The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [352]
His vision blurred, and through the haze she was white and gold, slim and strong. His body bucked beneath hers, lashed to fury by pleasure. And striking, the dark blade of that pleasure carved him hollow.
He didn’t move, wasn’t sure he was capable. Reason, reality crept in slowly so he realized they lay tangled together on the sofa, a sweaty, sticky mess of still-quivering limbs and gasping breaths.
Christ Jesus, was there a luckier man in the universe?
Her skin was still hot, almost feverish. Her head lay like a stone on his chest. He considered, seriously, simply closing his eyes and sleeping just as they were for the next day or two.
Then she moaned, and she sighed. He searched for, and found, the connection between his brain and his arm so he could lift it and stroke her back.
And she purred.
“Bet you didn’t see that coming,” she murmured.
“I didn’t, no. If I’d realized rapping your head would turn you into an insatiable sexual maniac who’d use me so brutally, I’d have cold-cocked you long before this.”
She snickered against the side of his neck, then sighed again. “It wasn’t the head rap, it was the spaghetti. Or the spaghetti was the last in the line.”
“We’ll be eating it for the rest of our lives. Every bloody meal.” She shifted a little, snuggled a little. “It just, it all just made me go all gooey—and I was going to be all gooey and romantic and seduce you.” She lifted her head, smiled down at him. “Then I got really hungry.”
“I’m happy to be on the menu, anytime.”
“I screwed your brains out.”
“And then some.”
“And now we’re really disgusting.”
“No question about it.”
“I guess we should grab a shower before we eat cold spaghetti.”
“We can heat it up.”
“I like it cold.”
“Only you,” he muttered. “All right then, a shower. But you’ll keep your hands to yourself, you pervert. You’ve used me up.”
She gave a snorting laugh. “Boy, when the tables turn, they really turn. Come on, pal, I’ll give you a hand.”
They ate cold spaghetti, and since she’d proven herself quite healthy enough, Roarke poured her a glass of wine to go with it.
“Tell me about Alex Ricker, the search and so on. I’m interested.”
“I think he’s got as many clothes and shoes as you.”
“Well now, that’s not right. I’ll have to make a note to add to my wardrobe straightaway.”
“The thing is . . .” She wagged her fork at him, “I know you’re not joking.”
“Why would I?”
“Anyway.” She twirled pasta. “He was expecting us, and prepared. Trio of lawyers on-site to make sure we were good little cops. Full cooperation and all that. Place is perfect and pretty much what you’d expect. But there were off notes. Especially the guest room that had so obviously never been used, with a couple of pieces of furniture in it that looked like they’d just been plucked from the showroom floor. Not a crime to buy new furniture or have an unused room, and palm plate and voice security.”
“Ah, his private office. He probably had the unregistered equipment in it removed before we spoke to him this morning.”
“That’d be my take. Feeney’s on board with that, too. I’ve got the building’s security discs, but even if we see him personally carrying out boxes, or hauling in a dresser, he’s clear. Fully within his rights. I’ve got nothing on him but suspicion, and knowing he’s wrong.” She scowled, loaded her fork again. “He’s just wrong.”
“Wrong enough to have killed her, or had her killed?”
“I don’t know. Yet. PA Sandy covers his big fat lie of this morning by saying he assumed Alex was home all evening. Bullshit.”
“I tend to agree, but because?”
“Because they live in the same space, because they know each other and have since college. Because that little prick knows exactly what goes on when, where, and how.”
“Why lie when Alex was going to tell he’d gone out?”
“Good question. Could be he’d advised Alex to say he’d been home, told him he’d corroborate, then Alex changed his mind. Anyway, we’re checking on the alibi, but haven’t hit either way there. He’s smart,” Eve muttered. “Alex is smart and fairly cool-headed. So why would he pull something