Ceremony In Death

"Hmm." He slipped into the frothy water, facing her. "Oh. I can't be held responsible for actions that took place in a former life." He passed her another glass of wine he'd had the foresight to pour. "Now, can I?"

"I don't know. Isn't the theory something like you repeat things, or learn from them, or don't?" She held the glass aloft and dunked herself down, resurfacing with a sigh. "You figure you were lovers, or what?"

Considering, he trailed a fingertip up and down Eve's leg. "If she looked then the way she looks now, I'd certainly hope so."

She gave him a sour smile. "Yeah, I'd guess you'd go for the big, beautiful, exotic type then and now." With a shrug, she drank more wine, then toyed with the stem. "Most people figure you stepped wide of the mark with me."

"Most people?"

She downed the rest of the wine, set the glass aside. "Sure. I get the drift when we've got to make time with some of those rich and high-toned business associates of yours. Can't blame them for wondering what came over you. I'm not big, beautiful, or exotic."

"No, you're not. Slim, lovely, strong. It's a wonder I looked twice."

She felt ridiculous and flustered. He could do that to her just by the way he looked at her. "I'm not fishing," she muttered.

"And it surprises me that you'd give a damn what any of my associates thought of either one of us."

"I don't." Damn it, she'd stepped right in it. "I was just making an observation. The wine's got my tongue ru

"You a

"Forget it." She dunked again, surfaced like a shot when his hands clamped over her waist. "Hey, what are you doing? Trying to drown me?" She blinked water out of her eyes and saw that his were indeed a

"No, you listen. Or better yet." He crushed his mouth to hers, hot, hungry, hurried. It made the top of her lead lift off and spin. "We'll just move to the third part of our program a little early," he said when he let her suck in a gulp of air. "And I'll show you why I'm precisely on the mark with you, Lieutenant. Precisely. I don't make mistakes."

She scowled at him even as the blood hummed under her skin. "That arrogant routine doesn't work for me. I said it was the wine."

"You won't blame what I can do to you on the wine," he promised. He tilted his hands so that his thumbs traced the vulnerable fold between thigh and crotch. "You won't blame it on the wine when I make you scream."

"I won't scream." But her head fell back as a moan tore through her lips. "I can't breathe when you do that."

"Then don't. Don't breathe." He lifted her up until her breasts were above water, and his hands busy below. He dipped, caught one dripping point between his teeth. "I'm going to take you. You're going to let me."

"I don't want to be taken, unless I take back." But even as her arms came around him, he ripped her to peak, made her body buck and her arms go limp.

"Not this time." He was suddenly ravenous for her, just this way, limp and open and mindless.

"How do you do that?" Her voice was weak and slurred.

He nearly chuckled, though the need was growing painful. Saying nothing, he stood, lifted her. Her eyes fluttered open as he carried her out of the bath.

"I want you in bed," he said. "I want you wet, inside and out. I want to feel your body tremble when I touch you." He laid her down, fastened his mouth on her throat. "And taste you."

She felt drunk, too loose for control, too pliant for shock, as his hands got busy again. She bucked, she reached for him, but he slipped away, sliding down her damp body, hands fast, mouth urgent. She couldn't keep up. Now her body was tight, a white-knuckled fist, ready to strike. She came abruptly, violently, and didn't hear her own scream.

He took what he wanted. Everything. His blood pounded harder and hotter every time he dragged her over the next edge. Their flesh was wet with sweat now as he drove them both ruthlessly.

When the need to be inside of her was unbearable, he pulled her up, parted her legs until they clamped around his waist. And when her arms were around him as well, clinging, her body trembling hard against his, he gripped her hips and filled her in one deep stroke.

His mouth found her breast, felt the wild, ragged beat of her heart beneath the damp flesh. And when she climaxed again, vising around him like silk-coated iron, he held himself back.

"Look at me." He arched her back, watching as her body shuddered, her hips moved. Arousal built fresh as he took himself deeper into her. "Look at me, Eve." He stroked his hands over her, molding each curve again while he continued to thrust, slow, steady. His breath came in pants. His control vibrated on a thin, fraying wire.

She opened her eyes. They were glazed, heavy, but they watched him. "You're the one," he said, and braced himself over her. "You're the only."

His mouth swooped down to hers, found it eager and open as he emptied himself into her.

– =O=-***-=O=-

For once, he slept first. She lay in the dark, listening to him breathe, stealing a little of his warmth as her own body cooled. Since he was asleep, she stroked his hair.

"I love you," she murmured. "I love you so much, I'm stupid about it."

With a sigh, she settled down, closed her eyes, and willed her mind to empty.

Beside her, Roarke smiled into the dark.

He never slept first.

CHAPTER TWELVE

In his midtown office high above the city, Roarke dealt with his last meeting of the morning. As originally scheduled, he should be concluding this business in Rotterdam, but he had arranged to take the meeting holographically so as to remain close to home. Close to Eve.

He sat at the head of his gleaming conference table, aware that his image sat at a similar one an ocean away. His assistant sat on his left, feeding him the necessary hard copy for his approval and signature. His translator sat on his right, as backup, should there be any problem with the computer headset's language program.

The board of ScanAir filled the other seats. Or their images did. It had been a very good year for Roarke Enterprises and its subsidiaries. It had not been a good year nor a good several years for ScanAir. Roarke was doing them the favor of buying them out.

From the stony expressions on several holographic faces, they were not entirely grateful.

The company needed to be right-sized, which meant several of the cushier positions would be adjusted in salary and responsibility. Some would be eliminated altogether. He had already hand-picked several men and women who were willing to relocate to Rotterdam and whip the skyline back into shape.

As the computer-generated translation of the contract droned in his ears, he watched the faces, the body language. Occasionally, he conferred with his translator for subtleties and syntax.

He already knew every phrase, every word of the buyout agreement. He wasn't paying what the board had hoped for. Then again, they had hoped his examination of the company wouldn't turn up some of the more delicate – and well-hidden – financial difficulties.

He couldn't blame them for that. He would have done the same. But his examinations were always thorough and turned up everything.

He signed his name on each copy, added the date, then passed the contracts to his assistant for her to witness and seal. She rose, fed the contacts into a laser fax. Seconds later, the copy was across the ocean and being signed by his counterpart.

"Congratulations on your retirement, Mr. Vanderlay," Roarke said pleasantly when the countersigned and witnessed copies were faxed back to him. "I hope you'll enjoy it."