In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

gave him a decent elbow jab. "Stop it."
    "I can't. I have to hurry." And he was laughing as he unfastened the hook of her trousers. Laughing when his mouth came back to cover hers.
    She might have kicked him if her feet hadn't gotten tangled, but her heart wouldn't have been in it. Even her yelp as he plopped her onto her own desk didn't register much of a protest.
    Half-naked, already breathless, she levered herself on her elbows. "All right, just get it over with."
    He leaned over her, nipped her chin. "I heard that snicker."
    "That was the sound of a sneer."
    "Was it?" Amused, aroused, he distracted her with a nibble on her bottom lip. "I can never tell the difference. And what sound is this?"
    "What sound?"
    He drove himself into her, one powerful and deep thrust that ripped a shocked cry from her throat.
    "That one." He lowered his head, tasting the heat that rose to her flesh even as her hips arched to meet him. "And that one."
    She struggled to get her breath back. "Tolerance," she managed.
    "Oh, well, if that's the best we can do." He started to move back. She reared up, wrapped around him.
    "I need to practice my tolerance." She skimmed the hair away from his face with her fingers, then fisted her hands. Her lips curved, met his.
    When the in-house 'link signaled, he simply reached over and manually switched it to standby.
    It turned out he wasn't as quick as he was thorough. When she was reasonably certain her legs would hold her again, she pushed off the desk and stood, wearing her boots, an open shirt, and her shoulder harness.
    Absurdly sexy, he thought, his cop.
    "I don't suppose you'd wait just a moment while I get a camera."
    Not quite steady, she glanced down, got a reasonably clear picture of herself, and curled her lip at him. "Play time's over." She reached down for her trousers, then had to simply stay bent over. "Man, you fuzz up my brain."
    "Thank you, darling. It wasn't my best effort, but I was under considerable time restraint."
    With her hands on her knees she looked up. His hair was tousled from her fingers, his eyes deep blue and sleepy with satisfaction. "Maybe I'll let you try again later."
    "You're too good to me." He walked by, patting her affectionately on the ass. "We'd better tidy ourselves up for dinner."
    The thing about dinner parties, Eve had discovered, was that you couldn't just sit down at the table and ask your neighbor to pass the potatoes. There was a whole ritual to be observed, which included proper attire and body adornments, an exchange of pleasantries, even if you weren't feeling particularly pleasant, and the pre-meal consumption of alcohol and tiny bits of food in a room other than the one fashioned for serious dining.
    This, by her estimation, added about an hour to the event, and didn't begin to include the after-meal section of the interlude.
    She thought she'd become reasonably adept at handling the ceremony -- not as smoothly as Roarke, but then who could? Still it didn't take that much brain power to act as host to a bunch of people in your own house, even if her mind did tend to wander now and again toward activities she'd rather have been involved in.
    If she could get a solid line on the luggage and on the silver wire, she could begin to put together a geographic pattern on Yost. Where he shopped, how he shopped. Which could lead to the area of where and how he lived.
    The man liked steak, medium rare. Slabs of prime beef didn't come cheap. Did he buy his own meat, or go out to restaurants?
    Top of the line, whichever it was.
    Did he treat himself to the best when he was working, or was it a daily habit?
    What else did he spend his money on? He had plenty of it. How did he access his funds? If she could --
    "You seem to be somewhere else entirely."
    "What?" Eve focused on Magda, struggled to clear her head. "Sorry."
    "No, don't apologize." They were sitting on the silky cushions of one of the antique sofas in the formal parlor. Diamonds, bright and round as planets, flashed at Magda's ears and at the hollow of her throat. She sipped at a frothy and pale pink drink in a small flute. "What's on your mind is, I'm sure, a great deal more important than the foolishness on ours. You were thinking about that poor girl who was murdered. Do you know my suite's directly below where she was killed?"
    "No." Eve let that play around in her mind a bit. "I didn't know."
    "Horrible. She was hardly more than a child, wasn't she? I believe I saw her, just the night before