Rapture in Death (In Death #4)(67)

He glanced over at the screen. “That’s the intro for the last number. I’ve got to check my equipment before my cue.” He leaned in, kissed her cheek lightly. “Wish us luck.”

“Yeah, luck,” she murmured, but her stomach was knotted.

What was a brain but a computer? Computers analyzing computers. Individualized programs designed for personal brain wave patterns. If it was possible, would it be possible to add suggestive programs linked directly with the user’s brain? She shook her head. Roarke would never have approved it. He wouldn’t have taken such a foolish risk. But she made her way through the crowd to him, laid a hand on his arm.

“I need to ask you a question,” she said quietly. “Have any of your companies been doing under-the-table research on designing VR for personal brain wave patterns?”

“That’s illegal, Lieutenant.”

“Roarke.”

“No. There was a time when I would have ventured into any number of not essentially legal areas in business. That wouldn’t have been one of them. And no,” he added, anticipating her. “That VR model is universally, not individually designed. Only the programs can be personalized by the user. What you’re talking about is cost prohibitive, logistically tangled, and simply too damn much trouble.”

“Okay, that’s what I figured.” Her muscles relaxed. “But can it be done?”

He paused a moment, then lifted his shoulder. “I have no idea. You’d have to have the individual’s cooperation or access to a brain scan. That also involves personal approval and consent. And then… I have no idea,” he repeated.

“If I can get Feeney alone — ” She swiveled her head, trying to find the electronics detective in the whirling crowd.

“Take the evening off, Lieutenant.” Roarke slipped an arm around her. “Mavis is about to get her spotlight.”

“Okay.” She forced herself to push the worry to the back of her mind as Jess settled at his console and gave an introductory riff. Tomorrow, she promised herself and led the applause as Mavis spun onto the floor.

Then the worry was gone, melted away by the blast of Mavis’s energy and her own wild pleasure as lights, music, and showmanship combined in a dizzy kaleidoscope.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” She was unaware she’d gripped Roarke’s arm like a mother with a child in the school play. “Different, weird, but good.”

“She’s all of that.” The clashing edge of notes, sound effects, and vocals would never be his music of choice, but he found himself grinning. “She’s caught the crowd. You can relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

He laughed and hugged her closer. “If you were wearing buttons, you’d pop them.” He didn’t mind the fact that he had to put his mouth on her ear for her to hear him. And since he was there, anyway, he added an inventive suggestion for after the party.

“What?” She went hot all over. “I believe that particular act is illegal in this state. I’ll check my code book and get back to you. Cut it out.” She hunched up her shoulder in reaction as his teeth and tongue got busy on her earlobe.

“I want you.” Lust prickled over his skin like a rash, instant, itchy, immediate. “Right now.”

“You can’t be serious,” she began, but she found he was, fiercely, when his mouth closed over hers in a wild and urgent kiss. Blood thudded her pulse to vibrant life and the muscles in her thighs went limp. “Get ahold of yourself.” She managed to ease back a half inch and was breathless, shocked, and very near blushing. Not everyone’s attention was focused on Mavis. “We’re in the middle of an event here. A public one.”

“Then let’s leave.” He was hard as rock, painfully ready. There was a wolf inside him, poised to lunge. “There are a lot of private rooms in this house.”

She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt the need vibrating from him. “Get a grip, Roarke. This is Mavis’s big moment. We’re not running off into a closet like a couple of randy teenagers.”

“Yes, we are.” Half blind, he pulled her through the crowd and out of it while she babbled in stunned protest.

“This is nuts. What are you, a pleasure droid? You can damn well hold yourself in check for a couple of hours.”

“The hell with it.” He yanked open the closest door and shoved her inside what was indeed a closet. “Now, goddamn it.” Her back rapped up against the wall, and before she could so much as gasp, he pulled up her skirts and drove himself into her.

She was dry, unprepared, shocked. Ravaged, was all she could think as she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. He was rough, careless, and sent the bruises singing as he rammed her, over and over, into the wall. Even as she shoved at him, he pounded into her, his hands hiking up her hips, digging in and ripping a startled cry of pain from her throat.

She could have stopped him, her training was thorough. But training had dissolved into sheer feminine distress. She couldn’t see his face, wasn’t sure she’d recognize it if she could.

“Roarke.” It was shock, bone deep, that quavered in her voice. “You’re hurting me.”

He muttered something, a language she didn’t understand and had never heard, so she stopped struggling, gripped his shoulders, and shut her eyes to what was happening to both of them.