Naked in Death (In Death #1)(70)

“Oh.” She sipped her coffee, wondering how she had ever lived without the zip of the real thing in the morning. “I know those meetings were important. I’m sorry.”

“We’d managed to hammer down most of the details. I can handle the rest from here.”

“You’re not going back?”

“No.”

She turned to the AutoChef, fiddled with her rather limited menu. “I’m out of most everything. Want a bagel or something?”

“Eve.” Roarke set his coffee down, laid his hands on her shoulders. “Why don’t you want me to know you’re pleased I’m staying?”

“Your alibi holds. It’s none of my business if you — ” She broke off when he turned her to face him. He was angry. She could see it in his eyes and prepared for the argument to come. She hadn’t prepared for the kiss, the way his mouth closed firmly over hers, the way her heart rolled over slow and dreamy in her chest.

So she let herself be held, let her head nestle in the curve of his shoulder. “I don’t know how to handle this,” she murmured. “I don’t have any precedent here. I need rules, Roarke. Solid rules.”

“I’m not a case you need to solve.”

“I don’t know what you are. But I know this is going too fast. It shouldn’t have even started. I shouldn’t have been able to get started with you.”

He drew her back so that he could study her face. “Why?”

“It’s complicated. I have to get dressed. I have to get to work.”

“Give me something.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “I don’t know what you are, either.”

“I’m a cop,” she blurted out. “That’s all I am. I’m thirty years old and I’ve only been close to two people in my entire life. And even with them, it’s easy to hold back.”

“Hold back what?”

“Letting it matter too much. If it matters too much, it can grind you down until you’re nothing. I’ve been nothing. I can’t be nothing ever again.”

“Who hurt you?”

“I don’t know.” But she did. She did. “I don’t remember, and I don’t want to remember. I’ve been a victim, and once you have, you need to do whatever it takes not to be one again. That’s all I was before I got into the academy. A victim, with other people pushing the buttons, making the decisions, pushing me one way, pulling me another.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“That’s what’s happening.”

There were questions he needed to ask. Questions, he could see by her face, that needed to wait. Perhaps it was time he took a risk. He dipped a hand into his pocket, drew out what he carried there.

Baffled, Eve stared down at the simple gray button in his palm. “That’s off my suit.”

“Yes. Not a particularly flattering suit — you need stronger colors. I found it in my limo. I meant to give it back to you.”

“Oh.” But when she reached out, he closed his fingers over the button.

“A very smooth lie.” Amused, he laughed at himself. “I had no intention of giving it back to you.”

“You got a button fetish, Roarke?”

“I’ve been carrying this around like a schoolboy carries a lock of his sweetheart’s hair.”

Her eyes came back to his, and something sweet moved through her. Sweeter yet as she could see he was embarrassed. “That’s weird.”

“I thought so, myself.” But he slipped the button back in his pocket. “Do you know what else I think, Eve?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

She felt the color drain out of her cheeks, felt her muscles go lax, even as her heart shot like a missile to her throat. “That’s…”

“Yes, difficult to come up with the proper word, isn’t it?” He slid his hands down her back, up again, but brought her no closer. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and haven’t hit on one myself. But I should circle back to my point.”

She moistened her lips. “There’s a point?”

“A very interesting and important point. I’m every bit as much in your hands as you are in mine. Every bit as uncomfortable, though perhaps not as resistant, to finding myself in that position. I’m not going to let you walk away until we’ve figured out what to do about it.”

“It, ah, complicates things.”

“Outrageously,” he agreed.

“Roarke, we don’t even know each other. Outside of the bedroom.”

“Yes, we do. Two lost souls. We’ve both turned away from something and made ourselves something else. It’s hardly a wonder that fate decided to throw a curve into what had been, for both of us, a straight path. We have to decide how far we want to follow the curve.”

“I have to concentrate on the investigation. It has to be my priority.”

“I understand. But you’re entitled to a personal life.”

“My personal life, this part of it, grew out of the investigation. And the killer’s making it more personal. Planting that gun so that suspicion would swing toward you was a direct response to my involvement with you. He’s focused on me.”