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355 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published March 1, 2001
“She turned toward Roarke's office, then stopped in the doorway. He was at his console; captain of his ship. He'd drawn his hair back so it lay on his neck in a short, gleaming black tail. His eyes were cool, cool blue. The colour they were when his mind was fully occupied. He'd taken off his dinner jacket, his shirt was loose at the collar, the sleeves rolled up. There was something... just something about that look that always and forever grabbed her in the gut. She could look at him for hours, and at the end of it, still marvel that he belonged to her.
"Someone wants to hurt you," she thought. "I'm not going to let them.”
“Worrying about me won't help you get your job done."
"Who says I'm worried?"
He stayed where he was; simply held out his hand.
She crossed to him, took it, gripped hard. "When I met you," she said carefully, "I didn't want you in my life. You were one big complication. Every time I looked at you, or heard your voice, or so much as thought about you, the complication got bigger."
"And now?"
"Now? You are my life." She gave his hand one last squeeze, then released. "Okay, enough mushy stuff. Olympus.”
She fisted her hands in his hair, curved her body to his, sliding flesh to flesh. “Put your hands on me,” she demanded, then crushed her mouth to his. His control snapped. In one violent move she was under him, pinned. He fed on her, filling himself, swallowing each ragged breath. He put his hands on her, taking greedily, recklessly driving her to that first frantic peak. And when she cried out, he took more. His mouth closed over her breast, teeth nipping tiny, delicious pains into sensitive flesh. The thrill of it drummed through her so that she arched up, urging him on, digging her nails into his back. She twisted under him, her hands searching, her mouth seeking. Their needs matched, desperation for desperation. And their limbs tangled as they fought with clothes. Sweat-sleeked flesh
Even as she shuddered, he shoved her knees up and went deeper inside her. His vision blurred, but through the red haze of lust he could see her eyes. Deep, dark, glazed like glass to throw his own reflection back at him. “I’m inside you.” He panted it out as he pushed them both to madness. “Everything I am. Body, heart, mind.”
“I’m okay. I’m all right.” But she wasn’t, not yet. “Hold onto me anyway. I need it.” She wrapped her still unsteady arms around him, let her face burrow into his shoulder. “I smelled you. Then I heard you. But I couldn’t find you.” “I’m right here.” It ripped at him; he couldn’t begin to tell her what it did inside him every time she went back to the horrors of her childhood in dreams. “Right here,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “It was a bad one.”
He was so ridiculously beautiful, she doubted she’d ever fully comprehend how he could be hers. He’d wanted her. Out of all the women in the world, he’d wanted her. Wanted, hell, she thought, grinning now. Pursued, demanded. Taken. And while she could admit all of that was exciting, he’d gone one step further. He cherished.
She crossed to him, took it, gripped hard. “When I met you,” she said carefully, “I didn’t want you in my life. You were one big complication. Every time I looked at you, or heard your voice, or so much as thought about you, the complication got bigger.” “And now?” “Now? You are my life.” She gave his hand one last squeeze, then released. “Okay, enough mushy stuff.
He walked with her, moved through the door just behind her, then yanked her back to indulge in a deeper, longer kiss. “I’m on duty.” She murmured it against his mouth as her brain went to fizzle. “I know. Just a minute.” One day, he thought, he might actually get used to the way the love for her, the need for her, could leap up and grab him by the throat. But in the meantime, he’d just enjoy the ride. “Okay.” He drew back, ran his hands from her shoulders to her wrists. “That should hold me.”
“Mmm, She-Body, you are so female. What’s a guy supposed to do?” His teeth were nibbling their way down . . . over . . . Oh yeah. “I think you’re doing it.” She flipped open the hook of his trousers. After all, if she couldn’t spare a few minutes for a fellow officer, what kind of cop was she? He was hard as rock. “How do you guys walk around with this thing kicking between your thighs?” “Practice.” The smell of her, the feel of her was driving him crazy. When her firm, capable hand wrapped around him, he decided he was the happiest madman on or off planet. “Jesus, Peabody.” His mouth found hers, all but gulped her down. “I need—” Her pocket-link rang, shrill and insistent. “Don’t answer it.” He tugged at her trousers, in a rage to get inside her. “Don’t.”