Page 70 of Passions in Death
“Christmas gift, I bet.”
“I’d agree.”
“Not enough,” Eve concluded. “Not enough for the dead-artist angle.”
Stripped down to her underwear, she tried to think it through. Then just shook her head.
“Even the cynical cop has a hard time tying her into it. Why would she want Erin dead? I can’t see it.”
“Consider it time to turn it off, and see what comes to you in the morning.”
She knew he had that right, but her mind wanted to circle. She considered him, standing there all lean and gorgeous in his boxers.
“Hard to turn it off. I need a distraction.” She took three running steps and launched herself at him. Hooked her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. “And here you are.”
“Your distraction, is it?”
“You’re so good at it.” She captured his mouth with hers until her humming system smothered the fatigue. “See? I’m already distracted.”
“I suppose I’d best finish the job then.”
“Well, obviously.”
All but nose-to-nose, she laughed as he carried her to the bed and dumped her on it.
With a low growl, Galahad rolled away and jumped down.
“Serves him right for getting pissy with me.” Rearing up, she nipped at Roarke’s chin. “All right, ace, you’ve got a job to do.”
“And I do love my work.”
Now he took her mouth in a slow, deep, dreamy kiss that not only sent her system humming but clouded her too-busy brain. She sighed into it. As his hands ran down her sides, her skin tingled.
“See, really good at it.”
Everything in her went soft, and all the sharp edges of the day smoothed into quiet pleasure. As the half-moon peeked through the sky window over the bed, she combed her fingers through his hair, the thick mass of it, and down the firm muscles of his back.
She sighed again, lifting her arms as he drew her support tank up and over her head. His hands—they had magic in them—glided up her ribs, over her breasts, up to cup her face before gliding down again.
A gentle passion, lulling her into a dream state.
He loved seeing her like this, utterly relaxed, utterly open. All that fierce energy quelled into surrender, not just to him but to self.
He could give, and she could take, then give back in return.
It never ceased to enthrall him, this meeting of bodies, minds, hearts. No matter what troubled him, troubled her, no matter what horrors crept through the shadows of the world, they had this gift, this love, this passion. And the union it forged between them.
He rolled, reversing positions, and she came with him, her body fluid as wine. Her mouth sought his, and clung there while he peeled the simple white briefs down her narrow hips.
He rolled again, bodies tangling over the big bed, the smooth sheets. As warm skin edged toward hot, he closed his mouth over her breast, slid his hand between her legs.
When she cried out in release, he felt the orgasm rocket through that long, strong body. Even as she shuddered with it, he drove himself into her so dark delight layered over dark delight.
Not a distraction, an eruption with a change of tone both abrupt and glorious. She flew on it, stormed with it when he shoved her knees up to take more, give more.
And desperate for the more, she matched his speed, his urgency until everything went bright and hot and beautiful. Until more was impossible.
Until he said her name and emptied into her.
