“We’ll work around them because this has to be fast.” She used her teeth on the side of his throat. “Hard and fast. Got me?”
“I’ve got you, and I’ll be keeping you.”
He dealt with her shirt, managed to tug the tank out of her waistband despite the weapon harness. And found it acutely arousing to possess her breasts with her weapon still strapped to her side.
He had a dangerous woman in his hands, and yes, he’d keep her.
She rocked against him, tormenting them both, and as if starved for the taste, ravaged his mouth.
Candlelight and snowfall provided a romantic backdrop, a soft contrast to the greedy lust they spurred in each other. New York gleamed, a frozen city through the glass, as she dragged at his belt.
“Fast and hard,” she reminded him, her breath already tearing as she struggled to help him yank her trousers down past her knees.
She didn’t wait, but took him in, muffled her own moan against his mouth.
She rode him like a stallion, spurred into a mad gallop that left him no choice but to race with her.
The world blurred. There was no world but her and that strong, glorious body, those wild, pistoning hips. She came like lightning, a snap and flash that bolted through him like a current.
Melting from it, she dropped her head on his shoulder. “Just need to catch my breath.”
“You’ll find it later.”
Half mad, he dragged her jacket down her arms, trapping them, shoving her back to open her more. Now he rode.
She couldn’t free her arms, couldn’t grab hold. Couldn’t stop as the fresh orgasm built fast and brutal over the first.
“Roarke. I can’t.”
“Take. Just take.”
He watched her, all but drowned in her. The crisp, professional clothes disheveled from his hands, the weapon at her side as much a part of her as a limb.
Her face warmed by sex and the candlelight and alive with the crazed pleasure they brought each other.
And he watched as those eyes, those sharp and cynical cop’s eyes, went blind from it.
He dragged her back, wrapped tight around her. Let himself break.
She shuddered against him, quaking aftershocks. Then, fighting for breath, went lax.
“There you are.” He pressed his face to the curve of her neck, simply overwhelmed by her. “Relaxed again.”
“That was more than a minute.”
“Time well spent. I adore you beyond reason, Eve.”
“Who needs reason? But I guess we’ll remember at some point to get naked first.”
She eased back, laid a hand on his cheek. “I have to get back to it.”
“So we will.”
“I think I’m going to stop off, change clothes. Might as well get the comfort on.”
“Another fine idea.”
She swung off him, hitched up her trousers. “Was it hard? Not that,” she said when he laughed, “because, obviously. I mean adjusting to me. The cop thing.”
“Shockingly easy.”
She shook her head as he rose, took her hand. “I never can figure it.”
“Who needs reason?” he reminded her.
She changed into flannel pants, an ancient hooded sweatshirt, and thick socks. She noted Roarke’s choice wasn’t so different from hers, but he somehow looked stylishly casual while she knew she just looked sloppy.
In her office she programmed coffee while Roarke strolled into the kitchen. He came out with two slabs of chocolate cake.
“Where’d you get that?”
“I just popped off to the cake factory.” He set the dessert plates down on her command center. “Your AutoChef, Lieutenant.”
“I had chocolate cake?” She took a bite, made a sound not dissimilar from one she’d made during sex. “I had really amazing chocolate cake?”
“Apparently. Now we both do.”
“Excellent.” And stuffing in a second bite, got back to work.
* * *
It took a couple hours, and more complications than she’d expected. What about the couple who’d been married in April but were divorced as of September? Or the couple who hadn’t been married, but were now, like the Patricks?
She opted for different columns, and quashed the automatic annoyance when Roarke completed his half before she did.
He didn’t interrupt her, simply got himself a brandy, then sat in front of her office fireplace, swirling and sipping and toying with his PPC.
She only had ten left, considered asking him to take half. Found the idea even more annoying, so slogged through on her own.
She swung around. “I’ve got nine more,” she told him. “That includes a married couple who attended, divorced shortly thereafter, and the male’s already remarried. And two couples who weren’t yet married, but now are married. According to the guest list, one of those couples attended with people who were set to but didn’t end up getting married.”
“I had eight, and that included a couple now newly married. It would fit, wouldn’t it, as the Patricks were newly married at the time of the attack?”
“Exactly. So we’ll assume he keeps up. Either because he’s in that circle, or he uses the society and gossip media. Maybe all of that. One on my list is on the edge, age wise, as they’re both into their fifties, and he’s gone younger on the females. But, and this could be a connect, she’s an actress. Mostly theater, but some screen, too. Nothing with On Screen that’s listed.”