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Chapter Eleven
Posted by
jlk
,
15 September 2012
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Roarke leaned back in the lounge chair and watched his naked wife swimming laps. She’d invited him to join her, and he would after she’d wound down from her day. There had been a buzzing excitement, an energy about her when she danced in the door after seven that pleased him. Typically his Eve was more tired after a long day of chasing murderers. And it was his job to nurture her, see she ate, had a good glass of wine, and relaxed before she continued her pursuit of justice. A good workout usually helped her relieve stress.
Roarke sipped meditatively at his brandy as she slipped through the blue waters. She was going from edge to edge underwater now. When had she added that to her routine, he wondered. It made him wonder if he was becoming … neglectful in his attention of his wife. He’d never had trouble keeping a woman’s interest. It had been more of a problem to shake them off, typically. Oh, he’d learned as the years flowed by how to choose the ones who were less likely to cling. But the fact remained that before Eve, no one he had wanted had said no. Then she’d plowed into his life, looking at him like he was an insect to be dissected, before she moved on to the next bug on her list. And she may have been attracted to him, but she hadn’t wanted him. He’d had to work his ass off to get her, Roarke thought grimly. Then once he’d gotten her, he’d had it worse trying to keep her. Then the hell of getting her to commit to him. He’d done nothing but work at keeping her focused on him as much as possible in the past three years.
She was a sexual creature; he’d had the pleasure of teaching her that. And keeping up with her, satisfying her, was the kind of work men only dreamed about. But those men did seem to pile up. Not that she noticed. Her focus was on her life’s work, often blinding her to reality flowing around her. But it would be easy to replace him. Someone who was as persistent, as determined, as god damn obsessed as he was could lure her away. It was a possibility. Roarke could seduce her, therefore someone else could. Not that she would willingly go with another man. But this professor was a good example. A few short weeks and Eve was leaning in to him, looking up at him, letting him touch her. He’d used the same process himself. Gotten her accustomed to his presence, his touch, until she came to him freely or at least slowed down enough for him to catch her. It had taken him the first year with her to learn when to ease back, to loosen the reins and let her have some room to run. If he hadn’t, Roarke had no doubt she would have left him by now. She couldn’t be caged.
She was pushing herself now, doing two lengths of the pool underwater with only one breath. And that bothered him, too. She spent most of her days away from him. She came into contact with more people than he knew. And he had learned to be accepting that she had a life he could not share unless he was right beside her. And he couldn’t be. They were two separate people. They each had their own lives, both did important work. But there were unacceptable gaps. Dangerous spaces he should be more alert to. If Peabody hadn’t let him know, via McNab, how long would she have been influenced by this man before he, Roarke, became aware of it? Could move to stop it. With a building determination, Roarke put his glass down, stood and stripped off his clothes, plunged into the pool to bring her to him. He caught her to him and took her mouth. She belonged to him. This mouth was for him only. No other man could taste it; no other man would feel her mouth on him.
She whimpered and wrapped her arms around him. It filled him, her need. He could do that to her. And only he would. These helpless sounds she made as he drove her over the first edge of passion, once, twice, would only be heard by him. And he needed to guard that. Ensure it. Having taken her fast and rough into her first flight, Roarke changed the tone. Butterfly kisses over her face as he drew her out of the pool, wrapping a robe around her before carrying her from the pool room. He had no patience with the seduction of the water tonight. He wanted a hard bed where he could touch her as he wanted, where the unyielding bed would hold her to his will, his needs. He stroked her with only his fingertips, the delicacy of her skin, the softness of it seducing him. His lips followed, tasting her, steeping himself in what belonged to him. She would only know his touch. He held her at her crest, not letting her fall over until the wet heat of her soaked him. Then she broke again and he surged up to take those moans into his mouth, glorying in his conquest of her. Before she could go down again he brought her under him, piercing that slender body so she had no chance to deny him. He surged upward, placing his teeth on her shoulder as a stallion with the bit between his teeth. She wouldn’t be able to stop him, there was no false sense of power, no way to control him, keep her from being taken where only he would lead her. Her pleas were music to his ears, his soul. That she would beg for more of him, arch her body beneath his to encourage his thrusts. He felt the smooth soles of her feet on the back of his thighs and he pressed her knees down to the bed, keeping her open for him. Only him. She sobbed his name and Roarke howled his release, driving himself to madness as his back arched and the pleasure claimed him.
He didn’t know when he came to his senses, only knowing that he was too heavy on her, that his weight crushed her. He rolled, taking her with him so she sprawled over him, limp, trembling, weeping. It was her tears that stunned him. “Eve!” Christ, had he hurt her? But she clung to him and whispered his name, repeating a litany that finally he could comprehend as his chest heaved and his heart hammered. “Only you. Only you, Roarke. Only you could love me so well. Only you could do this to me. I love you. Don’t let me go.” The mantra drained him of the pain, the fear of losing his mate, and he rolled again, collapsing half on her so that he knew she couldn’t escape him. She couldn’t leave him while he rested, while he slept.
When he woke she moved over him, like a whisper of smoke, touching and tasting with an indescribable gentleness that brought him solace even as she moved over him and gave him pleasure. He had no idea if she joined him in release, only that he needed this if he was to survive with any sanity left. “I never thought I would be loved. That I could be loved,” he tried to explain. “I was only good for that boot on my neck. I can’t go on another day if you aren’t there, a ghra. I couldn’t walk down that road without your promise.”
“You have it, Roarke.” She kissed his brow. “You have my promise. I will love you, only you, all the days that remain to me. You’ve come through the fire, Roarke. Let me heal you.” And she held him until he slept once more.
When she woke, Eve knew she was alone in their bed. She stretched lazily, ignoring certain pains. The sitting room was empty. She went to the bedroom monitor. “Where is Roarke?”
“Roarke is in his private office, darling Eve. Your delivery of chocolate bars should reach the house by fourteen twenty.” the computer reported in her husky voice print. Eve was grateful she hadn’t heard her own voice last night.
“Thank you,” Eve responded. She hoped it was good chocolate Jamie had ordered for her. Apparently she’d be eating it for a long time. With Roarke safely tucked away, she headed for the bathroom. Eve gave herself a good examination in the mirror, several bruises had the med wand run over them. His teeth marks over her shoulder were rather interesting. She doctored it. The med wand better do its job quickly, or Roarke would have a stroke, Eve mused. She came home what seemed like weekly looking beaten up, having been beaten up, for lord’s sakes. Let the man get a little rambunctious and he would freak out. After she’d dressed in jeans and a stiff sleeved summer blouse, Eve headed for the kitchen, Summerset’s domain. She suspected Roarke would be monitoring her.
“Where’s that little machine you had the other day, scarecrow,” she demanded, swinging into his space.
“What machine, LT” he stared down his nose at her. His eyes flickered up to the ceiling to their left.
“The one that was smoking. I wanted to see it.” She wandered to the large double fridgie, took out a bottle of water. When the double doors closed, they didn’t latch.
“You could at least close the doors,” Summerset snarled, leaping over. “The machine is in the bottom cupboard here. I don’t see how you would need to examine it, LT.” He bent down behind the central counter. Then looked up as Eve almost obviously considered pouring the water over him. Behind the cover of the counter, he motioned her down. “Yes, LT?” It was said very softly, he fussed with metal, the cupboard doors, it was all rather noisy.
“He was upset last night. Anything I should worry about?” Her voice was a mere whisper, a breeze through treetops, as she bent to tussle with pots and pans.
“I believe he just needed your attention” came the information, equally softly intoned.
Summerset pulled up the poor broken robot sweeper. Eve popped up from behind the counter with it clasped to her. “I’ll bring it back.”
Roarke watched the two of them squabble like bad tempered children, then turned his attention back to a few details Caro had forwarded to him. Eve was fine. They were fine. He was married to an amazing woman.
Summerset would have told him he had no idea.
Roarke sipped meditatively at his brandy as she slipped through the blue waters. She was going from edge to edge underwater now. When had she added that to her routine, he wondered. It made him wonder if he was becoming … neglectful in his attention of his wife. He’d never had trouble keeping a woman’s interest. It had been more of a problem to shake them off, typically. Oh, he’d learned as the years flowed by how to choose the ones who were less likely to cling. But the fact remained that before Eve, no one he had wanted had said no. Then she’d plowed into his life, looking at him like he was an insect to be dissected, before she moved on to the next bug on her list. And she may have been attracted to him, but she hadn’t wanted him. He’d had to work his ass off to get her, Roarke thought grimly. Then once he’d gotten her, he’d had it worse trying to keep her. Then the hell of getting her to commit to him. He’d done nothing but work at keeping her focused on him as much as possible in the past three years.
She was a sexual creature; he’d had the pleasure of teaching her that. And keeping up with her, satisfying her, was the kind of work men only dreamed about. But those men did seem to pile up. Not that she noticed. Her focus was on her life’s work, often blinding her to reality flowing around her. But it would be easy to replace him. Someone who was as persistent, as determined, as god damn obsessed as he was could lure her away. It was a possibility. Roarke could seduce her, therefore someone else could. Not that she would willingly go with another man. But this professor was a good example. A few short weeks and Eve was leaning in to him, looking up at him, letting him touch her. He’d used the same process himself. Gotten her accustomed to his presence, his touch, until she came to him freely or at least slowed down enough for him to catch her. It had taken him the first year with her to learn when to ease back, to loosen the reins and let her have some room to run. If he hadn’t, Roarke had no doubt she would have left him by now. She couldn’t be caged.
She was pushing herself now, doing two lengths of the pool underwater with only one breath. And that bothered him, too. She spent most of her days away from him. She came into contact with more people than he knew. And he had learned to be accepting that she had a life he could not share unless he was right beside her. And he couldn’t be. They were two separate people. They each had their own lives, both did important work. But there were unacceptable gaps. Dangerous spaces he should be more alert to. If Peabody hadn’t let him know, via McNab, how long would she have been influenced by this man before he, Roarke, became aware of it? Could move to stop it. With a building determination, Roarke put his glass down, stood and stripped off his clothes, plunged into the pool to bring her to him. He caught her to him and took her mouth. She belonged to him. This mouth was for him only. No other man could taste it; no other man would feel her mouth on him.
She whimpered and wrapped her arms around him. It filled him, her need. He could do that to her. And only he would. These helpless sounds she made as he drove her over the first edge of passion, once, twice, would only be heard by him. And he needed to guard that. Ensure it. Having taken her fast and rough into her first flight, Roarke changed the tone. Butterfly kisses over her face as he drew her out of the pool, wrapping a robe around her before carrying her from the pool room. He had no patience with the seduction of the water tonight. He wanted a hard bed where he could touch her as he wanted, where the unyielding bed would hold her to his will, his needs. He stroked her with only his fingertips, the delicacy of her skin, the softness of it seducing him. His lips followed, tasting her, steeping himself in what belonged to him. She would only know his touch. He held her at her crest, not letting her fall over until the wet heat of her soaked him. Then she broke again and he surged up to take those moans into his mouth, glorying in his conquest of her. Before she could go down again he brought her under him, piercing that slender body so she had no chance to deny him. He surged upward, placing his teeth on her shoulder as a stallion with the bit between his teeth. She wouldn’t be able to stop him, there was no false sense of power, no way to control him, keep her from being taken where only he would lead her. Her pleas were music to his ears, his soul. That she would beg for more of him, arch her body beneath his to encourage his thrusts. He felt the smooth soles of her feet on the back of his thighs and he pressed her knees down to the bed, keeping her open for him. Only him. She sobbed his name and Roarke howled his release, driving himself to madness as his back arched and the pleasure claimed him.
He didn’t know when he came to his senses, only knowing that he was too heavy on her, that his weight crushed her. He rolled, taking her with him so she sprawled over him, limp, trembling, weeping. It was her tears that stunned him. “Eve!” Christ, had he hurt her? But she clung to him and whispered his name, repeating a litany that finally he could comprehend as his chest heaved and his heart hammered. “Only you. Only you, Roarke. Only you could love me so well. Only you could do this to me. I love you. Don’t let me go.” The mantra drained him of the pain, the fear of losing his mate, and he rolled again, collapsing half on her so that he knew she couldn’t escape him. She couldn’t leave him while he rested, while he slept.
When he woke she moved over him, like a whisper of smoke, touching and tasting with an indescribable gentleness that brought him solace even as she moved over him and gave him pleasure. He had no idea if she joined him in release, only that he needed this if he was to survive with any sanity left. “I never thought I would be loved. That I could be loved,” he tried to explain. “I was only good for that boot on my neck. I can’t go on another day if you aren’t there, a ghra. I couldn’t walk down that road without your promise.”
“You have it, Roarke.” She kissed his brow. “You have my promise. I will love you, only you, all the days that remain to me. You’ve come through the fire, Roarke. Let me heal you.” And she held him until he slept once more.
When she woke, Eve knew she was alone in their bed. She stretched lazily, ignoring certain pains. The sitting room was empty. She went to the bedroom monitor. “Where is Roarke?”
“Roarke is in his private office, darling Eve. Your delivery of chocolate bars should reach the house by fourteen twenty.” the computer reported in her husky voice print. Eve was grateful she hadn’t heard her own voice last night.
“Thank you,” Eve responded. She hoped it was good chocolate Jamie had ordered for her. Apparently she’d be eating it for a long time. With Roarke safely tucked away, she headed for the bathroom. Eve gave herself a good examination in the mirror, several bruises had the med wand run over them. His teeth marks over her shoulder were rather interesting. She doctored it. The med wand better do its job quickly, or Roarke would have a stroke, Eve mused. She came home what seemed like weekly looking beaten up, having been beaten up, for lord’s sakes. Let the man get a little rambunctious and he would freak out. After she’d dressed in jeans and a stiff sleeved summer blouse, Eve headed for the kitchen, Summerset’s domain. She suspected Roarke would be monitoring her.
“Where’s that little machine you had the other day, scarecrow,” she demanded, swinging into his space.
“What machine, LT” he stared down his nose at her. His eyes flickered up to the ceiling to their left.
“The one that was smoking. I wanted to see it.” She wandered to the large double fridgie, took out a bottle of water. When the double doors closed, they didn’t latch.
“You could at least close the doors,” Summerset snarled, leaping over. “The machine is in the bottom cupboard here. I don’t see how you would need to examine it, LT.” He bent down behind the central counter. Then looked up as Eve almost obviously considered pouring the water over him. Behind the cover of the counter, he motioned her down. “Yes, LT?” It was said very softly, he fussed with metal, the cupboard doors, it was all rather noisy.
“He was upset last night. Anything I should worry about?” Her voice was a mere whisper, a breeze through treetops, as she bent to tussle with pots and pans.
“I believe he just needed your attention” came the information, equally softly intoned.
Summerset pulled up the poor broken robot sweeper. Eve popped up from behind the counter with it clasped to her. “I’ll bring it back.”
Roarke watched the two of them squabble like bad tempered children, then turned his attention back to a few details Caro had forwarded to him. Eve was fine. They were fine. He was married to an amazing woman.
Summerset would have told him he had no idea.
