Roarke stood in front of the closet, stripped to the waist, his beautiful back muscles rippling subtly as he reached in for a fresh shirt. He turned his head, and the full power of that face struck her. The poet's mouth curved, the rich blue eyes smiled as he shook back his glorious mane of thick black hair.
"Hello, Lieutenant."
"I didn't think you'd be back for a couple of hours anyway."
He laid the shirt aside. She hadn't been sleeping well, he thought. He could see the fatigue, the shadows. "I made good time."
"Yeah, you did." Then she was going to him, moving fast, almost too fast to see the quick light of surprise, the deepening of pleasure in his eyes. His arms were open for her when she got there.
She drew in his scent, deeply, ran her hands up his back, firmly, then turned her face into his hair and sighed, once.
"You did miss me," he murmured.
"Just hold on for a minute, okay?"
"As long as you like."
Her body fit with his; somehow it simply fit like one piece of a puzzle inter-linking with another. She thought of the way Jeremy Vandoren had showed her the ring, the glinting promise of it.
"I love you." It was a shock to feel the raw tears in her throat, an effort to swallow them back. "I'm sorry I don't tell you often enough."
He'd heard the tears. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, to rub gently at the tension he felt knotted there. "What is it, Eve?"
"Not now." Steadier, she drew back, framed his face with her hands. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad you're home." Her lips curved as she leaned in and slanted them over his.
Warmth, welcome, and the underlying shimmer of passion that never seemed fully sated. And with it, sheltered in it, she could for a little while push everything outside but this.
"Were you changing clothes?" she asked against his mouth.
"I was. Ummm. A little more of that," he murmured and nipped at her bottom lip until she shivered.
"Well, I think it's a waste of time." To prove it, she slipped her hands between their bodies and unbuttoned his trousers.
"You're absolutely right." He pressed the release on her shoulder holster and shoved it aside. "I love disarming you, Lieutenant."
In a quick move that had his brow arching, she twisted and had him pressed against the closet door. "I don't need a weapon to take you, pal."
"Prove it."
He was already hard when her hand curled around him. The blue of his eyes deepened with dark, dangerous lights flickering in them.
"You haven't been wearing your gloves again."
She smiled, sliding her chilly fingers up and down the length of him. "Is that a complaint?"
"No, indeed." His breath was clogging. Of all the women he'd known she was the only one who could leave him breathless with so little effort. He skimmed his hands up to cup her breasts, rubbed his thumbs gently over the nipples before unfastening the buttons of her shirt.
He wanted her under him.
"Come to bed."
"What's wrong with here?" She lowered her head, bit his shoulder. "What's wrong with now?"
"Not a thing." This time he moved fast, hooking a foot behind hers to throw her off balance, then tumbling with her to the floor. "But I've a mind to take you instead of the other way around."
His mouth clamped on her breast, sucking hard. Words strangled in her throat, images exploded in her brain, and her hips arched to him.
He knew her, better, he often thought, than she knew herself. She needed heat, the potent flood of it, to drown out whatever was troubling her mind. Heat he could give her, and he would pleasure them both with wave after wave.