Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(56)

“And it surprises me that you’d give a damn what any of my associates thought of either one of us.”

“I don’t.” Damn it, she’d stepped right in it. “I was just making an observation. The wine’s got my tongue running away with me.”

“You annoy me, Eve.” His voice was dangerously cool. A warning she recognized. “Criticizing my taste.”

“Forget it.” She dunked again, surfaced like a shot when his hands clamped over her waist. “Hey, what are you doing? Trying to drown me?” She blinked water out of her eyes and saw that his were indeed annoyed. “Listen — “

“No, you listen. Or better yet.” He crushed his mouth to hers, hot, hungry, hurried. It made the top of her lead lift off and spin. “We’ll just move to the third part of our program a little early,” he said when he let her suck in a gulp of air. “And I’ll show you why I’m precisely on the mark with you, Lieutenant. Precisely. I don’t make mistakes.”

She scowled at him even as the blood hummed under her skin. “That arrogant routine doesn’t work for me. I said it was the wine.”

“You won’t blame what I can do to you on the wine,” he promised. He tilted his hands so that his thumbs traced the vulnerable fold between thigh and crotch. “You won’t blame it on the wine when I make you scream.”

“I won’t scream.” But her head fell back as a moan tore through her lips. “I can’t breathe when you do that.”

“Then don’t. Don’t breathe.” He lifted her up until her br**sts were above water, and his hands busy below. He dipped, caught one dripping point between his teeth. “I’m going to take you. You’re going to let me.”

“I don’t want to be taken, unless I take back.” But even as her arms came around him, he ripped her to peak, made her body buck and her arms go limp.

“Not this time.” He was suddenly ravenous for her, just this way, limp and open and mindless.

“How do you do that?” Her voice was weak and slurred.

He nearly chuckled, though the need was growing painful. Saying nothing, he stood, lifted her. Her eyes fluttered open as he carried her out of the bath.

“I want you in bed,” he said. “I want you wet, inside and out. I want to feel your body tremble when I touch you.” He laid her down, fastened his mouth on her throat. “And taste you.”

She felt drunk, too loose for control, too pliant for shock, as his hands got busy again. She bucked, she reached for him, but he slipped away, sliding down her damp body, hands fast, mouth urgent. She couldn’t keep up. Now her body was tight, a white-knuckled fist, ready to strike. She came abruptly, violently, and didn’t hear her own scream.

He took what he wanted. Everything. His blood pounded harder and hotter every time he dragged her over the next edge. Their flesh was wet with sweat now as he drove them both ruthlessly.

When the need to be inside of her was unbearable, he pulled her up, parted her legs until they clamped around his waist. And when her arms were around him as well, clinging, her body trembling hard against his, he gripped her hips and filled her in one deep stroke.

His mouth found her breast, felt the wild, ragged beat of her heart beneath the damp flesh. And when she climaxed again, vising around him like silk-coated iron, he held himself back.

“Look at me.” He arched her back, watching as her body shuddered, her hips moved. Arousal built fresh as he took himself deeper into her. “Look at me, Eve.” He stroked his hands over her, molding each curve again while he continued to thrust, slow, steady. His breath came in pants. His control vibrated on a thin, fraying wire.

She opened her eyes. They were glazed, heavy, but they watched him. “You’re the one,” he said, and braced himself over her. “You’re the only.”

His mouth swooped down to hers, found it eager and open as he emptied himself into her.

For once, he slept first. She lay in the dark, listening to him breathe, stealing a little of his warmth as her own body cooled. Since he was asleep, she stroked his hair.

“I love you,” she murmured. “I love you so much, I’m stupid about it.”

With a sigh, she settled down, closed her eyes, and willed her mind to empty.

Beside her, Roarke smiled into the dark.

He never slept first.

CHAPTER TWELVE

In his midtown office high above the city, Roarke dealt with his last meeting of the morning. As originally scheduled, he should be concluding this business in Rotterdam, but he had arranged to take the meeting holographically so as to remain close to home. Close to Eve.

He sat at the head of his gleaming conference table, aware that his image sat at a similar one an ocean away. His assistant sat on his left, feeding him the necessary hard copy for his approval and signature. His translator sat on his right, as backup, should there be any problem with the computer headset’s language program.

The board of ScanAir filled the other seats. Or their images did. It had been a very good year for Roarke Enterprises and its subsidiaries. It had not been a good year nor a good several years for ScanAir. Roarke was doing them the favor of buying them out.

From the stony expressions on several holographic faces, they were not entirely grateful.

The company needed to be right-sized, which meant several of the cushier positions would be adjusted in salary and responsibility. Some would be eliminated altogether. He had already hand-picked several men and women who were willing to relocate to Rotterdam and whip the skyline back into shape.