The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [583]
She lay where she was, stunned as she always was when she found herself in this situation with Ian McNab. “I can’t feel my feet.”
Obligingly he propped himself on his elbow, but as they’d ended up crosswise on the bed, he couldn’t see past her knees. She had, he noted, really cute knees. “I don’t think I bit them off. I’d remember.” But with a grunt, he scooted down, just to be sure. “They’re there, all right, both of them.”
“Good. I’m going to need them later.”
As the shock wore off, she blinked, stared at McNab’s pretty profile, and wondered, not for the first time, when she’d lost her mind.
I’m naked in bed with McNab. Naked. In bed. McNab.
Jesus.
Always self-conscious about body flaws, she tugged at the knotted sheets. “Cold in here,” she muttered.
“Bastard super cut the main furnace back first of March. Like it’s his money. First chance I get, I’m rerouting the system.”
He yawned hugely, dragged both hands through his long and tangled blond hair. His narrow shoulders seemed weighed down by the mass of it. Peabody had to order her fingers not to reach up to play with the long loops of reddish gold. He had skinny hips, with the right one currently decorated with a temp tattoo of a silver lightning bolt. It matched the four earrings winking in his left earlobe.
His skin was milk white, his eyes a cagey green. She still couldn’t figure out why anything about him attracted her on a physical level, much less how she’d ended up having regular and outrageous sex with him when out of bed they spent most of their time annoying each other.
She’d liked to have said he wasn’t her type, but she didn’t think she actually had a type. Her luck with men was usually, distressingly, piss-poor.
“I’d better get going.”
“Why? It’s early.” When she sat up, he leaned over and nipped suggestively at her shoulder. “I’m starving.”
“Christ, McNab, we just finished having sex.”
“That, too, but I was thinking more of pizza, loaded.” He knew her weaknesses. “Let’s fuel up.”
Her taste buds stirred to attention. “I’m dieting.”
“What for?”
She rolled her eyes, yanking the rumpled sheet around her as she climbed out of bed. “Because I’m pudgy.”
“No, you’re not. You’re built.” He caught the edge of the sheet, surprising her with his quickness, and pulled it down to her waist. “Seriously built.”
As she fumbled for the sheet, he sprang up, caught her around the waist with an affectionate squeeze that both disarmed and worried her. “Come on, let’s eat, then see what happens next. I’ve got some wine around here.”
“If it’s anything like the wine you had last time, I’d as soon dip a cup in the sewer.”
“New bottle.” He picked his bright orange jumpsuit off the floor, stepped into it. “You want some pants?”
The fact that he would offer her his pants made her want to pinch all four of his cheeks. “McNab, I couldn’t have squeezed into your pants when I was twelve. I actually have an ass.”
“True. That’s okay; I love a woman in uniform.” He strolled off, struggling not to brood. He always had to talk her into staying.
In the corner of the living area that doubled for his kitchen, he pulled out the bottle of wine he’d bought the day before when he’d been thinking of her. He thought about her just often enough to be demoralized. If he could keep her in bed, they’d be fine. He didn’t have to think about his moves there, they just happened.
He flipped on his ’link. The pizza joint was keyed in on memory, in the primo position due to frequency of transmissions. He ordered a mongo pie, loaded, then dug out a corkscrew.
The damn wine had cost him twice what he usually spent. But when a guy was competing with a slick, experienced LC, he needed to hold his own. He didn’t doubt Charles Monroe knew all about fine wines. He and Peabody probably took baths in champagne.
Since the image infuriated him, he glugged down half a glass of wine. Then he turned as Peabody came out of the bedroom. She was wearing her uniform pants with her shirt open at the throat. He wanted to lick her there, just there where the stiff cotton