In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

dropped when he'd come into the room.
    "I already need a warehouse for all the stuff you've bought me," she began. "You really need to develop a control button about this."
    "Why? It gives me pleasure."
    "Yeah, maybe, but it makes me..." She trailed off, baffled, when she saw what he took out of the briefcase. "What the hell is that?"
    "I believe it's a cat." With a laugh, he held the doll out to her. "A toy. You don't have nearly enough toys, Lieutenant."
    A chuckle tickled her throat. "It looks just like Galahad." She ran a finger down the wide, grinning face. "Right down to the weird eyes."
    "I did have to ask them to fix that little detail. But when I happened to see it, I didn't think we could do without it."
    She was grinning now, stroking the soft, fat body. It didn't occur to her that she'd never had a doll before -- but it had occurred to Roarke. "It's really silly."
    "Now, is that any way to talk about our son?" He glanced back at Galahad who'd taken possession of the chair again. His dual-colored eyes narrowed with suspicion before he shifted, lifted his tail in derision, and began to wash. "Sibling rivalry," Roarke murmured.
    Eve set the doll in a prominent position on her desk. "Let's see what they make of each other."
    "You need sleep," Roarke said when he saw her frown at her computer. "We'll deal with work in the morning."
    "Yeah, I guess you're right. All this medical stuff is jumbled in my head. You know anything about NewLife replacement organs?"
    His brow lifted, but she was too distracted to notice. "I might. We'll talk about it in the morning. Come to bed."
    "I can't contact anyone until tomorrow, anyway." Burying impatience, she saved data, disengaged. "I might have to take some travel, go talk to other primaries in person."
    He simply made agreeable noises and led her to the door. If Chicago held bad memories for her, she wouldn't be going alone.
    She woke at first light, surprised by how deeply she'd slept and how alert she was. Some time during the night, she'd wrapped herself around Roarke, legs and arms hooked as if binding him to her. It was so rare for her to wake and not find him already up and starting his day that she savored the sensation of warmth against warmth and let herself drift.
    His body was so hard, so smooth, so... tasty, she thought, skimming her mouth over his shoulder. His face, relaxed in sleep, was heart stopping in its sheer male beauty. Strong bones, full, sculpted mouth, thick, dark lashes.
    Studying him, she felt her blood begin to stir. A low, spreading neediness filled her belly, and her heart began to thud in anticipation and in the knowledge that she could have him, keep him, love him.
    Her wedding ring glinted in the light pouring through the sky window over the bed as she slid a hand up his back, nuzzled his mouth with hers. His lips, already warmed, opened with hers for a slow, tangling dance of tongues.
    Slow, easy, and no less arousing for its familiarity. The skim and slide of hands over curves, planes, angles well known, only added to the excitement that built, layer by layer, in the clear light of dawn. Even as his heart began to pound against hers, they kept the rhythm loose and lazy.
    Her breath caught once, twice, as he cupped her, as he sent her up that long, long curve to a peak that shimmered like wine in sunlight. And his moan mixed with hers.
    Every pulse in her body throbbed, every pore opened. The need to take him into her, to mate, was an ache in the heart as sweet as tears.
    She arched to him, breathed his name, then sighed it as he slid into her. The ride was slow, slippery, a silky ebb and flow of breath and bodies. His mouth met hers again, with an endless tenderness that swamped her.
    He felt her soar again, tighten around him, tremble. Lifting his head, he watched her in the harsh winter light. His heart stumbled, love destroyed him, as he watched the glow pleasure brought to her face, watched those golden brown eyes blur even as they stayed locked on his.
    Here, he thought, they were both helpless. And bringing his mouth to hers again, he let himself go.
    She felt limber, steady, and very close to cheerful as she showered. When she stepped out, she heard the muted sound of the morning news on-screen and imagined Roarke half listening to the headlines as he studied the stock reports and sipped his first cup of coffee.
    It was so married, she thought with a quick snort and jumped into the drying tube. When she came out into the bedroom,