Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(74)

She gave, thrilled to be wanted, and to want. All but felt her skin shimmer under the glide of his hands. While she shimmered she tasted. The strong line of his throat, the sculpted lines of his torso, the spread of his shoulders.

Not a dream, but dreamy as they moved together, touched, savored. Neither of them heard the solid thump of the cat as he leaped down from the bed, undoubtedly in disgust.

Soft sighs, the whisper of sheets, a sudden catch of breath, and the world centered in that wide pool of bed even as the sky window over it bloomed with the first pale lights of dawn.

In its pearly glow she rose over him again. And took him in with a shudder, shudder of gluttonous pleasure. All and more, she thought as the need squeezed her heart. Together they were all and more.

While she rode him he watched her in that breaking light, her eyes gold and fierce, her long, lean body gleaming. With her hair like a tousled crown, her head fell back as the climax took her. Then even her image blurred as she whipped him to the edge of control. As she snapped it like a single thin thread.

As he broke, he reached for her, and held her close on the long fall.

When she got her breath back, they were still tangled together. And the cat had climbed back onto the bed to stare at them, his bicolored eyes unblinking.

“What’s his problem?” she asked.

“I expect we disturbed his beauty sleep.”

“He gets so much sleep he ought to be the Roarke of cats.”

“The what?”

“I was thinking, before your telepathy woke you up, how pretty you are. Then, since you woke up, I figured I might as well take advantage of you.”

“It’s appreciated.”

“You were probably almost ready to get up anyway, to slink off and start the first stage of your daily world domination.”

He glanced toward the clock. “Ah well, I’ll have to get a late start on that today.”

“I’d better get started on my daily hunt for bad guys.”

“Let’s have coffee in bed first.”

She liked the sound of it. “Who gets up to get it?”

“That’s a question. Rock, paper, scissors?”

“You’ll cheat.”

“How?”

“It’s the telepathy.”

“Ah yes. Then you might as well get it, as you’ll lose anyway.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She shifted enough to hold out a fist. He held out his in turn. Counted to three.

“Damn it,” she mumbled as his paper covered her rock.

She rolled out of bed, fed the cat as she programmed the coffee.

“Tell me about the dream.”

“It was weird. Mixed up. All this digging into the Urbans. That’s where I was, here in New York.”

She brought the coffee back, told him.

“I was so pissed, but not … I don’t know. Upset? I don’t know if that’s the word. But I kept looking at her, listening to her. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Blame, blame, blame. And there’s Mira, so calm. Unshakable, the way she can be. Part of my head’s thinking, look how different they are. Like opposite sides. And Mira had some bad shit in her life, but it didn’t turn her into some monster. I didn’t let Stella turn me. So what has she got? She’s got nothing but what I let her have. I know it. I always did. But …”

“What happened in Dallas was vicious. You had to work through it.”

“I know it took a piece out of you, too. And I know the time since hasn’t been easy for you. It’s going to be better.”

“I can see it.”

“She wasn’t going to walk off with that kid, or hurt her. Then when I saw it was Bella. Jesus. Over my dead body, you worthless cunt.” Eve took a breath. “She wanted me to shoot her. It’s weird, right? Even though it’s my dream, my inner whatever running the show, she wanted me to shoot her, then it’s like I killed her. I guess there was some stupid little seed of guilt in there I had to dig out and crush. Punching her felt so damn good. Mira’d probably have something to say about that.”

“I believe she’d say, Brava.”

“It’s going to be like it was with Troy, when I worked through that. She may come back, but she can’t hurt me anymore. That’s done.”

He lowered his forehead to hers. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

“You don’t have to. There’s probably some crap in here that still needs shoveling, but everybody’s got crap, right? It’s what you do about it. Choices. I’ve got to take a good look at mine, at some point. And now, I’ve got to start looking at choices people made in the Urbans that helped build the maze that led to the choices Callaway’s made.”

“As I said, some dream.”

“You got telepathy, I’ve got dreams. And I’m going to use them to kick some ass.”

She compiled the notes, the data, the images, shuffling them together for the morning briefing. She rose just as Roarke stepped into her office.

“I’ve got to get in, start setting this up.”

“Before you do. Gina MacMillon.” He offered her a disc. “You may want to familiarize yourself on the way in. I’ve copied the files to your office comp.”

“Thanks. Interesting?”

“Very,” he said as she pocketed the disc. “She was married to a William MacMillon, and while he was listed as the father on the birth record—that record wasn’t recorded until the child was more than six months old.”