Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(39)

“You tell me.” Bending down, she took his mouth with hers in a deep, aggressive kiss.

“Maybe you have, a bit.” He started undoing her vest. “Considerate of you.”

“Oh, you know me. I’m made of considerate.”

More than you think, he mused, then did the same with her shirt. “Due to my very minor injuries,” he began.

“You were a bruised, bloody, aching mess.”

“Comparatively minor injuries. I may have held back, just a bit, myself.”

“Is that so?”

He dragged her down, then rolled her over. “You tell me.”

His mouth ravished hers, and his hands got very busy.

She felt the weapon harness she’d forgotten she was wearing unhook before he dragged her up to pull off her vest, her shirt. All the while spiking a fever in her blood with his mouth.

And quickly naked to the waist, she wrapped around him.

“Maybe a little.”

But not tonight, he thought as he began to work his way, hands and lips, teeth and tongue, down her body. She arched for him, moaned for him when he tugged her trousers down, when he found her center.

And she erupted for him.

Now, all heated skin, both of them half-dressed, she dragged him up to fight with his belt. His breath as unsteady as hers, he closed his mouth over her breast—small, firm, her heart drumming under his lips.

She wanted the rush, the power and thrill, the crazed friction, the frantic movement of him inside her. Joined and locked and mated.

She freed him, guided him to her. Then dug her fingers into his hips as they rode each other, fast and hard. Need, all need, drowning her senses, clouding her mind.

When that need peaked, it tore through her like a gale. All she could do was hold on until he met his own.

She closed her eyes, and her body sighed under the good, solid weight of him.

“Yeah, maybe just a little,” she murmured.

On a breathless laugh, he lowered his head to the curve of her shoulder. “On both sides.”

“We still have a lot of clothes on—mostly on.”

“And still, somehow, managed.” He turned his head to press his lips to the side of her throat.

“We should probably take off the rest.”

“We should.”

But they stayed as they were another moment, another two.

“It was kind of sexy.”

He lifted his head. “Kind of?”

“I mean when you were pummeling Cobbe into the ground. I revisited that today. I had to deal with all the paperwork.”

“Ah.” He kissed her again. “The downside.”

“Definitely, but done, which is handy, since, you know, murder.”

“You could take on an aide again, to help with that sort of thing. Shelby, for instance.”

“No, Shelby’s where she needs to be. And I don’t want an aide. I took on Peabody because …”

“You put her where she needed to be.”

“Yeah. It’s going to work, you know. The five-point-whatever of them in that big, crazy house.”

“It will, yes, and very well.” He rolled away, sat up to take off his shoes.

She did the same with her boots. “You’ll help them with the fixing it up and all that? I know Peabody will put her crafty-girl hat on, and probably knit a sofa or something, but the big stuff. You like that kind of thing. You’re good at it.”

“I will, of course.”

“Good.”

Still naked to the waist, she took her weapon and harness to the dresser, emptied her pockets. “Did you know Trina offers a cop discount in her salon?”

“Does she?” He turned down the bed. “That’s good of her, and clever as well.”

As she undressed, her mind began to turn again. “I need to check where Gwen gets that stuff done. She might have an ex or current there, or somebody she could talk into eliminating her problem. She does some work for her family’s foundation—which I need to look at more closely. Maybe somebody there …”

Knowing her, knowing she’d start circling again, Roarke took her hand, drew her over to the bed. “You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I have to check out what’s in the safe deposit box. Need a warrant for that. I want to hit Merit Caine first thing, then the box, then—when I know what’s in it—back to Gwen.”

She got into bed, started lining up her day and the potential timing. “I can split the names from the search with Peabody. Or pull in one of the other teams if there’s too many. And I want to go over all this with Mira. Then …”

He rolled on top of her.

“No way, pal.”

“Double or nothing,” he said, and slid inside her.

“I didn’t take the bet.”

“It was implied.”

Slowly now, he moved inside her. Long, slow strokes that stirred the soul seconds before they stirred the body.

“I know this is cheating.” But already soft, subtle, seduced, she moved with him.

He touched his lips to hers, then went deeper until the kiss spun out and spun out for both of them.

He murmured Irish in her ear. Some words she knew, some she didn’t, and all were as seductive as those long, lazy strokes.