“Former, and no convictions.” He pressed his mouth to hers, swore at the burn in his wounded lip. “You pack a punch, Lieutenant.” He reared up enough to look down at her face—brown eyes full of challenge, wide mouth curved in a smug smile. “You’re my goddamn Valentine.”
She laughed, grabbed two fistfuls of his hair. “You’d better believe it, buster.”
She wanted to devour him, one greedy bite at a time, and let her nails dig a little into his back once she’d torn the tattered shirt away. She’d seen more than annoyance on his face when Magdelana had clung to him.
Eve had seen what she might have missed if she and Roarke had been stupid enough, crazy enough, blind enough to pass each other by.
“I love you.” She closed her teeth over his shoulder, gasped when his scraped down her throat. She hooked her legs around his waist, shoved so that he was under her again. With her mouth like a fever on his, on his flesh.
So it wouldn’t be romantic and dreamy, a snowfall outside the window and gypsy violins singing in the air. It would be desperate, and a little rough. And as real and urgent as their heartbeats.
He felt his survival depended on the taste and texture of her skin. He pulled and dragged at her clothes like a man possessed by demons.
“You’ll give me all of you. All.”
“Take it,” she told him, and was under him again. His mouth ravaged her breast, and his hands…his hands, his hands.
She cried out, rocketing up as the orgasm gathered and flashed through her like a ball of lightning. She heard him murmuring to her, the sound thick and Irish. Felt him quiver as he held himself back.
And that she wouldn’t allow. “You’ll give me all of you,” she said. “All.”
She shattered his will, undid his control, her hands and lips taking him as he’d taken her. Beyond what was reason. Near to delirium, he dragged her mouth back to his, and devoured.
Lips and teeth and tongues, fingers that demanded and took, bruises be damned. Her breath was burning even as she took from him, gave to him. His blood burned under his own skin.
“Now, now, now.” She chanted it, arching up.
When he drove into her, she cried out again, the sound close to a scream. And still her hips pumped fast and strong, whipping him into the glorious dark.
Her hands lost their grip on his hips, slid away to thump against the floor. Inside her body, everything had been pummeled, twisted, wrung out, then smoothed soft again. Her toes wanted to curl in pleasure, but there wasn’t enough energy left for the movement.
“Jesus,” she managed. “Holy dancing Jesus.”
“When I can actually stand up again, some time in the distant future, I’m going to let you punch me in the face again, so we can see if all that finishes up the same way as this.”
“Okay.”
“Or maybe we’ll try that romantic dinner. Then you can punch me.” He actually felt her wince. “Problem?” He lifted his head, saw by her face there was. “What?”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I think, considering our current positions, and state of being, apologies are unnecessary.” But he read the look. “Not sorry for the punch, I see. It’s work?”
“I didn’t contact you to tell you to hold dinner, because I wanted to tell you face-to-face. Which we now are, in addition to other body parts. It’s a lot to explain, but I will. I’ve got something I need to deal with, and I could use your help with it.”
“All right.”
“Maybe we could fit in the candlelight and so on before midnight, but—”
“It doesn’t matter, Eve. I promise you.”
Yeah, we got lucky, she thought. God, didn’t they just. “I got you a present.”
“Did you?”
“It’s a book of poetry—romancy stuff. I thought, ‘How schmaltzy is that,’ so it seemed like the thing. Then I screwed up and left it in my desk at work.”
He smiled, leaned down to kiss her softly. “Thank you.”