Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(85)

“Jets on full, a hundred and one degrees.”

Water streamed out from half a dozen jets, billowing steam. She let out one low, appreciative moan, then hair dripping, narrowed her eyes as Roarke stepped in behind her.

“Lower the temp and suffer.”

“I thought I’d boil with you this morning.” He handed her a cup of coffee, amused by the suspicious look in her eyes, pleased that they showed no shadow of pain. “I’ll be working at home myself for a few hours today.”

He sipped his own coffee, then set the mug on a high shelf above the pumping jets. “I’d like you to keep me apprised of progress, in both the helpings you currently have on your plate.”

“I’ll tell you what I can, when I can.”

“Good enough.” He filled his hands with soap and began to slide them over her.

“I can manage this myself.” She stepped back because the blood was already sizzling under her skin. “I don’t have time for water games this morning.”

He only moved in, gliding his hands up over her belly, torso, br**sts, which made her shiver. “I said — ” His mouth lowered to her shoulder, teeth nipping. “Cut it out.”

“I love it when you’re wet…” He took the mug out of her hand before she could drop it, set it next to his own. “And slippery.” Nudged her against the wall running with water, dripping with steam. “And reluctant. Go up.” He murmured against her ear as his fingers dipped into her, slipping in, slipping out in a smooth, lazy rhythm.

Her head fell back, her body took over. “Damn it.” It came out in a moan as pleasure, dark and drugged, spread from her center to the tips of her fingers.

“Go over.” He slicked his tongue down the side of her throat and gave her no choice.

Her hands were splayed against the wet tile, her body pulsing. Water rained over them, hot and needle sharp, as he felt the orgasm tear through her.

A kind of purging, he thought.

She was still gasping when he spun her around and closed his mouth greedily over her breast.

She was helpless against what he brought to her. Each time, every time, helpless, staggered. And grateful. She dived her fingers into his hair, twisting, tangling them in that thick wet silk while those good, strong tugs of desire in her belly followed the restless hunger of his mouth on her.

His hands, slick, skilled, strong, raced over her, took her to the edge and over. Where he wanted her, where he needed her — shuddering, moaning his name, swamped in her own pleasure.

The nails biting viciously into his back thrilled him, the frenzied race of her heart against his incited him. More. All. Now, was all he could think as they savaged each other’s mouths.

“I want you.” His breath was heaving as he gripped her hips. “Always. Ever. Mine.”

His eyes were a wild and burning blue. She could see nothing else. It should have been too much, this desperate, endless need for him. Yet somehow it was never, never enough. “Mine.” She dragged his mouth back to hers, and when he drove into her, met him beat for urgent beat.

She had to admit, four solid hours of sleep, wet, wild sex, and a hot meal went a long way to put the mind and body back into fighting trim. At seven-fifteen, she was at her desk in her home office, ready to start her day with her head clear and alert, her muscles warmed, and her energy up.

Marriage was having a number of interesting side benefits she hadn’t considered.

“You look… limber, Lieutenant.”

She glanced over. “I’d better. I want to put in a half hour here before I head in. We’ve still got Cassandra to deal with, and I need to keep Peabody’s energies focused in that direction.”

“While you juggle Zeke’s case with your other hand.”

“Cops are always juggling.” She had some very definite ideas where she was heading in that particular area. “I’m going to split McNab’s duties. We can spare him to put time into the Branson case until we smooth it out. It helped having him around last night.”

She stopped, frowned. “What the hell was he doing around last night, anyway? I didn’t take time to find out.”

“I’d say that was obvious.” When Eve only stared at him blankly, Roarke laughed. “And you call yourself a detective. He’d been with Peabody.”

“With her? What for? They were off duty.”

Roarke stared at her a moment, saw she was seriously at sea. With a chuckle, he walked over, cupped her chin, skimmed his thumb over the dent in it. “Eve, they were off duty and on each other.”

“On each other?” It took her a beat, then two. “Sex? You think they had sex? That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Because — because it is. She thinks he’s a pest. He goes out of his way to irritate her. I know you thought they had some… thing developing, but you were off. She’s busy fooling around with Charles Monroe and he’s…” She trailed off, thinking of the odd looks, the silences, the blushes. The signals.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” was all she could say. “Jesus Christ, they’re having sex. I don’t need this.”

“Why should you care?”

“Because. They’re cops. They’re both cops, and damn it, she’s my cop. This kind of shit gets in the way, it messes things up. They’ll moon over each other for a while, then something’s going to go wrong, and they’ll start spitting and slapping.”