In Death 23 - Born in Death

appointment, a meeting.”
    “Certainly.”
    “And each one of those top guys at the firm would have a Caro.”
    “There’s only one Caro, and she’s mine. But again, yes, they’d have an admin, and I’d assume an efficient one.”
    In the bedroom, she pulled off her boots, then began to undress in a haze that told her whatever she’d had left had dropped out when she’d walked away from the work.
    “Going there bright and early,” she mumbled. “Get my hands on those damn files. Asshole lawyers cost me a damn day. Like to kick their asses.”
    “That’s right, darling.”
    “I heard that smirk.”
    She slid into bed, let him draw her in so they were close and warm. “Bought the baby shower present thing today.”
    “Good.”
    She had a little smirk of her own in the dark. “If Mavis goes into labor during the deal here, you have to drive her to the birth center.”
    There was utter silence for a solid ten seconds. “You’re trying to give me nightmares. Very small of you.”
    “Somebody told me today you take your fun where you find it.”
    “Is that so? Well then.” His hand slid slickly under her nightshirt and cupped her breast. “Look what I found.”
    “Sleeping here.”
    “I don’t think so.” His thumb stroked over her nipple as his teeth nipped into the nape of her neck. “But go on to sleep if you must. I’ll just have my fun and ward off nightmares. Multitasking.”
    As his mouth and hands were all very busy, she could state without question the man knew how to multitask. And the slow, steady simmer of arousal burned away at fatigue until she arched from the pleasure of it.
    Her mind went quiet; her blood went hot.
    She turned to him, reached for him, her mouth seeking his.
    The taste of it, of her, seeped into him until he was drenched in her. With the long line of her pressed against him, her hands gliding, the feel of her seduced the seducer.
    He wanted her skin, the rapid beat of the pulse in her throat, the firm curve of her breast. Soft and strong and warm. Her breath caught, released on a low sound of approval; her hips rose in both invitation and demand.
    As she moved with him, trembled for him, the need inside him that was never quite tamed leaped free.
    Yes, now, she thought. Right now.
    It was flash and burn when he plunged inside her, the glorious shock of being taken. She could see his eyes, watching her, even as she flew over the crest. Over it and into a storm of speed and heat.
    “With me,” she managed. “Come with me.”
    When his lips crushed down on hers, and the storm reached its peak, she felt him fly with her.
    Breathless, with her system starting its long slide back, she blinked up at the dark sky window over the bed. He lay over her, his weight pressing hers into the mattress, his heart drumming with hers.
    She felt wonderfully sleepy again, as she imagined Galahad might if he came across an unexpected bowl of cream and gorged himself.
    “Guess you never know where you’ll find the fun.”
    His lips brushed her hair, then he shifted, drawing her back against him again. “I do.”
    Snuggled against him, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
     
    W hen she woke, Roarke was in the sitting area of the bedroom, scanning the morning reports as was his habit. She smelled coffee, but headed in to shower first.
    When she stepped out of the shower, the scent struck her again. Sniffing like a hound she turned and saw a thick mug of it sitting on the counter by the sink.
    It made her smile, and go a little soft inside just as she had as she’d drifted into sleep. She took the first glorious hit of coffee naked and dripping, then left it to use the drying tube and pull on a robe.
    Carrying the mug with her, she came out, went directly to him. Bending down, she gave him a kiss nearly as strong as the coffee.
    “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. I did consider joining you and getting your blood moving in a different manner, but I’m already dressed.” Still looking at Eve, Roarke shot out a finger to his left, and warned Galahad as the cat tried to belly his way toward a bowl of berries. “You look fairly well rested.”
    “Sleepy sex then six solid. Not shabby.”
    “Said with a smug smile, just to finish off your alliteration.”
    “Hah. You’re a sharp, sexy son of a bitch. See, I finish my own alliterations.”
    He had to laugh. “Now that you have, sit and have some breakfast, and I’ll tell you what I learned of your top accountants from a