Divided in Death (In Death 18) - Page 140
She opened her eyes, laid her lips on his cheek, and searched for her own tenderness. “My Roarke.”
She could soothe, she could seduce. She could show him that whatever the world threw at them, whatever reared up from the past or lurked in the future, they were together.
She unbuttoned his shirt, pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re the love of my life. I don’t care how corny that sounds. You’re the start of it, and the end of it. And you’re the best of it.”
He took her hands, cupping them in his own and bringing them to his lips as love washed through him. It cleansed, he thought, this flood of feeling between them. And despite all the odds, what it left behind was pure.
He parted her shirt, then traced his fingers lightly over the bruises. “It hurts me to see you marked like this, and to know you’ll be marked again. At the same time it makes me proud.” He brushed his lips lightly over injuries, pressed them softly to the image of her badge. “I married a warrior.”
“So did I.”
His gaze came back to hers, and held, as their mouths found each other’s. Hands stroked, in comfort, in passion. They moved together in the quiet of the morning and words slipped into sighs.
When she rose over him, took him in, their fingers linked. Locked. With the pleasure, with the thrill, was the steady beat of love.
She curled up beside him, realizing they both needed this space of intimacy as much as they’d needed the reassurance and release.
Her world had been rocked. She only understood how violent the shake had been now that it was steady again. Only understood, she thought, that it had been the same for him now that they were reconciled.
Reconciled, she realized, because he’d given her what she needed. He’d submerged or denied his own ego for her. And there was nothing simple or easy about it. His ego was . . . she’d just call it healthy since she was feeling so grateful.
He’d given in, given up his own needs, not because he stood on the same moral ground as she at the end of the day, but because he valued her and their marriage more than that ego.
“You could’ve lied to me.”
“No.” He watched the light strengthen in the sky through the window over the bed. “I couldn’t lie to you.”
“I don’t mean you, I mean in a general sense.” She shifted, skimming his hair away from his face with her fingers, then running those fingers over the stubble he’d neglected to remove that morning. “If you were less of a man you could have lied to me, done what you wanted to do, stoked your ego, satisfied yourself and moved on.”
“It’s hardly a matter of ego—”
“No, no.” She rolled her eyes, but made sure she did so out of his range of vision. “Ego always plays a part, and I don’t mean that in an insulting way. I’ve certainly got an ego.”
“Tell me,” he muttered.
“Look, look, follow along here.” She shifted, scooting up so she could sit and face him.
“Can’t we just lie here quietly for a few moments, so I can admire my naked wife?”
“You should like most of this because it involves all sorts of compliments and admiring comments about you.”
“Well then, don’t let me interrupt your train of thought.”
“I really do love you.”
“Yes.” His lips curved. “I know.”
“Sometimes I think it’s because of that Plutonian-sized ego, sometimes despite it. Either way, I’m stuck on you, pal. But this isn’t about that.”
He stroked the back of his fingers along her thigh. “But I’m liking this very much.”
“I might be feeling a little sloppy yet, but—” She slapped his hand away. “I’m back on the clock.”
“Yes, I’m admiring your badge right now.”
The laugh snorted out before she could stop it, but she grabbed her shirt. “What I’m saying is you’re an important man, a successful man. Sometimes you make a splash about it, sometimes you don’t. Depends on the purpose. You don’t need to make a big deal about stuff because you are a big deal. That’s one part.”
“Of what, exactly?”
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