In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

and ever be a thrill—the feel of him, the taste of him. But comfort twined with it, a velvet ribbon through the silver blade.
    Her pulse quickened, and muscles, tight from a long, long day, relaxed.
    He felt her give, that slow, fluid yielding to him. To herself. She warmed his blood, steadied his heart even as its beat went fast and thick. He drank her in, there, just there under the line of her jaw where the skin was so amazingly sweet. Pleasure slid through him as her hands stroked, gripped, whispered over him.
    It was she who took him in, opened and asked and took, guiding him into the heat. Surrounding him with it so that each long, slow thrust pulsed and pumped through them both.
    Slow, beautifully slow, drawing out and out and out every drop of pleasure. She stared into his eyes, her fingers locked with his now, clamped together as they held each other to that lazy, that torturous pace. She held, even when her breath came short, her head arched back.
    He pressed his lips to the curve of her throat. Skimmed up the scrambling pulse, once again along that sweet spot under her jaw. His mouth found hers, and with that final link, let himself go.

20
    EVE SET UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, LINING up the data she’d already accumulated and organized. For now, she set aside the results of Roarke’s explorations. The warrants would pull that information in soon enough.
    She decided to say nothing about the buffet table, the extra seating, that had found their way into her office. What would be the point? She skimmed over her notes, took a last round with her murder boards.
    Baxter surprised her by walking in just before eight.
    “Guess the brunette wasn’t so hot after all.”
    “She was smoking. I left her warm and cozy in…that’s food. Hot damn!”
    Eve watched him bullet over to the buffet, lift the lid of the first warmer. “Yo, that is pig meat.” He plucked out a slice of bacon, bit in.
    “Just help yourself,” Eve said dryly.
    “Gonna.” Bearing no shame, Baxter grabbed a plate. “While I do you can tell me what you’ve got that has me here eating meat of pig—and hey!—egg of actual chicken at eight hundred on a Saturday.”
    “You’ll get it when the team gets here.”
    “We’ve got a team now?” He surfed the warmers, began to pile the plate with food while he studied Eve and the buffet offerings. It seemed to her it was a tough toss-up which interested him more.
    “We’ve got a team now. Where’s Trueheart?”
    “On the way. Peabody?”
    “The same. I’ve called in Feeney and Mira and…the civilian,” she said as Roarke walked in.
    “Baxter.”
    “Primo pig. Thanks.”
    “My pleasure.” Roarke poured himself a cup of coffee, lifted his eyebrows at Eve. “Lieutenant?”
    “Yeah, yeah, why not? We’ll see if we can work in the briefing between courses.”
    “Woohoo, breakfast!” Peabody all but skipped into the room, just ahead of McNab.
    “I told you not to feed the puppies,” Eve scolded.
    “But they’re so cute.” Roarke handed her the coffee.
    “Sorry, am I late?” Trueheart hurried in. “I missed the…Wow.” His young hero face went bright as a birthday candle at the sight of the buffet.
    “Grab some pig, kid,” Baxter told him. “Team feed. Hey, Feeney, Dr. Mira.”
    “Good morning. Isn’t that lovely!” Mira shot a smile at Eve, beamed at Roarke. “And so considerate.”
    “Don’t eat all the damn bacon, McNab.” Feeney muscled him aside to claim his own.
    “There’s ham, too,” McNab told him with his mouth full of it.
    “When you all finish stuffing food in your faces, maybe you could listen up.”
    “I got no problem listening while I’m stuffing.” Feeney glanced around. “You?”
    “Well, damn it, everybody just fill it up and sit down with it somewhere.” Cops and food, she thought. Put them in the same room, invite chaos. “This is a goddamn official briefing not an all-you-can-eat.”
    “Here you are, then.” Roarke handed her a plate of bacon and eggs. “You won’t be so cross if you have a bit of breakfast.”
    “This is your fault.”
    “It is, isn’t it?” He grinned without an ounce of remorse. “Go on, then, shovel some in.”
    She did, as everyone else was. “Some of you vultures…sorry,” Eve said to Mira, “no offense.”
    Mira took a neat bite of creamy eggs. “None taken.”
    “Some of you may be aware that Detective Pig-Eater there and his aide, Officer Danish, caught a homicide a couple months back.