." She shifted away, drained her cup, set it aside.

"I won't forget it; neither will you." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. Nothing could have pleased him more than the quick suspicion on her face. "You won't forget me, Eve. You'll think of me, perhaps not fondly, but you'll think of me."

"I'm in the middle of a murder investigation. You're part of it. Sure, I'll think of you."

"Darling," he began, and watched with amusement as his use of the endearment knitted her brow. "You'll be thinking of what I can do to you. Unfortunately, I won't be able to do more than imagine it myself for a few days."

She tugged her hand free and reached, casually she hoped, for her bag. "Going somewhere?"

"The preliminary work on the resort requires my attention, and my presence on FreeStar One for a number of meetings with the directorship. I'll be tied up, a few hundred thousand miles away, for a day or two."

An emotion moved through her she wasn't ready to admit was disappointment. "Yeah, I heard you wrapped the deal on that major indulgence for the bored rich."

He only smiled. "When the resort's complete, I'll take you there. You may form another opinion. In the meantime, I have to ask you for your discretion. The meetings are confidential. There's still a loose end or two to tie up, and it wouldn't do for my competitors to know we're getting under way so quickly. Only a few key people will know I'm not here in New York."