Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(56)

“No.” She closed her eyes again. “They’re not.”

But he had seen, briefly at least, he had seen the carnage, the horrors, and her. He had seen her deal with it, her hands steady, her eyes dark with the pity she thought she hid from everyone.

“I don’t envy you your job, Lieutenant.”

She nearly smiled at that. “You can’t prove that to me when you’re always popping up into it.” With her eyes still closed, she reached out for his hand. “The hotel was one of yours, wasn’t it? I didn’t have time to check.”

“Yes, it was one of mine. And so are the people who died in it.”

“No.” Her eyes flashed open. “They’re not.”

“Only yours, Eve? Are the dead your exclusive property?” He rose, restless, poured a brandy he didn’t want. “Not this time. The doorman who lost his arm, who may yet lose his life, is a friend of mine. I’ve known him a decade, brought him over from London because he had a yen to live in New York.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The wait staff, the musicians, the desk and bell staff, every one of them died working for me.” He turned back, and a fierce and cold fury rode in his eyes. “Every guest, every tourist who wandered through, every single person was under my roof. By Christ, that makes them mine.”

“You can’t take it personally. No, you can’t,” she repeated when his eyes flashed. She got up, gripped his arm. “Roarke, it’s not you or yours they’re interested in. It’s their point, it’s the power.”

“Why should it matter to me what they’re interested in beyond using that to find them?”

“It’s my job to find them. And I will.”

He set his brandy down, caught her chin in his hand. “Do you think you’ll close me out?”

She wanted to be furious, and part of her was, if for nothing more than the proprietary way he held her face. But there was too much at stake, too much to lose. And he was much too valuable a source. “No.”

His grip gentled, his thumb skimmed over the shallow dent in her chin. “Progress,” he murmured.

“Let’s understand each other,” she began.

“Oh, by all means.”

Now she did suck in a breath. “Don’t start that with me. By all means, my butt. Makes you sound like some sort of snotty blue blood, and we both know you grew up scrambling for marks in Dublin alleys.”

Now he grinned. “See, we already understand each other. You don’t mind if I get comfortable before the lecture, do you?” He sat again, took out a cigarette, lighted it, then picked up his brandy while she smoldered.

“Are you trying to irritate me?”

“Not very hard, but it rarely takes true effort.” He drew in smoke, blew out a fragrant stream. “I don’t really need the lecture, you know. I’m sure I have the salient points memorized. Such as this is your job, I’m not to interfere. I’m not to explore any angles on my own, and so on.”

“If you know the points, why the hell don’t you follow them?”

“Because I don’t want to — and if I did, you wouldn’t have Fixer’s data decoded.” He grinned again when she gaped at him. “I had it late this morning and slipped the code into McNab’s unit. He was close, but I was faster. No need to mention that,” Roarke added. “I’d hate to dent his ego.”

She frowned at him. “Now I suppose you think I should thank you.”

“Actually, I was hoping you would.” He crushed out his cigarette, set aside his barely touched brandy. But when he reached for her hand, she folded her arms over her chest.

“Forget it, pal. I’ve got work.”

“And you’ll reluctantly ask me to assist you with it.” He hooked his fingers in her waistband and tugged until she tumbled on top of him. “But first…” He rubbed his mouth persuasively against hers. “I need you.”

Her protest would have been lukewarm in any case. But those words melted it away. She skimmed her fingers through his hair. “I guess I can spare a couple of minutes.”

He laughed, and tucking her close, reversed position. “In a hurry, are you? Well then.”

Now his mouth crushed down on hers, hot, greedy, and with enough bite to shoot her pulse from steady to screaming. She hadn’t expected it, but then she never quite did expect what he could do to her with a touch, with a taste, with as little as a look.

All the horror, the pain, the misery she’d waded through that day fell away in the sheer drive to mate.

“I am. In a big hurry.” She tugged at the hook of his trousers. “Roarke. Inside me. Come inside me.”

He yanked down the soft slacks she’d slipped into after her shower. Mouth still devouring mouth, he lifted her hips. And he plunged into her.

Into the heat and the welcome and the wet. His body shuddered once as he swallowed her groan. Then she was moving under him, driving him, setting a frantic pace that ripped her to peak and over before he could catch his breath.

She closed around him, vise tight, erupted around him, nearly dragged him off that fine edge with her. Gasping for air, he lifted his head, watched her face. God, how he loved to watch her face when she lost herself. Those dark blind eyes against flushed skin, that mouth full and soft and parted. Her head tipped back, and there was that long smooth throat, its pulse wildly beating.