She took the wine from him, sipping even as she rose and fell, rose and fell. “It’s all for medicinal purposes.”
“I’m an excellent patient.”
She brought the glass to his lips, tipped before setting it aside, before laying her lips to his. “It’s good,” she murmured against his mouth. “It’s good.”
Slow and fluid, with the water swirling and lapping, the steam from the heat rising, they moved together. Here, with as much comfort as passion, she laid her head on his shoulder, let her body rock them both to pleasure.
The crest, a long, liquid shimmer, brought a quiet sigh.
“It’s good to be home,” she told him.
“Always.”
“Now that we’re feeling human, let’s just stay in here and wallow.”
He wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes again, and wallowed.
Easy sex and a long soak soothed the aches. Still, he wouldn’t let her dress until he’d run a wand over the bruises to help them heal, and gotten another cold wrap for her face.
“Give me the wand,” she ordered. “Your bruises are worse than mine.”
He gave her the wand, but turned her so she could see herself in the mirror.
“Oh crap.” She poked at her purpling eye. “Crap. Even with the wand and the cold pack, that’s not going to be gone by Saturday.”
“It won’t be your first wedding with a shiner. You had one for ours. Trina will cover the worst of it.”
“Don’t remind me. Damn it, do I have to call Louise, say anything about tomorrow?”
“Summerset’s taken care of it. It’s all managed.”
“There was a rehearsal thing.”
Roarke kissed her lightly. “Managed.”
“Well, hell, now he has something else to sniff at me about. I want to check in with Baxter and Trueheart, just make sure everything’s in place at the Mimotos.”
“Do that if it helps you relax. I have a couple things to check on myself. Then I want a meal.”
They retreated to opposite ends of the bedroom with pocket ’links. When he’d finished, Eve was sitting down, frowning into space.
“Problem?”
“No, they’re in, the house is secured. They’ll take shifts through the night, just in case. Baxter said Mrs. Mimoto, and her husband, are okay about it. More than okay. They want to do it. They’re revved to do it.”
“You spoke with them both yourself just a few hours ago.”
“I know, and they agreed. They’re solid. It’s just I expected some nerves, more questions from them, a need for more assurances. Instead, they cooked dinner. Like with ingredients, right there in the kitchen. Baxter said they went out and bought stuff especially after I talked to them so they could make this big home-cooked meal for him and Trueheart.”
Appreciation lit Roarke’s face. “What did they have?”
“Roast chicken—a real clucker—mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans. The real deal, too. It must’ve cost them. And they had lemon meringue pie for dessert. They did all that for a couple of cops. Baxter’s in love with her, by the way. She’s going to open the door of her house tomorrow to a man she knows wants to kill her, intends to rape her, brutalize her, and kill her. And she baked a pie for a couple of cops.”
“It’s more surprising for you to be treated with courtesy and kindness.”
“They made up a guest room so the one off shift can catch some sleep. Yeah, it’s more surprising. He wants to snuff that out. He wants to end the kind of person who would do that, would think of those things. And that doesn’t surprise me. I was sitting here asking myself if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“It makes you a good cop, and the fact that you’d ask yourself the question makes you a better one.” He leaned down to kiss her bruised eye. “Why don’t we see if there’s any roast chicken to be had around here?”