In Death 13 - Seduction in Death

he told her.
    "A movie. Roarke -- "
    "It's something you don't do enough of." He laid her down, selected a film disc. "Go outside yourself and into make-believe. Dramas or comedies, joys and sorrows that pull you away from your own for a bit of time."
    He came back, slid behind her, and tucked her head on his shoulder. "I've told you about this one, Magda Lane. It took me out of my own miseries once."
    It felt so good to lie with him, to have his arm hooked cozily around her waist. The opening music swept into the room, color and costume swirled on-screen. "How many times have you seen this?" she asked him.
    "Oh, dozens, I suppose. Shh. You'll miss the opening lines."
    She watched, and when her lids drooped, she listened. Then she slept.
    When she woke, it was quiet, and it was dark, and his arm was still around her. Fatigue wanted to drag her back under, but she willed it back and turned her wrist up to check the time.
    Already after five, she thought. She'd had a solid three hours' sleep, and it would have to be enough. But when she started to move, Roarke's arm tightened.
    "Take a few minutes more."
    "Can't. It's going to take a half hour in the shower to beat my brain back into shape. I wonder if I can take a shower lying down."
    "It's called a bath."
    "Not the same."
    "Why are you whispering?"
    "I'm not whispering." She cleared her throat. And felt as if she'd swallowed splinters of glass. "Just a little hoarse."
    "Lights on, ten percent." In the dim glow he nudged her onto her back. "Pale as a ghost, too," he said and laid a hand on her brow. Something like panic ran over his face. "I think you're running a fever."
    "I am not." If he could feel panic at the thought of illness, she could feel fear. "I'm not sick. I don't get sick."
    "You don't sleep more than a handful of hours in a week and live on coffee, you get sick. Damn it, Eve, you've sabotaged your immune system once too often."
    "I have not." She started to sit up, then plopped back when the room spun. "I'm just getting my bearings."
    "I ought to strap you in bed for the next month. You need a bloody keeper." He rolled off the sofa, strode to the house 'link.
    "I don't know what you're so pissed off about." Her voice was perilously close to a whine, and appalled her. "I'm just a little muggy yet."
    "You set a single toe off that sofa, and I'm hauling you to the doctor."
    "You just try it, pal, and we'll see who needs medical attention." Since the threat came out in a wheeze, it wasn't particularly effective.
    Roarke simply glared at her, and snapped into the 'link. "Summerset. Eve's ill. I need you up here."
    "What? What are you doing?" She shoved herself up, nearly gained her feet before Roarke stalked back and held her down. "He's not touching me. He lays one hand on me and I'm beating you both bloody. Where's my weapon?"
    "It's him or the health center."
    She sucked in air. "You are not the boss here."
    "Prove it," he challenged. "Take me down."
    She pushed up, he shoved her back. She reared again, and this time pumped her fist into his belly.
    "It's gratifying to see you have some strength left, even if that was a girl punch."
    The insult nearly rendered her speechless. "The first chance, the very first chance I get, I'm tying your dick into a knot."
    "Won't that be fun?" He looked over as Summerset came in. "She's running a fever."
    "I am not. Don't you touch me. Don't lay a hand -- " She cursed, struggled, when Roarke straddled her and pinned her arms,
    "Such childishness." Summerset clucked his tongue, laid a hand on her brow. "Temperature's slightly elevated." He danced his long fingers under her jaw, along her throat. "Stick out your tongue."
    "Eve." Roarke's single word was drenched in warning as she pressed her lips tightly together. She stuck out her tongue.
    "Do you have any pain?" Summerset asked her.
    "Yeah, in my ass. I call it Summerset."
    "I see your droll wit hasn't suffered. Just a bit of a bug," he said to Roarke. "Due, I imagine, to exhaustion, stress, and juvenile eating habits. We can ward it off, and treat the symptoms. I'll go get what she needs. She'll do best with a day or two in bed."
    "Get off me," she said in a low, clear voice when Summerset went out. "Right now."
    "No." Her arms were trembling under his grip, and he didn't think it was all from temper. "Not until we've dealt with this. Are you cold?"
    "No." She was freezing. And the pitiful struggle she'd put up had awakened aches everywhere.
    "Then why are you