Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(45)

“Jesus, Roarke.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

He came in silently behind her, made her jolt before she turned to shake her head at him. “Where the hell did you get it?”

“Oregon. It has a treated root ball. We’ll donate it to a park after the New Year.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “Them, I should say.”

“Them? You have more of these?”

“There’s one a bit bigger than this in the ballroom.”

“Bigger?” she managed.

“Another in Summerset’s quarters, and the one in our bedroom. I thought we’d trim that one tonight.”

“It’ll take days to trim one of these.”

“It only took the crew I hired four hours to do this one.” And he laughed. “Ours is more manageable.” He turned his head to brush his lips over her forehead. “I need to share this with you.”

“I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

She looked back at the tree and couldn’t for the life of her determine why it made her nervous. “I’ve got work,” she began, and would have stepped away. But he shifted, laid his hands on her shoulders, and waited for her eyes to meet his.

“I don’t intend to interfere with your work, Eve, but we’re entitled to a life. Our life. I want an evening with my wife.”

Her brows came together. “You know I hate it when you say ‘my wife’ in that tone.”

“Why do you think I do it?” He laughed when she tried to shrug his hands away. “I’ve got you, Lieutenant, and I’m keeping you.” Knowing how quickly she could counter a move, he scooped her off her feet. “Get used to it,” he advised.

“You’re going to piss me off.”

“Good, then we’ll have sex first. It’s such an adventure to make love with you when you’re annoyed with me.”

“I don’t want to have sex.” She might have, she thought irritably, if he wasn’t so damn smug about it.

“Ah, a challenge and an adventure. It just gets better.”

“Put me down, you jackass, or I’ll have to hurt you.”

“And now threats. I’m definitely getting excited.”

She refused to laugh. And when he stepped into the bedroom, she was braced and ready for a bout. Later, she would think Roarke knew her thought process entirely too well.

He dropped her on the bed, then dived onto her before she could shift into offensive mode. With one hand he handcuffed her wrists and drew her hands over her head.

She shot him one hot, narrow-eyed look. “I won’t go down easy, pal.”

“God, I hope not.”

She scissored her legs, clamped them around his waist, and managed to buck until they rolled. Galahad, who’d been enjoying a nap on the pillow, gave one ferocious hiss and leaped off.

“Now you’ve done it.” Eve grunted as he rolled on top of her again. “You annoyed the cat.”

“Let him find his own woman,” Roarke muttered, then crushed his mouth to Eve’s.

He felt the pulses in her wrists give two quick, hard bumps, felt the head-to-toe shudder her body gave beneath his, but she didn’t yield, wasn’t ready to, he thought. There were times, he knew, Eve liked a hot, fast war.

By God, he was in the mood for one himself.

He bit her bottom lip, triumphing on the moan she couldn’t quite swallow. With his free hand he released her weapon harness, tugged it down her shoulder. Then, because he could, because heat was already pouring off her in waves, he hooked a hand in the opening of her shirt and ripped it down the center.

Now her body strained toward his, demanding, daring, even as she twisted under him in an attempt to evade or take control.

“Christ, I want you. It’s never enough.” His mouth clamped onto her breast.

No, never enough, was her last clear thought. She cried out, her strong body bowing up as those fierce pulls and tugs on her breast vibrated through her like wild music set to a furious beat.

Heat seemed to roar from her center out.

Freed, her hands dragged at his shirt, ripping at the silk until she found flesh with her fingers, with her mouth, with her teeth.

Rolling again, they yanked at clothes, tormented skin with greedy nips and bruising strokes. When she reached for him, closed her fist around him, he was iron hard and smooth as satin.

“Now, now, now.” She arched her hips, and came violently the instant he drove into her.

He held there, buried deep, panting as he blinked his vision clear to look at her. The fire that blazed in the hearth across the room shot flashes of light and shadow over her face, glinted into her hair, flickered in her eyes, which had gone dark and blind with what they brought to each other.

“It’s me who has you.” He drew back, thrust again. “Always.” He shifted, lifted her hips with his hands. “Go up again,” he demanded and began to destroy her with long, hard strokes.

She fisted her hands in the bedclothes as if to anchor herself. In the firelight she could see him over her, dark hair gleaming, eyes too blue to be real, muscles sleek, skin pale gold and dewed with sweat.

Need rose like a flood, and pleasure swamped her. Her vision blurred, turning him into a shadow, gilded at the edges. She heard herself choke out his name as her body shattered.