"I don't wanna be babied." Her head spun once, one long, lilting circle that forced her to let it drop on his shoulder. "What the hell was in that drink?"
"All manner of things. Just relax."
"You know I hate tranqs."
"I know." He turned his head, brushed his lips over her hair. "You can give me grief about it tomorrow."
"Will. I let you push me round, you'll get used to it. I'm gonna lie down for a minute."
"That's right." He felt her head loll back, and the arm around his neck slid off and dangled as he stepped out into the pool house.
Mavis raced out from under the fanning fronds of a palm. "Jesus, Roarke, is she hurt?"
"I tranqued her." He moved through the lush flowering plants, skirted the side of the shimmering waters of the pool, and laid his wife on the long, padded table Trina had already set up.
"Man, she'll be pissed royal when she comes out of it."
"I imagine so." Gently, he brushed the untidy hair back from Eve's forehead. "Not so tough now, are you, Lieutenant?" He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Don't worry about the styling, Trina. She needs relaxation therapy."
"Can do." Trina, decked out in a flesh-colored skinsuit with a shimmering purple duster, rubbed her hands together. "But since she's out anyway, why don't I give her the works? She's always bitching about treatments. This way she'll be nice and quiet."
Roarke lifted a brow at the gleam in the woman's eye, and laid a protective hand on Eve's shoulder. "Keep it simple." Then remembering who he was dealing with, he cleared his throat. He didn't mind facing his wife's wrath, but not over his passive agreement to having her hair dyed pink. "Why don't I order us down some dinner? I'll just stick around."
* * *
She heard voices, laughter. All so distant and disconnected. In part of her mind Eve knew she was fogged out by the drug. Roarke would pay for that.
She wished he would hold her again, just hold her in that way that made everything inside her stretch and yearn.
Someone was rubbing her back, her shoulders. The moan of pleasure was trapped in her mind, but it was low and it was long.
She smelled him, just a whiff in passing of the scent that was Roarke.
Then there was water, warm, bubbling, swirling around her. She was floating in it, weightless, mindless as a fetus in the womb. She drifted there, endlessly, feeling nothing but peace.
A flash of heat on her shoulder. A shock. Someone was whimpering inside her head. Then cool, cool liquid over the heat, soothing as a kiss.
And under she went again, sliding down and down until she rocked on the soft bottom and curled there, sleeping deep.
* * *
When she surfaced, it was dark. Disoriented, she lay very still, counting her own breaths. She was warm and naked, stretched flat on her stomach under the billowing cloud of the duvet.
Home in bed, she realized, as the last hours of her life slipped in and out of focus. Trying to bring it clear, she rolled over, and her legs tangled with Roarke's.
"Awake?"
His voice sounded alert
-- a little skill of his that was a mild irritation to her. "What -- "
"It's nearly morning."
She was indeed warm, and naked, her skin soft as dewed petals thanks to Trina, and she smelled like the cool juice of hothouse peaches.
"How do you feel?"
She wasn't entirely sure. Everything in her was so loose and smooth. "I'm fine," she said automatically.