Born in Death (In Death #23)(68)

“Are you trying to take advantage of my weakened state?”

“Damn right.”

“Just checking.” His lips curved against hers. “Go ahead then. I can’t stop you.”

“Guess you’ll have to lie there and take it.” She nipped at his jaw, slicked her tongue down his neck. “You could call for help.”

“My pride prevents me.”

Chuckling, she slid a hand down, found him already hard. “Yeah, you’re just full of pride.”

He tasted so good, all warm and ripe, and as her body pressed to his, rubbed bare flesh to bare flesh, she felt his heartbeat kick. She shifted, stretched herself over him so she could press her lips where that heart beat for her.

More than desire, she thought lazily. Here was knowledge and comfort, and a kind of communion.Turn to me, and I’ll be there. That was the simple answer they could always find together no matter what shadows hung over them. Through the past, through the present, they could always find the answer, and each other.

She felt his hands on her now, stroking to soothe or to arouse, and succeeding in doing both. For another moment, she stayed as she was, eyes closed, absorbing the sheer and simple pleasure of knowing where she belonged. Then, in the deep dark, in the deep quiet, she slid up him again until their lips met.

Movement and heat, he drifted into both as she did and rode on the warm current of sensation. The shape of her, the scents and the sounds, were so familiar, and so alluring. She, as no other ever could, reached every corner of his heart. His woman with her long, lean body, her courageous spirit and questing mind. His joy, and his salvation.

Here it was so clear, so easy, with only the two of them in a dance either could lead, both could follow.

And the need for her sang through him like a favorite melody.

She straddled him, laying her hands over his as he took her breast in his mouth. Letting her head fall back as she immersed herself in the next thrill, letting her mind empty of everything but what they gave to each other.

She took him in, slow, slow.

He quivered for her, he murmured to her, and at last he filled her. Her body bowed back, a slim white curve in the shadows. Then forward to rock them both breathless in the dark.

They wrapped around each other, sliding languidly down from that peak, her leg tossed intimately over his hip. She rested her brow lightly against his jaw until sanity returned.

“Better than cake,” she said, and made him laugh.

“So it was. And it was damned good cake.”

“Mmmm. What time is it anyway?”

“Ah…somewhere after three.”

She did the calculation in her head. “Good enough.” She tipped her head up, pressed her lips firmly to his. Then rolled away and sat up.

“And what are you about, Lieutenant?”

“I’m about waking up some people in Europe. Light on, five percent. Going to grab a shower first,” she said when the lights glowed dimly. “Wash the rest of the cobwebs out.”

He folded his arm behind his head. “So I served as a way to use up a bit of time till you determined it was reasonable to wake some poor sod up on a Sunday morning.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel so used. Thanks.”

“Welcome.” She felt clearheaded now, a good second wind. “I’m just going to get some things rolling, then I’ll catch a couple hours down.”

“Too right you will.” Then he sat up. “A bit longer then.”

“You don’t have to stay up.”

“You weren’t singing that tune a few minutes ago.” When she grinned, he walked by her, giving her a quick pat on the ass. “Let’s have that shower, and maybe both of us will be back in bed before dawn.”

Eve tried Candide Marrow first, and was bumped to voice mail. She left a message, then moved down the list to the stepsister.

A hoarse, muffled voice said, “Bugger off.”

“Briar Rose Marrow?”

“Do you know what bloody time it is?”

“Where you are or where I am? This is Lieutenant Eve Dallas, from the New York City Police and Security Department. Are you Briar Rose Marrow?”

The lump in the bed had a mad thatch of black hair streaked with gold, and muttered, “What the f**k is it to you?”

Since Eve figured she might’ve had the same attitude under the circumstances, she held onto her patience. “Are you Briar Rose Marrow, and do you have a stepsister by the name of Tandy Willowby?”

“So f**king what?”

“When did you last have contact with your stepsister, Ms. Marrow?”

“Well, Christ.” The lump moved, shoved at the mad thatch and revealed a pale face with sleepy and improbable purple eyes heavily lined with black, and full lips where the lip dye had faded to splotches of crimson. “How the bleeding hell should I know when it’s eight bleeding o’clock in the bloody morning? Who the hell are you again?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, in New York.”

“Cops? What do the cops want with Tandy? New York? I haven’t had my sodding coffee.” Briar Rose scrubbed at her face with her hand, then pressed it over the sheet in the vicinity of her belly. “Oh, f**k me, how many orgasms did I have last night?”

“That would be your personal business.”