Suspected she saw his lips twitch in what might have been a restrained smile.
“I see you’re broadening your linguistics.”
“That wasn’t Russian,” Roarke said as they headed up the stairs.
“I think it’s Hungarian. It just came to me—and I figure he knows I just told him to fuck off.”
“Rude, yet fascinating.” He went with her to her office. “You, up.” He pointed at the cat currently sprawled in Eve’s sleep chair. “You, down,” he ordered. “Give me your list, and I’ll get those runs going.” He brushed a hand over her hair, struggling against worry. “How about pizza?”
“I could eat a whole pie.” She dropped into the chair. “Thank God my appetite’s not running to that borscht, because I’d really rather have a brain tumor than beet soup.” She dragged her notebook out of her pocket. “Most of the names are in here. I have to get more. Peabody and McNab were hitting the theaters where she worked or would have, and I need neighbors. But that’s a big start.”
“Food first.” He walked into the kitchen.
Galahad didn’t leap into her lap but sat eyeing her.
“I’m still me,” she murmured. “I’m not her. I’m still me.” When he bumped his head against her leg, her eyes stung. “I’m still me,” she repeated.
Roarke came back with a plate on a tray. “I ordered up a whole one, but you start with that. And drink the soother. Don’t argue,” he warned. “I doubt you’ve looked in the mirror in the last few hours, but when I came in to the morgue, you looked like you belonged there. You’ll eat, drink a soother, then we’ll see.”
With that, he turned to her desk, sat, and began inputting names into her computer. Eve ate like a horse.
“God, that’s better. No shakes.” She held out a hand, a steady one. “No queasiness, no jumps.” Still she looked down at the cat. “He won’t sit in my lap, even for pizza. He’s not sure of me. I guess he senses something’s off. That I’m off. How long do you think—” She couldn’t say it.
“It’s going to be fine.” He rose to go to her. “We’ll do whatever needs to be done, then we’ll do whatever comes after that. You’ll be fine.”
“I have to live with the dead, Roarke, I don’t want to chat with them. I see the advantage for a murder cop. Hey, sorry about the bad luck, but who killed you? Oh yeah, we’ll go pick him up. Move on. I don’t want to work that way. I don’t want to live that way. I don’t think I can.”
“You won’t have to.” He took the tray, set it aside. “I swear to you, we’ll find whatever needs finding.”
She believed him. Maybe she had to, but she believed him.
“In the meantime . . . ” She took his hand. “Can you be with me? I need to be me. I need you to touch me—me—and feel what I do when you’re with me. Know that you feel me.”
“There’s no one but you.” He slid onto the chair beside her. “Never anyone but you.”
“Don’t b
e gentle.” She dragged his mouth to hers. “Want me.”
She needed those seeking hands, that mouth hungry for hers. Needed to feel and taste and ache, needed to know that it was her mind, her body, her heart meshed with his.
Love, the dark and the light of it, was strength, and she took it from him.
He tugged her jacket down her shoulders, hit the release on her weapon harness as his mouth captured and conquered hers. And those hands, those wonderful hands lit fresh fires, a new fever that raged clean and bright in her blood. Her fingers fumbled for the chair controls so they tumbled back when it slid flat.
It wasn’t comfort she wanted, he knew, but lust—the greed and speed. Perhaps he needed the same. So he pinned her arms over her head, used his free one to torment until she bucked beneath him, crying out as she came.
And there was more. Dewy flesh quivering under his hands, frantic pulses jumping at the nip of his teeth. The lust she wanted beat inside him as wildly as her heart.
His woman. Only his. Her flesh, her lips, her body. Strong again.
“Now. Yes. Now!” Her nails dug into his hips as she arched against him, opened to him.
Hot and wet, she closed around him, crying out again as he thrust hard and deep, as she bowed to take him. Holding there, holding for one heady moment as he looked in her eyes. As he saw only Eve.
Then the whirlwind, wicked and wild, spinning them both too high for air, too fast for fear.
And when the world settled back, all the colors and shapes and light, then came the comfort. She lay locked in his arms, breathing him in. Her body—her body—felt used and raw and wonderful.