She grimaced, remembering her panic, her dug-in-at-the-heels refusal to board the transport he’d had waiting, and how he had roared with laughter and had tossed her over his shoulder, climbing on board with her cursing him.
‘I liked Paris,’ she said with a sniff. ‘And I loved the week we had on the island. I didn’t see any reason for us to come to some half-finished resort in space when we were going to spend most of our time in bed anyway.’
‘You were scared.’ It had delighted him that she’d been unnerved by the prospect of her first off planet voyage, and it had pleasured him to keep her occupied and distracted for the bulk of the trip.
‘I was not.’ Boneless, she thought. Scared boneless. ‘I was justifiably annoyed that you’d made the plans without discussing them with me.’
‘I seem to recall someone being involved with a case and telling me to plan whatever suited me. You were a beautiful bride.’
It made her lips curve. ‘It was the dress.’
‘No, it was you.’ He lifted a hand to her face. ‘Eve Dallas. Mine.’
Love swamped her. It always seemed to come in huge, unexpected waves that left her flailing helplessly. ‘I love you.’ She lowered herself to him and brought her mouth to his. ‘Looks like you’re mine.’
It was midnight before they had dinner. On the moon-washed terrace of the towering spear that was the nearly completed Olympus Grand Hotel, Eve dug into stuffed lobster and contemplated the view.
The Olympus Resort would be, with Roarke pulling the strings, completed and fully booked within a year. For now, they had it to themselves - if she ignored the construction crews, staff, architects, engineers, pilots, and other assorted inhabitants who shared the massive space station.
From the small glass table where they sat, she could see out over the hub of the resort. The lights brightly burned for the night crew, and the quiet hum of machinery spoke of round-the-clock labor. The fountains, the lances of simulated torchlight and rainbows of color running fluidly through the spewing waters, were for her, she knew.
He’d wanted her to see what he was building, and perhaps to begin to understand what she was a part of now. As his wife.
Wife. She blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs and sipped the icy champagne he’d poured. It was going to take some time to understand just how she’d gone from being Eve Dallas, homicide lieutenant, to become the wife of a man who some claimed had more money and power than God.
‘Problem?’
She flicked her eyes over his face and smiled a little. ‘No.’ With intense concentration, she dipped a bit of lobster in melted butter - real butter, no simulation for Roarke’s table - and sampled it. ‘How am I going to face the cardboard they pass off as food at the Eatery once I’m back on the job?’
‘You eat candy bars on the job in any case.’ He topped off her wine, and lifted a brow when she narrowed her eyes.
‘You trying to get me drunk, pal?’
‘Absolutely.’
She laughed, something he noted she did more easily and more often these days, and with a shrug, picked up her glass. ‘What the hell, I’ll oblige you. And when I’m drunk’ - she gulped down the priceless wine like water - ‘I’ll give you a r
ide you won’t soon forget.’
Lust he’d thought sated for the moment crawled edgily into his belly. ‘Well, in that case’ - he poured wine into his own glass, teasing it to the rim - ‘let’s both get drunk.’
‘I like it here,’ she announced. Pushing back from the table, she carried her glass to the thick railing of carved stone. It must have cost a fortune to have it quarried, then shipped - but he was Roarke, after all.
Leaning over, she watched the light and water show, scanned the buildings, all domes and spears, all glossy and elegant to house the sumptuous people and the sumptuous games they would come to play.
The casino was completed and glowed like a golden ball in the dark. One of the dozen pools was lighted for the night and the water glimmered cobalt blue. Skywalks zigzagged between buildings and resembled silver threads. They were empty now, but she imagined what they would be like in six months, a year: crammed with people who shimmered in silks and glowed with jewels. They would come to be pampered within the marble walls of the spa with its mud baths and body enhancement facilities, its soft-spoken consultants and solicitous droids. They’d come to lose fortunes in the casino, to drink exclusive liquor in the clubs, to make love to the hard and soft bodies of licensed companions.
Roarke would offer them a world, and they would come. But it wouldn’t be her world when they filled it. She was more comfortable with the streets, the noisy half world of law and crime. Roarke understood that, she thought, as he’d come from the same place as she. So he had offered her this when it was only theirs.
‘You’re going to make something here,’ she said and turned to lean back against the rail.
‘That’s the plan.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, pleased that it was already starting to swim from the wine. ‘You’ll make something that people will talk about for centuries, that they’ll dream of. You’ve come a long way from the young thief who ran the back alleys of Dublin, Roarke.’
His smile was slow and just a little sly. ‘Not so very far, Lieutenant. I’m still picking pockets - I just do it as legally as I can. Being married to a cop limits certain activities.’
She frowned at him now. ‘I don’t want to hear about them.’