Divided in Death (In Death #18)(71)

"Okay." She could hardly complain about the break when she'd spent a good chunk of the evening flat on her back and covered with goo. "I'm not much help in the comp-jock area, but I've got some probabilities to run, some theories I want to play with. Mind's clear. I hate that."

"You hate that your mind's clear?"

"No." Her shoulders relaxed again. She was tuned to every nuance in his voice, and everything was all right. For now. "I hate that the stuff Trina does actually works-on the brain. I'm pumped," she said, hauling out a ragged and ancient short-sleeved sweatshirt she'd buried under a stack of silk and cashmere tees. "And I'm thinking... what're you looking at?"

"You. Darling Eve, you look-"

"Don't start." She waved the shirt at him and backed up two steps. Even that was a fake, she thought. It was such a tremendous relief to know he could look at her that way. To know, when he did, her blood warmed, her body tightened. "Don't even start."

"You've had a pedicure."

Instinctively, her toes curled in embarrassment. "She did it while I was under VR, and she won't tell me how to get it off."

"I like it. Sexy."

"What's sexy about pink toes? What could possibly be sexy about that? Wait, I forgot who I was talking to. If she'd painted my teeth pink, you'd think it was sexy."

"A fool in love," he murmured and stepped close enough to brush a thumb over her cheek. "Soft."

"Stop it." She slapped his hand away.

"And you smell... exotic," he said after easing closer for a testing sniff. "A bit tropical. Like a lemon grove in spring, with just a hint of... jasmine, I think. Night-blooming jasmine."

"Roarke. Down."

"Too late." He laughed and gripped her hips. "A man needs his restorative, you know. Why don't you be mine?"

She was his, but still she gave him a shove as his lips came down on hers. "I've already had my break."

"You're about to extend it. You taste incredible." His lips skimmed over her jaw, then under it, and his busy hands had already unbelted her robe, slipped beneath it. "Let's just see..."-he tugged on her bottom lip-"... what else Trina's been up to."

He eased the robe off her shoulders, skimmed his teeth over bare skin.

The little ball of lust that had curled in her belly expanded. She tipped her head to the side to give him better access. "I'm giving you twenty minutes, thirty tops, to get yourself under control."

"Thirty should give me just enough time to..." He trailed off as his gaze lowered to her breast. "Well now." His voice came out in a purr as he rubbed his thumb lightly over the replica of her badge. "What have we here?"

"One of Trina's little brainstorms. It's just a temp, and actually I got kind of a kick out of it after I got over the shock."

He said nothing, only continued to stroke and circle the image with his thumb.

"Roarke?"

"I'm amazed to find myself ridiculously aroused by this. How odd."

"You're kidding."

His gaze lifted to hers, and that hot blue slammed through her. "Okay." Nerves danced under her skin. Over it. "Not kidding."

"Lieutenant." He gripped her hips again, and hitched her up in one clean jerk until her legs wrapped his waist. "You'd best brace yourself."

There was no bracing against that kind of assault on the senses, that sort of brutal invasion of the system. Since the bed was too far away, he simply spilled them both onto the sofa and took her over with lips and hands.

She clamped around him. It seemed if she didn't hold on, hold tight, she might shoot out of her own body. Sensations crowded inside her, careening through blood and muscle and nerve until she was quivering, until she was coming in a screaming rush.

Staggered, she fought for air, then met, finally met, those hungry lips with her own. Partly in lust, partly in desperate relief that they were together, at least here, they were together, she tugged at his shirt. He wasn't the only one who wanted the taste and texture of flesh. His was hot, as if he burned from the inside out for her.

Her miracle.

"Let me." She fought with his belt. "Let me."

And they rolled off the sofa, hit the floor with a solid thud.

Her breathless laugh shimmered through him. God, he'd needed to hear her laugh.

He'd needed to hold her, and be held.

Her scent, her shape, her flavor all burned through the lines on his already straining control. He wanted to lap her like cream, to devour her like a feast after famine. He wanted to bury himself in her until the world ended.

If it was possible to love, to want, to need too much, he'd already passed the boundary with her. There was no going back. She shuddered under him, moved under him. Her hand reached out and closed over him, and took the hard length of him into the wet, wild heat of her.

Pleasure swamped him, drenched him, a saturation of mind and body as her hips plunged up, and he drove down.

He could watch her dark amber eyes that were blurry with arousal, and he could see her lips tremble an instant before her head arched back and the throaty moan escaped her.

Undone, he pressed his lips to the symbol of what she was, and felt the heart that thundered for him beneath it. His cop. His Eve. His miracle.