Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(46)

“And again.” He lowered himself, taking her mouth with his, linking his fingers with hers, pounding his body into hers. “Again,” he managed, as his blood rioted. “With me.”

And it was “Eve” he said, just “Eve,” when he emptied himself into her.

She lost track of time as she lay under him, firelight dancing on the ceiling. She wondered vaguely if it could be normal to need someone this much, to love to the point of pain.

Then he turned his head, his hair brushing her cheek, his lips brushing her throat. And she wondered why she should care.

“I hope you’re satisfied.” Her mutter wasn’t as snippy as she’d hoped it would be, and she caught herself stroking a hand down his back.

“Mmmm. I seem to be.” He nuzzled her throat again before lifting his head and looking down at her. “It seems to be mutual.”

“I let you win.”

“Oh, I know.”

The twinkle in his eyes had her snorting. “Get off me, you’re heavy.”

“Okay.” He obliged, then scooped her up again. “Let’s take a shower, then we can do the tree.”

“Just what is this obsession you have with trees?”

“I haven’t decorated one in years — not since Dublin when I lived with Summerset. I want to see if I can still do it.” He stepped into the shower with her, and she clamped a hand over his mouth, knowing his baffling preference for cold showers.

“Water on, at one hundred degrees.”

“Too hot,” he mumbled against her hand.

“Live with it.” And she sighed long and deep when the hot water began to pulse out from all directions. “Oh yeah, this is good.”

Fifteen minutes later she stepped out of the drying tube with her muscles warmed and limber, her mind clear and alert.

Roarke toweled off — another of his habits she couldn’t understand. Why waste time rubbing yourself with cotton when a quick spin in the drying tube took care of it? She was reaching for her robe when she noticed it wasn’t the one she’d left hanging there that morning.

“What’s this?” She took down the long flow of scarlet.

“Cashmere. You’ll like it.”

“You’ve bought me a million robes. I don’t see…” But her voice trailed off as she slipped it on. “Oh.” She hated it when she lost herself in something as shallow as textures. But this was soft as a cloud, warm as a hug. “It’s pretty nice.”

He grinned, belting a black robe in the same material. “Suits you. Come on, you can fill me in on the case while I tackle the lights.”

“Peabody and McNab are in. They’ll have their match lists by tomorrow.” She wandered back into the bedroom, and spotted the silver bucket with champagne; a silver tray with canapes was waiting. What the hell, she decided, and stuffed something glorious into her mouth as she poured two flutes. “Your covers for them passed screening.”

“Of course.” From a large box, Roarke took a long string of tiny lights.

“Don’t get cocky, we’ve got a long way to go. Nadine was in my office when I got to Central,” Eve added, and set Roarke’s champagne on the table by the bed. “She got a load of Peabody so I had to fill her in more than I wanted. Off the record.”

“Nadine is one of those rare reporters you can trust.” Roarke studied the tree, the lights, and decided to dive straight in. “She won’t leak sensitive data.”

“Yeah, I know. We got into that a bit.” Frowning, Eve circled the tree while Roarke worked. She had no idea if he knew what he was doing. “If Piper and Rudy hadn’t seen me, I’d have done the inside work myself.”

Roarke lifted an eyebrow as he secured the first string and took out another. “I might have some mild objection to my wife dating strange men.”

She went back to the tray, took another pretty canape at random. “I wouldn’t have slept with any of them… unless the job called for it.” She grinned at him. “And I would have thought of you the whole time.”

“It wouldn’t have taken very long — since I’d have cut off his balls and handed them to you.”

He kept stringing lights as she choked on her wine. “Jesus, Roarke, I’m only kidding.”

“Mmm-hmm. Me, too, darling. Hand me another string of these.”

Not at all sure of him, Eve pulled out another string of lights. “How many of these are you going to use?”

“As many as it takes.”

“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “What I meant — before — was I’ve done undercover before, Peabody’s green.”

“Peabody’s had good training. You should trust her. And yourself.”

“McNab’s still kicking about it.”

“He’s smitten with her.”

“He really — What?”

“He’s smitten with her.” Roarke stepped back, pursed his lips. “Tree lights on,” he ordered, then nodded, satisfied as the tiny diamond points blinked on. “Yes, that’ll do it.”

“What do you mean, smitten? Like he’s got a case on her? McNab? No way.”

“He’s not sure he likes her, but he’s attracted.” Wanting to see his work from another angle, Roarke walked over, picked up his wine, and sipped as he studied. “Ornaments, next.”