In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

I’d’ve been brittle by now. I’ve got to do what I do, Roarke, or I couldn’t survive. I’ve got to have you, or I wouldn’t want to survive.”
    “It’s no different for me.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “Winning was my god, before you. Winning, whatever it took. And no matter how much gain you stuff in your pocket, there are still empty spaces. You filled them for me. Two lost souls. Now we’re found.”
    “I don’t want the wine.” Craving the connection, she locked her arms around him. “Or the pool.” Crushed her mouth to his. “Only you. Only you.”
    “You have me.” He swept her up. “Now and always.”
    “Fast,” she said, already tugging at the buttons of his shirt as he carried her to bed. “Fast and rough and real.”
    He climbed the platform, and didn’t lie her down so much as fell with her, pinning her arms as they hit the sea of bed. “Take what I give you, then.”
    His mouth covered her breast over her shirt, teeth nipping so that the pricks of heat stabbed through her. Filled all the cold, dark corners.
    She reared up, ground herself to him, let herself be overpowered. For a moment, for a shuddering moment, that lusty desperation flooded her, washing away all the doubts, the fears, the smears of the day. Now just her body and his, hard and eager, strong and hot.
    When he freed her hands to take more of her, she tangled her fingers in his hair, dragged his head up so that her mouth fixed urgently to his.
    There was his taste, those firm, full lips, that quick and clever tongue. The scrape of his teeth, small, erotic bites that stopped just short of pain.
    Feel me, taste me. I’m with you.
    Her hands were more impatient now, greedier now, as they pulled at his shirt. As he pulled on hers.
    Her skin was like a fever and her heart a thundering storm under his hands, his lips. The demons that haunted her, those monsters they both knew forever lurked in closets, were cast out by passion. For now, for as long as they had each other.
    The violence of her need whipped at his own, burning like a sparking wire in the blood.
    He dragged her up, fixing his teeth into her shoulder, ripping what was left of her shirt away. She wore his diamond, the sparkling teardrop on a chain around her throat. Even in the dark he could see its fire. Just as he could see the gleam of her eyes.
    The thought passed through his mind that he would give anything he had--life and soul--to keep her looking at him with everything she was in those strong, brown eyes.
    She pulled him back with her, so that they rolled now, a sweaty tangle over the midnight ocean of the bed.
    She locked her legs around him, locked those eyes on his. “Now,” she said. “Now. Hard and fast and ... Yes. Oh God.”
    He drove into her, felt her clamp around him, a wet, velvet vice, as she came. Felt that long, lean body shudder and shudder as he plunged. Still her hips pistoned, taking him in deeper, driving him brutally on.
    “Don’t shut your eyes. Don’t.” His voice was thick. “Eve.”
    She lifted her hands, and though they trembled, they framed his face. “I see you. I see you. Roarke.”
    And her eyes were open, on his, when they fell.
    In the morning she was relieved it didn’t appear on the “normal” list to have breakfast with Nixie. It might’ve been small, even cowardly, but Eve didn’t think she could face the questions, or those steady, seeking eyes, without a couple of quarts of coffee first.
    She did what was normal for her instead and took a blistering shower, and a quick spin in the drying tube while Roarke did his usual scan of the stock reports on-screen in the bedroom.
    With the first cup of coffee down, she opened her closet and pulled out a pair of pants.
    “Have some eggs,” Roarke ordered.
    “I’m going to go over some data in my office before the rest of the team get here.”
    “Have some eggs first,” he repeated, and made her roll her eyes as she shrugged on a shirt.
    She marched over, picked up his plate, and shoveled in two forkfuls of his omelette.
    “I didn’t mean mine.”
    “Be more specific, then,” she said with her mouth full. “Where’s the cat?”
    “With the girl, I’d wager. Galahad’s shrewd enough to know she’ll be more likely to share her breakfast with him than we are.” To prove it, Roarke took the plate back. “Get your own eggs.”
    “I don’t want any more.” But she nipped a piece of his bacon from the plate. “I expect to be in the field