“It couldn’t be that I’m just the superior player.”
“No.”
He laughed, then pulled her in front of him. “I’ll give you another go here, and help you out. Now.” He placed his fingers over hers on the control buttons. “You have to learn to finesse it rather than attack it. The idea is to keep the ball lively, and in play.”
“I got the idea, Roarke. You want it to smash up against everything.”
Wisely, he swallowed a chuckle. “More or less. All right, here it comes.”
He released the ball, leaned into her, watching over her shoulder. “No, no, wait. You don’t just flip madly about. Wait for it.” His fingers pressed over hers and sent the little silver ball dancing to the tune of automatic weapon fire.
“I want the gold bars over there.”
“In time, all in good time.” He leaned down to skim his lips over the back of her neck. “There now, you’ve evaded the squad car and racked yourself up five thousand points.”
“I want the gold.”
“Why am I not surprised? Let’s see what we can do for you. Feel my hands?”
He was pressed into her back, snug and cozy. Eve turned her head. “That’s not your hands.”
His grin flashed. “Right you are. These are.” Slowly, he skimmed those clever hands up her body, over her breasts. Beneath the thin cotton, he felt her heart give one fast leap. “You could forfeit.” His mouth went to the curve of her neck this time, with the light scrape of teeth.
“In a pig’s eye.”
He caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth, and the resulting jolt to her system had her fingers jabbing into the buttons. Even as she moaned, the machine exploded under her hands.
“What? What?”
“You got the gold. Bonus points.” He tugged at the button of her trousers. “Extra ball. Nice job.”
“Thanks.” Bells were clanging. In the machine, in her head. She let him turn her so they were face-to-face. “Game’s not over.”
“Not nearly.” His mouth came down on hers, hot and possessive. His hands had already snaked under her shirt to cup her breasts. “I want you. I always want you.”
Breathless, eager, she dragged at his shirt. “You should’ve lost a few times. You wouldn’t be wearing so many clothes.”
“I’ll remember that.” The need reared up so fast, so ripe, it burned. Her body was a treasure to him, the long, clean lines of it, the sleekness of muscle, the surprising delicacy of skin. Standing, wrapped tight, he sank into her.
She wanted to give. No one else had ever made her so desperate to give. Whatever she had. Whatever he would take. Through all the horrors of her life, through all the miseries of her work, this—what they brought to each other time and time again—was her personal miracle.
She found his flesh with her hands—firm, warm—and sighed deeply. She found his mouth with hers—rough, hungry—and she moaned.
When she would have pulled him to the floor, he turned, stumbled with her until her back was pressed against something cool and solid.
“Look at me.”
His name caught in her throat as those skilled fingers slid over her, into her, and sent her spinning as madly as the silver ball under glass.
He watched her eyes cloud, then the rich brown of them go opaque as she came. “More. Again.” While she shuddered, while her hands gripped his shoulders, he took her mouth, swallowed her cry of release.
His breath was as tattered as hers as he took her hips, lifted them, and plunged.
He pinned her, pummeled her system with a pleasure too outrageous for reason. Energized her so that she fought to give it back, beat for beat. When her hands slipped from his shoulders, she lifted them to his hair, fisted her fingers in all that black silk.
They drove each other up, and over.
• • •