Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(15)

He might've still been on holiday-sing hallelujah-but since he despised her habit of parking out front of the spectacular entrance, she saw no reason to stop.

She stepped inside, into the cool and rarified air of the house that Roarke built, and was immediately greeted by the, cat. The pudgy and obviously irritated Galahad pranced up, batted his head against her ankle, and mewed shrilly.

"Hey, I've got to work for a living. I can't help it if you're alone all day with He Who Shall Not Be Named out of the country." But she bent down, scooped the cat up. "You need a hobby. Or hey, maybe they make. VR for pets. If not, Roarke will jump right on that."

She scratched the cat as she headed out of the foyer and downstairs to the gym. "Little VR goggles for cats, with programs about war on mice, kicking a Doberman's ass, that sort of thing."

She dumped him on the floor of the gym, and knowing the true path to his heart, got a, bowl of tuna from the AutoChef.

With the cat occupied, she stripped down, changed into workout gear, and set herself a twenty-minute run on the video track.

She opted for a beach run, and set out at a light jog, feeling her feet slap sand.

By the time she was 'at full pace, she'd worked up a nice sweat and was enjoying the salty breeze of the sea, the sound of the surf.

You could keep your yoga, Eve thought. Give her a good, full-out run, then maybe a couple rounds with a workout droid, follow it with a good strong swim, and you'd have your mind, body, and spirit tuned right up.

When the machine blinked end of program, she grabbed a towel, scrubbed it over her sweaty face.

With the intention of challenging the droid to a little hand-to-hand, she turned..

And there was Roarke, sitting on a weight bench with a cat in his lap, and his eyes on his wife.

Spectacular eyes, she thought. Violently blue in. a face carved by clever angels. The dangerous poet, the poetic danger, whichever way you looked at it-at him-he was amazing.

"Hey." She tunneled her fingers through her damp hair. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to see you wanted a hard run. You've had a long day, Lieutenant."

There was Ireland in his voice, dreamy wisps of it that could, unexpectedly, wind around her heart. He set the cat aside, and walked over to tip up her chin. Rubbed his thumb in the shallow dent in its center.

"I heard about what happened in Chinatown. That's what pulled you out of bed so early this morning."

"Yeah. She's mine. Just clearing my head before I get back to it again."

"All right." He touched his lips to hers. "You want a swim, then?"

"'Eventually." She rolled her shoulders to loosen them up. "Hand-to-hand's next up. I was going to use the droid, but since you're here..."

"Want to fight with me, do you?"

"You're better than the droid." She stepped back, began to circle him. "Marginally."

"And to think some men come home after a day of work and are greeted by their woman." He rolled up to his toes, and back, glad he'd changed with the idea of a workout. "A smile, a kiss, perhaps a cold drink." His grin flashed. "How tedious for them."

She lunged, he countered.

She kicked out, her foot coming within a half-inch of his face. He slapped it away, then swept her standing leg out from under her. She went down, rolled, and was up again in seconds.

"Not bad," she acknowledged, and scored a hit mid-body before their forearms slapped together in a block. "But I was holding back."

"Can't have that."

She came in on a spin-left hook, right cross-that would have knocked his head back if she'd connected. His backhand stopped a hairbreadth from her nose.

With the droid, she'd have pounded and gotten pounded in return. But this-the demand for control-was more challenging.

And, a hell of a lot more fun.

She got under his guard, flipped him, but when she leaped on the mat to pin him; he was already up again. She had to somersault aside, and came up just enough off balance to give him the opening.

Her breath whooshed out as she hit the mat, flat on her back, with his weight pinning her.

She stared up into his eyes as she got her wind back, lifting a hand so she could trail her fingers through the wonderful mane of black hair that nearly. hit his shoulders. "Roarke," she murmured, and with a little sigh, tugged his hair to bring his lips to hers.

And when he relaxed, started to sink into her, she scissored her legs, arched, and flipped him over.

She was looking in his eyes again, and grinning as she pressed the point of her elbow lightly to his throat. "Sucker." "I do tend to fall for that one, don't I? Well then, it appears you've taken this'' He broke off, winced.

"What? You hurt?"

"No. Just must've jammed my shoulder a bit." He rotated it, winced again.

"Let me take a look." She eased back, shifting her weight. And found herself flat on her back under him again.

"Sucker," he said and laughed when her eyes went to slits. "Foul."

"No more foul than the seductive murmur of my name. You're down, darling." He touched his lips to the tip of her nose. "Well pinned." His fingers linked with hers as he held her hands down. "Now I'm going to have you."