In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

long.”
    She started to laugh, and the sound strangled when he closed his teeth over her breast through the thin tank she wore. “Okay then.” She cleared the huskiness out of her throat. “I guess I can give you a few minutes.”
    “Well, now, I appreciate that.” He caught her nipple, exquisite control, while he trailed a fingertip up her inner thigh, traced it at the edge of the simple cotton.
    He heard her breath catch, and felt her muscles twitch, then the quiet moan when he slid just under the cotton. Slipping toward the heat and away again, teasing while her heart kicked to gallop under his relentless mouth. All that strength, all that wit, all that will melted into need beneath him.
    His mouth found hers, took, as he stroked her up, still up, up to the quivering edge.
    Then he rolled off. “Well, that ought to do it.”
    Her body all but screamed in denial.
    She levered up, straddled him. He was hard as iron, and his gorgeous face covered with humor. “Funny guy,” she said again. Crossing her arms, she tugged the tank up and off, then crooked both her index fingers. “Hands on, pal.”
    “Well, if you insist.”
    He cupped her breasts, brushed his thumbs over her nipples. She planted her hands on either side of his head, and leaning down, feasted on his mouth. The taste of him. She loved the taste of him, would never have her fill of it. The way his lips fit to hers, the glide of his tongue. She could spend hours, days, on his mouth alone, on the magic she found there.
    With her breath quickened, her skin already hot, she flipped away, flopped onto her back. “ That ought to do it.”
    They lay where they were a moment, then turning their heads, grinned at each other. And dove.
    She laughed, and groaned, she gasped and giggled. The sheer fun and foolishness added bold, bright color to the deeper tones of desire. His hands were quick; her mouth avid. Together they moved recklessly over the big bed, under the cold stars gleaming through the sky window.
    He drove her over, and her cry was of cheerful pleasure. This, he thought, this, the unity, the adventure of it, would always delight him. Sustain him. Even when he was inside her, when the need pounded them both, the utter joy of what they’d found, what they’d made, rushed through him. She was the happiness he’d searched for all of his life.
    Her eyes, gilded by firelight, stayed on his; her lips curved. When they sprang over that shining edge together, his heart simply soared.
    Under him, limp, her heart still pounding, she sighed. “Now, that,” she said, “should definitely do it.”
     
    I n the morning, she glugged down coffee to spark her brain into handling the basic chore of getting dressed. Roarke, already dressed, alert—as was his irritating habit—scanned the stock reports while he drank his coffee in the bedroom sitting area.
    “Warmer today, if you’re interested.”
    She spoke from the depths of the closet. “Warmer than what?”
    “Than a witch’s teat.”
    Considering that, she buttoned on a plain white shirt. “I’m going to work here this morning, have Peabody meet me. Easier to go from here to the address Ava’s staying at. Do you know a Brigit Plowder?”
    “Socialite, married to Peter Plowder—architect. Her family builds—bridges and tunnels most particularly. She’s a respected philanthropic figure. Puts her money where her cause is. Would this be where the widow’s staying?”
    “Yeah.” Eve came out, sat down to put on her boots. Then narrowed her eyes at Roarke’s long look. “What? It’s a jacket. It’s just a damn jacket. I don’t care if it goes with the pants.”
    “Pity then, as it goes very well. I was thinking how stylishly professional you look, which is probably a happy accident. But nonetheless.”
    “Stylishly professional.” She sniffed, leaned over to steal a wedge of melon from his plate. “I’ve got to get my stylishly professional ass to work.”
    “Eat.”
    “I’ll get a bagel or whatever in my office. I need to hit those financials, since somebody interfered with police business last night.”
    “I should be arrested.”
    “Pal, that goes without saying.” She leaned over to kiss him. “Later. Oh, nearly forgot. Peabody’s going on Now tonight.”
    “Is she? She must be…” He thought of Peabody. “Terrified.”
    “Yeah. She’ll get over it.”
     
    I n her office, she tackled the financials. She remembered the bagel, then forgot it again. When she heard