Loyalty In Death Part 10

"Oh h.e.l.l," she muttered and groped clumsily for her communicator with one hand while she hung onto him with the other. "Wait, stop. Hold it a minute.

Block video." She let out a breath. G.o.d, the man could do the most amazing things with his tongue. "Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve."

He dragged her into the elevator, pressed her against the wall, and savaged her neck. Dispatch, acknowledged.

"I'm taking an hour personal time." She bit back a moan when his hand closed roughly over her breast. And his other hand slipped between her legs, the heel pressed firmly against her where the heat built fever bright.

The first helpless o.r.g.a.s.m had her fighting a scream.

Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, on personal time. Affirmative. Dispatch out.

She barely managed to end transmission before he was tugging her shirt open. She fumbled for the release on her weapon harness, then grabbed a handful of his hair. "This is crazy," she panted. "Why do we always want to do this?"

"I don't know." He swung her out of the elevator, then into his arms for the quick trip across the room to the big bed. "I just thank G.o.d for it." "Put your hands on me. I want your hands on me." And they were, even as she fell beneath him onto the bed.

"A year ago." His lips traced over her face, along her jaw. "I didn't know your body, your moods, your needs. Now I do. It only makes me want you more."

It was insane, she thought dimly, as she met his mouth with the same urgent hunger that touching him, tasting him, always caused this deep ache to grind inside her.

Whether they loved fast and furious such as now, or with sweeping tenderness, that ache, that want never seemed to lessen.

He was right. He knew her body now, as she knew his. She knew where to touch to make his muscles tense, where to stroke to make them quiver. And that knowledge, that familiarity was unbearably seductive.

She knew what he would bring her, this time, every time, whether it was a slow, burning build or one breathless burst: pleasure, deep and dazzling, with the excitement that shimmered around it.

He found her breast, giving himself the thrill of taking her into his mouth.

Soft, firm, his. Her back bowed, her breath caught, and beneath his busy tongue, her heart hammered.

His hand closed around the teardrop diamond she wore -- a symbol that she had learned to take what he so needed to give her. Then they rolled, tugging at clothes so flesh could slide and stroke torturously against flesh.

Her breathing quickened, firing his blood. She who was strong and steady could be made to tremble under him. He could feel her body straining toward release, see in her face those flickers of shock and delight as it built.

As he took her over, he closed his mouth over hers and swallowed her long, shuddering moan.

It wouldn't be enough. Even as her system started that lovely glide toward contentment, she knew he would drive her back up again. Drive her to where every pulse in her body pounded, every nerve sparked.

Braced and ready, she reached for him, struggling to give back even as her mind shattered and emptied, her system careened helplessly back into the heat.

She said his name, only his name, and arched up to take him inside her. The joining was smooth, and it was hot. Agile, eager, she pistoned her hips to meet each thrust. She could drive him as well as be driven. His fingers clamped down on hers, locked tight. Another layer of intimacy.

She could see in his eyes, so wildly blue, that he was as lost as she in this moment, this magic.

Only you. She knew he thought it, even as she did. Then those glorious eyes went opaque. With one breathless cry, she clung to his hands and threw herself over with him.

He lowered himself, sighing as he stretched out to rest his head between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Beneath him her body had gone lax as water. He knew she'd spring up soon enough, throw on her clothes, and go back to the work that consumed her.

But for now, for just a few moments more, she was content to drift. "You should come home for lunch more often," he murmured.

She laughed.

"Fun time's over. I've got to get back."

"Mm-hmm." But neither of them made a move to rise. "We have dinner at eight at The Palace with some top-level staff and their spouses from one of my transportation arms."

She frowned a little. "Did I know that?" "Yes."

"Oh. I've got this thing at seven." "What thing?"

"Will reading. At B. D. Branson's."

"Ah. No problem, I'll shift dinner to eight-thirty and we'll go by Branson's first."

"There's no we here."

He lifted his head from her breast, smiled. "I think I just proved you wrong."

"It's a case, not s.e.x."

"All right, I won't have s.e.x with you at Branson's, but it might have been interesting." "Look, Roarke -- " "It simply makes sense, logistically." He gave her cheek a pat and rolled aside. "We'll go from Branson's to the hotel where dinner is set." "You can't just sit in on a will reading. It's not a public event."

"I'm sure B. D. has some comfortable place where I can wait for my wife without intruding, if that's necessary. As I recall, he has a very s.p.a.cious home."

She didn't bother to grumble. "I guess you know him." "Of course. We're compet.i.tors -- not unfriendly ones."

She blew out a breath as she sat up and eyed him. "I'll see if the lawyer approves it, so pending that, fine. And maybe later, you'll give me your opinion of the Branson brothers."

"Darling, I'm always delighted to help."

"Yeah." This time she did grumble. "That's what worries me."

CHAPTER FIVE

Eve fidgeted in the back of the limo. It wasn't the mode of transport she'd have chosen when she considered herself on duty. The fact was, she preferred being at the wheel when she was on the clock. There was something just plain decadent about streaming along in a mile-long limo under any circ.u.mstances, but in the middle of an investigation, it was, well, embarra.s.sing.

Not that she would use the words decadent or embarra.s.sing to Roarke. He'd enjoy her dilemma entirely too much.

At least the long, somewhat severe black dress she wore was suitable enough for both a will reading and a business dinner. It was straight and simple, covering her from neck to ankle. She considered it practical, if foolishly expensive.

But there was no place to strap on her weapon without looking ridiculous, no place for her badge but the silly little evening purse. When she squirmed again, Roarke draped an arm over the backseat and smiled at her.

"Problem?"

"Cops don't wear virgin wool and ride in limos."

"Cops who are married to me do." He skimmed a finger over the cuff beneath the sleeve of her coat. He enjoyed the way the dress looked on her -- long, straight, unadorned so that the body under it was quietly showcased. "How do you suppose they know the sheep are virgins?"

"Ha ha. We could have taken my ride."

"Though your current vehicle is a vast improvement over your last, it hardly provides this kind of comfort. And we wouldn't have been able to fully enjoy the wines that will be served with dinner. Most importantly..." He lifted her hand, nipped at her knuckles. "I wouldn't be able to nibble on you along the way."

"I'm on duty here."

"No, you're not. Your shift ended an hour ago."

She smirked at him. "I took an hour's personal time, didn't I?"

"So you did." He shifted closer, and his hand slid up her thigh. "You can go back on the clock when we get there, but for now..."

She narrowed her eyes as the car swung to the curb. "I haven't gone off the clock, ace. Move your hand, or I'll have to arrest you for a.s.saulting an officer."

"When we get home, will you read me my rights and interrogate me?"

She snorted out a laugh. "Pervert," she muttered and climbed out of the car.