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His tongue traced her lips and blurred the edges of her mind. “If you’re getting ideas about starting anything out here . . .”

“What?”

“Good,” she said and arched up to find his mouth with hers.

Hot and hungry from the first. With a little sound of greed, she took more. It burst through her, that wild, climbing need she’d only felt with him, for him. Trapped in the swirl of white, she gave herself to it.

“Inside.” He was lost in her. No one else had taken him as deep as she could. “We need to go inside.”

“Put your hands on me.” Her voice was rough, her breath already ragged. “I want your hands on me.”

He was tempted to rip away at the tough, thin suit, to find the flesh beneath. To sink his teeth into it. He yanked her up until they were sitting in the depression of snow, tangled and breathless.

They stared at each other a moment, both stunned at how quickly the mood had changed from playful to desperate. Then her lips curved. “Roarke?”

“Eve?”

“I think we should go in and give these snow people some privacy.”

“Good idea.”

“Just one thing.” She moved into him, slid her arms around him, brought her mouth teasingly close. Then, snake-quick, tugged the collar of his suit out and dumped snow under it.

He was still hissing when she scrambled to her feet.

“Cheat.”

“You can make me pay for it when I’ve got you naked.”

As cold shivered down his back, he pushed himself up. “I’d be delighted.”

They started in the pool, in the fluid curve where with a mere touch of the controls, the water churned and went steamy. There in the pulsing heat, he put his hands on her however he liked, driving them both from edge to edge, yanking them back, time after time just short of full release.

She was dizzy, weak, her body teetering on the brink, when he dragged her to her feet. Water cascaded from them and steamed up in clouds.

“In bed,” was all he said, and he swept her up to carry her from the pool to the elevator.

“Hurry.” She pressed her face against his neck, nipped her teeth into it.

Her heart was raging. She wondered that it didn’t simply burst out of the cage of her ribs and fall into his hands. He already owned it. And her.

Delirious, battered with so much more than the easy lust they could spark off each other with a look, she curled into him. “I love you, Roarke.”

It shot into him. Those words from her were precious and rare. They could weaken his knees, make his heart ache. He strode off the elevator, climbed up to where their bed stood centered under a sky window curtained white with snow. And fell onto the bed with her.

“Tell me again.” His mouth fastened to hers, devoured, swallowed her moan. “Tell me again, while I’m touching you.”

His hands streaked over her, down her, causing her flesh to tremble. She arched under him, wanting him to cover her where the heat throbbed, to pierce her there. To fill her there.

She was slick and hot where his fingers slid, and she cried out when he shoved her blissfully over the edge. But the trembling wouldn’t stop, the need wouldn’t fade. It built again, layer over layer, while the taste of him pulsed through her system like a drug.

“Tell me again.” He drove himself into her in one violent stroke. “Damn it, tell me again. Now.”

She fisted her hands in his hair, needing to anchor herself, fighting to hold on, just to hold on for one moment more. And looked into those wild blue eyes. “I love you. Always. Only. You.”

Then she wrapped herself around him, and gave him the rest of her.

A weekend with Roarke, Eve thought, could smooth out the rough edges of broken glass.

The man was amazingly . . . inventive.

She’d intended to work on Sunday, but before she could roll out of bed, she was being plucked out and carried off to the holo room. The next thing she knew, she was buck naked on a simulation of Crete. It was a little difficult to complain about warm blue water, dusky hills, and baking sun, and when he implemented multifunctions and conjured up a lush, eye-popping picnic, she gave up and enjoyed herself.