Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(76)

“Shelby. The girls came back. That Shelby. Bitching, whining, bitching. I probably would, too, if somebody drowned me in the tub. What time is it?”

“Early.” He leaned over to touch his lips to hers. “Go back to sleep.”

She sniffed him. “You’re up, just out of the shower.”

“Can’t fool an ace detective.”

“Your hair’s still damp.” She walked her fingers through it. “And you smell really good.” And her detective skills told her he wore nothing but a towel. “I bet you have a ’link conference with Pluto and a holo-meeting with Istanbul or somewhere scheduled.”

“And a mind reader as well. What a lucky man I am.”

“You could get luckier.” She skimmed a hand down his chest, down his belly, down. And grinned. “But I see you knew that.”

“I’ve deductive powers of my own.”

She used her other hand, tugged him down by his hair. “What else you got?”

“Apparently a randy wife.” His hands got busy as well, skimming up and under the thin nightshirt she wore. “Pluto can wait.”

“Now, how many people can say that?” She tugged again so his lips came to hers.

And in the thrill of the long, lazy kiss, wrapped her arms, her legs around him, holding him tight and close.

Because she was lucky, and wouldn’t forget it. She had lived through it, all that had come before. And she was in the big warm bed with the frostiest guy on or off planet. The man who loved her, wanted her, tolerated her, and understood her.

Whatever the day brought when it dawned, she had this, she had him, to begin it.

“I love you.” She tightened around him. “I really mean it.”

“I love you.” She felt his lips curve against her throat. “I really mean it.”

“Show me.”

She arched toward him. He slid into her.

On the slow rise, the slow fall, he watched her face in the quiet light. Happy, he thought, there in her eyes, in the easy, fluid move of her body, in the quickening beat of her heart.

Whatever had troubled her in dreams she’d set aside, for this, for him. For them.

He touched his lips to her cheek, then the other, her brow, then her lips. To show her.

Dawn crept closer as they gave pleasure and took it. She sighed, a simple sound of bliss, stroked her hands down his back, up again until her fingers tangled in his hair.

All as sweet and lovely as a walk in a summer garden.

As the heat built, as the need sharpened, he watched her still, saw that pleasure peak in the deepening of her eyes even as he felt her body arch up to reach it, to take it.

Her heart drumming now against the thud of his own, her sigh sliding into a long, throaty moan. And her eyes, her eyes going dark and blind for that moment, that sumptuous moment when she lost herself, surrendered herself to what they made.

Reaching, taking, he fell into her eyes, fell into her.

She lay under him, limp, dazzled. If she could wish a single thing for a single day, it would be to stay just as they were, all warm, all tangled, all content. She turned her face, nuzzled it against his hair to cover herself with the scent.

She could take that with her, whatever else the day handed her.

When she stirred, he pressed his lips to the side of her throat, then levered up to look down at her again. “Can you sleep now?”

“I think I’m awake. Just as well.”

Rolling over, he drew her to his side.

“Don’t you have Pluto on tap?”

“In a bit.”

He thought he could lull her back to sleep, she realized, but her mind was already starting to churn.

“I don’t blame the kid for it.”

“Of course not.”

“Figuring she might be the key isn’t the same as thinking it’s her fault.”

“Got under your skin, did she?”

“I think I’m looking at her as a part of me I was still testing out at that age. Not the bjs and booze.”

“Happy to hear that.”

“It’s the pushy little bitch part, the ‘I want my own place, my own purpose’ part. She, from what I know and the dots I connect from that, let all that right out. I mostly kept it under wraps.”

“She was in a safe place, Eve, or what should have been. You rarely were.”

“But I hated it, safe or otherwise. Hated all of it. I think she did, too—or am I projecting? I think she hated it, resented it, thought it was all bullshit. Even Sebastian’s club. None of it was hers, and that’s how it was going to be. Someone she knew used that. She thought—I’m probably projecting—she thought she was using him, but she was a child, and easily strung along. Figured she knew the score, but she was still just a kid.”

“How does that help you?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m trying to get a clear picture of all of them, and she’s pretty clear at this point. Anyway, you should do your Emperor of the Known Universe thing. I think I’ll get in a workout before I start all this.”

“I’ll be about an hour. I’ll meet you back here for breakfast.”

“That’ll work.”

They rolled out of bed, he to go to his closet for a suit, she to grab some sweats.

As she pulled on a tank, she frowned over at him. “It’s not really Pluto, right?”