"I said…" He paused, then, recognizing the glint in her eyes, arched a brow. "Christ Jesus, Eve, what are you, a rabbit?"
"I don't know what you mean." She shifted back and stared hard at her monitor.
"You certainly do, and I'm more than happy to accommodate you…after you explain why you're running probabilities on Summerset. I thought you agreed he was innocent."
"I'm doing my job, and before you start," she continued, holding up a hand, "I'll explain. I've run the probability from my file A, which contains all the data, all the evidence that I'm free to pass on through official channels at this time. This analysis indicates that I'll be carting Summerset off to maximum lockup in restraints. It's not a lock at under ninety percent, but nobody would argue with the arrest."
She rolled her shoulders again, blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Now we'll run the scan using file B, which is everything I know, everything I have. Computer—"
"I thought its name was Bruno."
"Just a joke," Eve muttered. "Computer, run probability scan, suspect Summerset, using file B."
Working…With additional data probability index drops to forty-seven point three eight percent. Warrant is not advised with available data.
"Cuts the probability by more than half. And I'd say with Mira's testing results logged in after tomorrow, it'll drop more. File A will drop some, too, maybe just enough to keep his ass from swinging."
"I should have known." Roarke moved behind her, leaned down to press his lips to the top of her head.
"He's not clear yet. The God guy's counting on me not being willing to trade you off for Summerset—and he's got that right."
"But he's underestimated you."
"Goddamn right. And he's overplayed, Roarke, I can use that with Whitney, too. A man smart enough to pull off these murders isn't stupid enough to leave such an obvious trail. It stinks from setup. And he's going to want to play again. Riddles. Games," she mused, leaning back in her chair. "He likes to fall back on God, but he likes his games. Games are for children."
"Tell that to the linebacker for Big Apple Arena Ball and see where it gets you."
She only shrugged. "So, men are children."
He barely sighed. "Thank you so much."
"Men are more into toys, games, gizmos as status symbols. You've got a house full of them."
A bit nonplussed by her opinion, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't just mean the toy toys like video and holo rooms." Her forehead was furrowed now, the line between her brows deepening. "Cars, planes, entertainment centers, spar droids, VR equipment, hell, your businesses are toys."
Now Roarke rocked back on his heels. "Darling Eve, if you want to tell me I'm shallow, don't be concerned with bruising my feelings."
"You're not shallow," she said with an absent, back of the hand gesture. "You just overindulge."
He opened his mouth, struggling to be insulted, and ended up laughing. "Eve, I adore you." He slid his hands down over her breasts, his mouth to her neck. "Let's go overindulge each other."
"Cut it out. I want to—" His fingers grazed over her nipples and caused her thigh muscles to thrum. "I really have to—Jesus, you're good at that." Her head fell back just enough to make her mouth vulnerable to his.
Before it had been soft and easy, a kind of healing both of them had needed. This was fire, hot and fast and all for greed. She reached up, circling her arms around his neck, and left herself open for him.
He made quick work of her robe, parting it so that his hands could roam flesh already damp, so he could race down and find her, already wet. She came with delightful ease, shuddering as she felt the climax roll through her and flood his hand.
Then she was struggling free, turning in the chair and rising on her knees to clutch at him. "Now, now, now." She gasped it out, punctuating each demand with nips and bites as she jerked at the jeans riding his hips.
He slid into the chair, gripping her hips as she straddled him. And he watched her throat, the lovely arch of it, the tiny pulse pushing in fast rhythm against the flesh as her head dipped back. She gripped the back of the chair, dizzy when he sucked her breast hard into his mouth, as the chair rocked, as she rocked, tormenting them both with the friction.
The pace was hers, and he let her ride, let himself be taken. His fingers dug into her hips while she drove him, while the breath strangled in his throat. And when it seemed his blood would burst from his veins like flames, he emptied himself into her.
Her hands slid limply down his damp shoulders. Her heart was still pumping viciously as she raced quick, delirious kisses over his neck and throat.
"Sometimes I just want to gobble you whole, eat you alive. You're so gorgeous. You're so beautiful."