“That’s imprinted.”
“Good, as she’ll have designs for the bedroom for us to go over in a day or two.”
“You were serious about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“But the bedroom —”
“Is ours, but was designed for me. Now it will reflect both of us, our needs, wants, tastes.”
“We don’t have the same tastes, exactly. I don’t even know if I have tastes.”
“You know what you like, what you don’t. And won’t it be interesting to see how it all melds? And as with your office, it has to suit you. It has to suit me as well, so may it take a bit more work than the two minutes you spent picking your office design.”
It wouldn’t take two minutes, no, not with Roarke weighing in on it. “Are we going to fight over, like, fabric?”
“I sincerely doubt it, but if we do, I’m sure we’ll make up, on whatever bed we choose together.”
Frowning, she stepped into the bedroom, looked at the enormous bed on its platform under the sky window. And couldn’t imagine anything that could suit her more.
“I like that bed.”
“And we may end up designing around it, but if not, we should bid it farewell as we did your desk. In anticipation.”
“The way you are, we’ll have nailed each other another five dozen times on this one before it’s gone.”
“Think of it as an undress rehearsal,” he said, and scooped her up.
Since it was hard to laugh and protest at the same time, she just went with it, so when she hit the bed, she wrapped her legs, boots and all, around him.
“We’re still dressed.”
“I can fix that. In a minute,” he added, and took her mouth.
Here was the payoff for a long and difficult day. His body pressed down on hers, that magic mouth sparking heat, spreading thrills. No dark thoughts pressing like bloody fingers against glass, pushing, pushing to come in. Here, she could have, she could take, love.
She heard the click as his fingers – as magical as his mouth – released her weapon harness. She shifted so he could tug it off, shove it aside.
“You’re disarmed, Lieutenant.”
“That’s not my only weapon.”
“I’m aware. But I’ve a few of my own.”
When his teeth scraped lightly down the side of her neck, she thought: Yeah, you do. In response, she pressed up, center to center.
“And yours is, as usual, already cocked.”
Against her skin, his lips curved. “Someone has her punny pants on.”
“I’m thinking about trading them in for naked.”
She managed to toe off her boots, the rise and fall of her hips with the effort pleasing them both. Rather than pull her sweater off, he slid his hands under it, skimmed them over the tank she wore beneath. When her nipples hardened against the snug material, he roamed down to unhook her belt, then up again to mold her breasts, to tease.
Down to unclasp a button, to slowly, slowly ease the zipper open.
He could spend years on her with just his hands. The firm breasts and long, lean torso under the thin, simple tank, the taut belly, the narrow hips.
He tugged her trousers down, just another inch, traced a fingertip under the waistband of the panties – as simple as the tank. His cop wasn’t one for frills and lace. Yet those simple, unadorned underpinnings never failed to entice him.
He knew what lived beneath.
Just as he knew she’d relaxed, she’d put all else aside – the blood and the dead – for this. For him. For them. So he’d give her everything he had in this time away from the cold and the dark.
Now he peeled her sweater up and away, and the tank with it. When he cupped her breasts in his hands, she cupped his face in hers. Smiled.
“It’s nice.”
“Nice, is it?”
“Yeah.” Lowering her hands, she began unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s nice.”
“I can do better than nice.”
“I’m aware,” she said, making him laugh as his lips brushed over hers.
She could do better than nice, too, but didn’t mind that pace. For now. Like sliding into comfort. Under his shirt, that tough, disciplined body was hers to touch, to take – all that warm, warm skin, those tight muscles.
Hers to take, she thought again as he deepened the kiss. Fire kindled under her skin. With her legs again hooked around him, she levered over, reversed their positions. Now straddling him, she curved down, using her teeth to nip at his lips, his tongue while she rocked them both to quivering.
Even as she tugged off his belt, he flipped her over again. Dragging off her trousers, his hand brushed over the clutch piece strapped above her ankle. It added a quick, dangerous thrill. Leaving it, he used his mouth, his hands to destroy her.
She cried out, tossed up as his tongue swept over her, into her. Her fingers dug into the sheets, then into his back as he drove her relentlessly higher.
The orgasm ripped through her, a fast, hard jolt of staggering pleasure. Then the aftershocks, shuddering, shuddering, even as he urged her up again.
Breathless, blind, she dragged him up to her, rolling together now over the blue lake of the bed while she fought to strip away the rest of his clothes.
When he plunged into her, the world quaked.
His mouth – God, she loved his mouth – took hers again, ravishing like a man starving. Then he drove her, they drove each other, hands gripped together, bodies joined. On the edge, fused to the edge as the pleasure swelled to bursting.