"I take it it wasn't."
"No, it wasn't. It was, ah, a fantasy run. You know, a sexual fantasy."
Intrigued now, he folded his legs under him, cocked his head. His mouth remained sober, his Irish blue eyes bland. "Was it really?" He took a casual sip of wine before setting the glass aside. "And consisted of?"
"Well, there were these guys."
"Plural?"
"Just two." She could feel the heat rising up to her throat and detested it. "It was an official investigation."
"Were you naked?"
"Jesus, Roarke."
"I believe it's a perfectly reasonable question."
"Maybe for a minute, okay? It was the program, and I had to test the program, and it wasn't my fault these guys were all over me – and I aborted it before, well almost before…"
She stumbled to a guilty halt and saw with shock that he was grinning at her. "You think it's funny?" Bunching her fist, she punched him in the shoulder. "I've been feeling like slime all day, and you think it's funny."
"Before what?" he asked, nipping the glass out of her hand before she could upend it over his head. He set it down beside his own. "You aborted the program almost before what, precisely?"
Her eyes went to slits. "They were great. I'm getting a copy of the program for my personal use. I won't need you anymore, because I've got a couple of love slaves."
"Wanna bet?" He pushed her back on the bed, wrestled with her, and managed to get her shirt over her head.
"Cut it out. I don't want you. My love slaves keep me satisfied." She flipped him, nearly had him pinned when his mouth closed over her breast, and his hand slid neatly down to cup her over the thin wool snug at her crotch.
Heat speared through her like lightning.
"Damn it." She gasped out a breath. "I'm just pretending to enjoy this."
"Okay."
He tugged the slacks over her hips, then skimmed his fingertips over her. She was already wet, luring him in. His teeth closed over her nipple, tugged, just as he nudged her to peak.
It wasn't a gentle pop this time. The orgasm came in one hard, fast wave that swamped her, drowned her, then tossed her helplessly over the next crest.
She moaned out his name. It was always his name. But when she reached for him, he cuffed her wrists, drew her arms over her head. "No." His own breathing was uneven and thick as he stared down at her. "Just take it. Take me."
He slipped inside her slowly, inch by inch, watching her eyes go blind and dark as he moved. Clamping down on the urge to ravish, to answer the sudden wild pistoning of her hips, he let her drive herself over the next edge.
And when she was limp and her breathing in tatters, he shifted to long, steady strokes. "Take more," he murmured, swallowing her groans, holding her captive, hands, mouth, loins. "And more."
Her system was overloaded, scrambled like her pulse. Her body was under siege, her sex so sensitized the wild pleasure was akin to pain. And still he moved slowly, lazily. "I can't," she managed, and her head whipsawed even as her hips arched for more. "It's too much."
"Let go, Eve." He was holding onto control by his fingernails. "Once more."
He didn't let himself fall until she did.
Her head was still spinning when she managed to push herself up on her elbows. Amazingly, they were both still half dressed and on top of the spread. From the corner of the bed, Galahad sat watching her with feline disgust. Or maybe it was envy.
Roarke had rolled over on his back and had what could only be interpreted as a smug smile on his lips.
"I guess that flexed your testosterone."
His smile spread wider. She jabbed a finger into his ribs.
"If that was to punish me, you missed the target."
Now he opened his eyes and they were filled with warm amusement. "Darling Eve, did you really think I'd consider your little adventure some sort of virtual adultery?"
She pouted a little. However ridiculous it was, she was miffed that he wasn't at all jealous. "Maybe."
With a long sigh, he sat up, set his hands on her shoulders. "You can indulge in fantasy professionally or personally. I'm not your keeper."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Not in the least." He gave her a friendly kiss, then caught her chin firmly in his hand. "Try it in the flesh, even once, and I'll have to kill you."
Her pupils widened, and foolishly her heart gave a pleased little leap. "Oh, well, that's fair."
"That's fact," he said simply. "Now that we have that straightened out, you should get some sleep."
"I'm not tired anymore." She tugged her slacks back over her hips and made him sigh again.
"I suppose that means you want to work."
"If I could use your system, just for a couple of hours, I could get a jump on my legwork tomorrow."
Resigned, he pulled on his own slacks. "Let's go then."
"Thanks." She tucked her hand in his companionably as they walked toward the private elevator. "Roarke, you wouldn't really kill me, would you?"
"Oh yes, I would." Smiling easily, he nudged her into the car. "But, given our relationship, I would trouble to do so quickly, and with as little pain as possible."
She shot him a glance. "Then I'll have to say same goes."
"Naturally. East wing, third level," he ordered, and gave her hand a companionable squeeze. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For the next few days, Eve beat her head against the wall of every dead end. When she needed a change of pace to clear her mind, she beat Peabody's head against the wall. She hounded Feeney to eke out whatever free time he could to find her something. Anything.
She gritted her teeth when other cases landed on her desk, and she worked overtime.
When the lab boys dragged their feet, she hopped on their backs and rode them mercilessly. It got to the point that the lab began to dodge her communications. To combat that, she hauled Peabody down to the lab for a little face-to-face persuasion.
"Don't try to sell me that SOS about backup, Dickie."
Dickie Berenski, privately known as Dickhead, looked pained. As chief lab tech, he should have been able to delegate a half dozen drones to ward off a personal confrontation with an irate detective, but every one of them had deserted him.
Heads would roll, he thought, and sighed. "What do you mean SOS?"
"Same old shit, Dickie. It's always SOS with you."
He scowled but decided to make the acronym his own. "Listen, Dallas, I got you the breakdown on all the over the counters, didn't I? Flagged them personally as a favor."
"Favor, my ass, I bribed you with box seats for the Arena Ball play-offs."
His face went prim. "I assumed that was a gift."
"And I'm not bribing you again." She jabbed a finger into his puny chest. "What's the deal with the VR goggles? Why haven't I got your report?"
"Because I haven't found anything to report. It's a hot program, Dallas – " His eyebrows did a little suggestive dance. "But it was clean. No defects. So are all the other options on that unit – clean and up to code. Better than," he added, his voice whining faintly. "We should have so good. I had Sheila take the whole unit apart and put it back together. Damn fine equipment, top of the line – higher than top. The technology's off the scale. But that's to be expected. It's a Roarke product."
"It's a – " She broke off, struggling not to show her surprise or distress at this new tidbit of information. "Which plant manufactures it?"
"Hell, Sheila's got that data. Off planet, I'm pretty sure. Cheaper labor. And that baby was right off the ship. Hasn't been on the open market more than a month."
Her stomach had clutched and tightened further. "But it's not defective?"