Waiting for her, she thought. Wasn’t that a miracle? This amazing man would wait for her, would be there.
She hadn’t needed the three miles, she realized, or the weights or the laps. All she needed was Roarke.
“There you are.” He glanced up. “Better?”
“I took longer than I said. I got caught up.”
“No matter. I had a bit of work to finish up, and had a swim as well.”
“Oh. I was thinking you’d take one with me.”
“Well, I could, but I always enjoy watching you in the water, especially since you like to swim naked.”
“Pervert.” She walked to him. “Why don’t you come in? Unless watching’s all you’re up for.”
She let the towel drop.
“When you put it that way.”
Rather than diving in as was her habit, she walked down the steps, through the lagoon corner, ordering on the jets and blue lights as she slowly sank in.
“I was going to burn the rest off with some laps,” she said as Roarke shed his clothes. “But I figure you can do a better job of it. Maybe.”
“A challenge.” He joined her in the water. “Something else I’m always up for.”
She tipped her head back, shot her fingers in his hair, gripped it. “Prove it,” she said, and dragged his mouth to hers.
She wanted hot and hard, like the jets pulsing in the blue water. No tenderness, no gentle caress, but greedy and careless.
He knew, he always knew. She set her teeth on his shoulder as his hands took, rough and ready, whipping her to the place where there was no room for thoughts, for worries, for a world of the cruel.
His mouth, his mouth, scorching her skin, devouring her heart right through her breast while his hand shoved between her legs. The first orgasm ripped her as he dragged her under the water.
Breathless, blind, she sank into the pool, into him and the battering sea of sensation. Only to surface on a wild cry of release when he pulled her up again.
She wrapped around him, slick with water, hot with needs. Her hands and mouth were as busy as his, as demanding and urgent. The trouble he’d seen in her eyes, the sadness he’d sensed coiled in her dropped away. With them went his worry, went everything but this mad, almost brutal wanting.
Snared in it, he shoved her to the wall. His fingers dug into her hips as he plunged into her.
Breathless gasps muffled against his mouth. He wanted to swallow them, swallow her in deep, dark gulps. The water slapped and slithered, sluiced off skin faintly and eerily blue in the light.
“Take more.” Steeped in her. Drowning in her. “Take more.” Yes, she thought, yes. More. Gripping the edge, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Arching up, arching back, she took until her cries echoed around the garden. Took until there was nothing left.
3
He knew if it was left up to Eve they’d have the conversation and what passed for a meal in her home office. Another case, he decided, where she needed more. As summer refused to retire for the season, he arranged for the meal on one of the terraces where the gardens burst with color and scent.
There, with the air stubbornly holding the damp from the morning’s storm, tiny lights glimmered, candles flickered against the dark.
“I’ve got a lot of research to get to,” she began.
“Undoubtedly, and we’ll take all the time you need once I understand the situation, and you’ve got some food in you. Red meat.” He lifted the cover off a plate.
Eve eyed the steak. “Playing dirty.”
“Is there another way? We’ve a barrel of salt for your fries.”
She had to laugh. “Really dirty.” She took the wine he offered. “You know my weaknesses.”