• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

But he didn’t ooze like evil fog out of the walls or woodwork. He always oozed like evil fog out of the walls or woodwork. She had a moment to be puzzled, then irritated, then mildly concerned he’d dropped dead during the day.

Then her heart picked up a beat, something shivered along her skin. She looked up, and saw Roarke at the top of the stairs.

He couldn’t have become more beautiful than he’d been a week before, but it seemed to her, in that shimmering light, that he had.

His face—the strength, power, and yes, the beauty of a fallen angel with no regrets—was framed by the thick black of his hair. His mouth—full, carved, irresistible—smiled as he came toward her. And those eyes—impossibly, brilliantly blue—dazzled her where she stood.

He made her weak in the knees. Foolish, foolish, she thought. He was her husband, and she knew him as she knew no other. Yet her knees were weak, and her heart was tumbling in her chest. She only had to look at him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.

He stopped at the base of the stairs, lifted a brow. “Did we move while I was out of town?”

She shook her head, dropped her bag. And jumped into his arms.

The taste of him—that was home, that was true welcome. The feel of his body—lean muscle, smooth flesh—that was both thrill and comfort.

She sniffed at him like a puppy, scented him, caught the whiff of soap. He’d just showered, she thought, while her mouth met his again. Changed out of business clothes and into jeans and a pullover.

It meant they were going nowhere, expecting no one. It meant it was the two of them.

“I missed you.” She caught his face in her hands. “I really, really missed you.”

“Darling Eve.” Ireland drifted through his voice, as he took her wrist, turned his face so his lips pressed to her palm. “I’m sorry it all took longer than I’d hoped.”

She shook her head. “You’re back now, and a hell of a better welcoming committee than the one I was expecting. Where is the walking dead?”

He tapped a finger on the shallow dent in her chin. “If you mean Summerset, I encouraged him to go out for the evening.”

“Oh, so you didn’t kill him.”

“No.”

“Can I kill him when he comes back?”

“It’s comforting to see nothing’s changed in my absence.” He glanced down to look at the enormous cat that wound between his legs, then Eve’s. “Apparently Galahad missed me as well, and he’s already hit me up for some salmon.”

“Well, if the cat’s fed and the butler from hell’s away, let’s go upstairs and flip a coin.”

“Actually, I had another activity in mind.” When she bent to pick up the bag, he took it from her, winced at the weight. “Work?”

Once, it had always been work. Only been work. But now . . . “It can wait a bit.”

“I’m hoping this takes longer than a bit. I’ve been saving up.” He slid his free arm around her waist so they walked upstairs hip-to-hip. “What’s the coin toss for?”

“Heads I jump you, tails you jump me.”

He laughed, leaned down to nip her ear. “Screw the coin. Let’s jump each other.”

He dumped her bag at the top of the steps, spun her back to the wall. Even as his lips crushed down on hers, she was boosting herself up to clamp her legs around his waist.

Her hands fisted in his hair, and everything inside her went hot and needy.

“Bed’s too far, too many clothes.” She dragged her mouth from his to bite his neck. “You smell so good.”

He found and hit the release for her harness, just a flick of fast hands. “I’m about to disarm you, Lieutenant.”

“I’m about to let you.”

He turned, nearly stumbled over the cat. When he cursed, Eve laughed so hard her ribs ached.

“Wouldn’t be so bloody funny if I’d dropped you on your ass.”

Laughter still dancing in her eyes, she linked her arms around his neck as he navigated toward the bedroom. “I love you, a week’s worth more since the last time I touched you.”

“Now you’ve done it. How can I drop you on your ass after that?”

Instead he carried her up the steps of the platform where the wide bed stood, then laid her on sheets