Reunion in Death

She was already wet, and she was randy. Her hands and mouth busy on him, taking him over in a kind of cheerful aggression. He no longer heard the brisk, clipped voice on-screen that detailed the latest stock reports, the market projections. Only the hiss of spray and the beat of his own blood.

He could want her, every minute of every day. Was certain he would go on wanting her after he was dead and gone. She was the pulse, the reason, the breath.

When he caught her dripping hair in his hand, yanked her head up so his mouth could fuse to hers, it was like feeding a hunger that was never, ever quite sated.

She felt it from him, the edge of that violent appetite he so often masked in elegance and style and patience. When she tasted it, it made her crave the primitive, made her lust for the danger of letting the animal inside them both spring loose to feed.

With him she could be tender, where there had never been tenderness. And with him she could be brutal, without fear.

«Now. Now, now, now! Inside me.»

He gripped her hips, fingers sliding over slick, wet skin until they dug in. Her breath caught when he shoved her back against the tiles, then released on a cry when he rammed himself into her.

Her body plunged through the first vicious orgasm, then raced for more.

Her eyes locked with his. She could see herself there, swimming in, drowning in that vivid blue. Trusting his strength, she wrapped her legs around his waist to take more of him.

Steam billowed, thin mists. Water streamed, hot rain. He drove himself hard and deep, watching, always watching that shocked pleasure radiate over her face. He could see her rising to peak again, the way her eyes blurred, the gilded brown of them deepening an instant before they went blind, an instant before her body gathered, then shuddered.

She clamped around him, a hot, wet fist, and nearly dragged him over with her.

«Take more.» His voice was ragged, his lungs burning. «Take more, and more, until you come screaming for me.»

She could hear the sharp, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, of flesh against tile, and could taste when his mouth crushed down on hers again the outrageous need in him. And as he thrust into her, as pleasure and pain and madness merged into one searing mass inside her, she heard herself scream.

Limp as rags, still tangled together, they slid down to the floor of the shower.

«Christ Jesus,» he managed.

«Let's just stay here for an hour or two. We probably won't drown.» Her head dropped onto his shoulder like a stone.

«We might, as I think we're lying on the drains.» But he made no effort to move.

She turned her head so the spray beat down on her face. «But it feels good.»

He cupped her breast. «God knows.»

«Where the hell is everybody?»

«I think we're right here.» Her nipples were still hard, still hot, and inspired him to roll over enough to taste.

She blinked water out of her eyes. «You've got to be kidding.»

«I don't believe I will be if you give me a few minutes here. Less if the water wasn't so bloody hot.»

«Turn the temp down and face my wrath.» She put her hands on either side of his face, lifted his head. Grinned. «We'd better get the hell out of here. The water level's rising.»

Once they managed to pull themselves up, she headed for the drying tube. Roarke grabbed a towel.

«Really, where is everybody?»

«Last I checked, Phoebe was having a fine time playing in the greenhouse. Sam and Summerset had their heads together in the kitchen over some recipe. They've bonded like glue over herbs and sauces and whatever. I'm told they're going out with Peabody for the evening, so you don't have to worry about entertaining them.»

She stepped out of the tube, took the robe he offered, then watched him hook a towel loosely at his hips. «Feeney and I are flying to Chicago tomorrow, taking a shot at Dockport. And no,» she said before he could speak, «we're not taking one of your fancy transpos. We'll use the shuttle, like regular people.»

«Up to you. Any new leads?»

«Nothing that's firming up for us yet.» She followed him into the bedroom, hunted up a pair of jeans. «Found out that Pettibone's first wife and the commander's wife are tight. Makes it a little tricky, even though she's not high on my list. I've got to do a second-level search on the financials of the main players.»

He glanced up as he hooked fresh trousers, met her scowl. «I didn't say a thing.»

«I can hear you thinking, pal, and no. I've got authorization for second level, and that's as deep as I'm going right now. I don't need you using your unregistered equipment or dipping any deeper. We're moving along well enough playing this by the book.»

«Do you ever ask yourself who wrote that book?»

«The long arm of the law. If you've got any free time, I wouldn't mind your take on the financials. You see numbers differently than I do.»

«Lieutenant, I always have time for you.»