In Death 10 - Witness in Death

at his knuckles. "I don't think you'll be able to manage to cross the room when I'm done."
    It wasn't the wine making his head swim. She guided him across the room, a kind of lazy, circling dance with her in the lead. When she eased him down to sit on the side of the bed, she knelt at his feet, brushed her hands slowly, intimately down his legs. And took off his shoes.
    She rose. "I'll just go get the wine."
    "I'm not interested in wine."
    She walked away, tossed a glance over her shoulder. "You will be. When I start licking it off you."
    She topped off the glasses, brought them back to set them on the small, carved table by the bed. Then, watching him, her eyes gold and full of the light from the candles, she began to peel the dress down her body.
    He wondered that his system didn't simply implode.
    "Christ. Christ Jesus."
    The Irish had leaped back into his voice, as she knew it did when he was distracted, angry, aroused. The simple sign made her glad she'd taken the time and trouble to, well, dress for the evening.
    The siren-red lingerie was an erotic contrast against her skin. The silk and lace body skimmer rode low over her breasts so they all but spilled out of the top. Then it cinched in, sheer and seductive, slicked over her hips. Her hose was sheer and shimmering, and braked to a teasing halt at mid-thigh.
    She stepped out of the dress, kicked it aside with the toe of one spiked heel.
    "I thought we'd have dinner first."
    He managed to lift his gaze to her face even as his mouth fell open.
    "But... I guess it'll keep." She stepped forward, planted herself between his legs. "I want you to touch me."
    His hands burned to take, but he skimmed them lightly over her, following angle, curve. "I'm lost in you already."
    "Stay there." She bent down, took his mouth.
    She knew he held back, let her hold the reins. And because she knew it, she gave him everything she had.
    The candlelight glimmered, warming the scent of the roses as she slid onto the bed with him. As she took her hands, her mouth over him. Erotic and tender, passionate and loving. She wanted to show him all, everything.
    And as she did, he gave back. Long drugging kisses that weighed the limbs, lazy, lingering caresses that thrilled the blood.
    The bed, with its thick mattress of gel, undulated beneath them.
    She rolled, leaned away, so he contented himself with the flavor just above the silk hose on the back of her thigh.
    Then she straddled him, drank from the glass of champagne. Upending it, she began to drink him.
    His vision blurred, the breath clogging in his lungs to burning. She tormented him. Pleasured him. Her agile body slid and slithered over his while her mouth drove him to the verge of madness.
    His control snapped, steel rending steel. The sound of silk tearing inflamed him as he ripped at it. And with a sound of greed, he filled his hands, his mouth with her.
    She came, a wild, shock slap to her system. Her head fell back as she gulped for air. Her body shuddered as he feasted on it.
    He said something she couldn't understand, in the language of his homeland that so rarely passed his lips. Then his face was pressed against her, his breath hot on her skin.
    "I need you. Eve. I need you."
    "I know." Tenderness washed into her, balm over a burn. She cupped his face, lifted it. Her lips met his, soft as a whisper. "Don't ever stop."
    There were tears in her eyes. The shifting light caught the glint of them. He drew her closer, kissed them away. "Eve -- "
    "No, let me say it first. This time let me remember to say it first. I love you. I always will. Be with me," she murmured as she took him inside her. "Oh. Stay with me."
    She wrapped herself around him, rose to him, matching stroke to stroke, beat to beat. Then his hands clasped hers, locked tight. Their eyes held in a bond just as fierce.
    When she saw his, that wild blue, go blind, when she heard him say her name, her lips curved into a smile. And she surrendered.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    She was sprawled across the bed, facedown, in a position Roarke knew she assumed when her system had, finally, shut down. He stretched out beside her, sipping what champagne was left and trailing a fingertip absently up and down her spine.
    "I'll give you an hour and a half to stop that."
    "Ah, she lives."
    She stirred herself enough to turn her head and look at him. "You look pretty smug."
    "As it happens, darling Eve, I'm feeling pretty smug."
    "It was all my idea."
    "And a fine one it was, too. Would I be