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Finale. Chapter Eighteen
Posted by
jlk
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09 October 2012
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Eve had run operations more complex than this, thrown together in bare minutes, but none with as many glaring holes. It was either the beauty of it, or she’d crash and burn. Given how many times she’d arrested Mavis, burning was possible. Hell, Charles had gone to see Roarke immediately. It had meant moving the call for help time frame up, irritating Leonardo who had to produce her new sex wear in under an hour. The good news was, with the unwitting speedy help from Charles, the green silk wasn’t going to stay on long. The whole point was to get it over with fast and clean. So to speak. They all agreed that with a task to complete, Roarke would be less likely to freeze up. Which took a large burden off of Eve’s mind.
She was feeling almost confident when she drove up the drive. She reminded herself that she would not feel rejected or shamed if he was a little repulsed. If he involuntarily flinched from her, she would ignore it. She was prepared to fake an orgasm – who would have thought there was so much to that? She’d gotten an education there. And if all else failed, she’d been coached on how to bring up real tears for a crying jag so she could give Roarke an easy out in case he couldn’t … couldn’t. Then he would be able to offer comfort without passion. They had Peabody on standby to get Dispatch to call her in for a fake homicide, in case the entire thing exploded. And Feeney had been pulled out of hiding in EDD long enough to add a very simple program to her wrist link that allowed her to beep Peabody with one touch of a button; just making it easier to contact her partner, yes sirree. Just in case Roarke had it programmed to notify him when there were adjustments made, Feeney had reassured her. He hadn’t asked why he was doing it, bless him.
The final out was her plan to go to a health spa Trina swore by, to build some pounds back on. She could go away for however long it took, come back and she and Roarke could pretend the entire fiasco had never happened. Yeah, that’d work. Eve grimaced.
Summerset eyed her when she came in. He took note of her styled hair, the subtle face enhancements, her rather flowery scent. Eve eyed him back. He took the duffle bag from her. She let him. He was both surprised and pleased she didn’t collapse from its simple weight. “I wasn’t expecting you back so early, Lieutenant. Roarke just let me know he’ll be here shortly. Would you care for an energy drink?” He took her arm and guided her to the parlor, not sure she could make it up the stairs and knowing she would refuse to use the elevator, settling her on the new sofa that had appeared since she’d last been in the room. It was plush and she sank into it. Unusual for Roarke’s parlor taste, Eve mused.
“Thank you, Summerset. Drinking something you’ve cooked up to poison me with is the only reason I came home” Eve sniped, then settled back into the couch. It was actually too big, she mused. She scooted around, drew her legs up. Hmm. Nice, she thought, leaning her head back into a pillowed softness. Ok, problem one with the con achieved. Roarke was supposed to be home already, so he could sweep her off her feet, supposedly overcome with desire by her skeletal-thin frame, and take her upstairs to ravish her. They hadn’t planned for this. But she was quick on her feet. After the energy drink, she’d …
Summerset found her curled up on the new sofa. His jaw clenched as he studied her frighteningly fragile frame. He’d seen her on the screen, but the reality was … difficult. Gone was the strong, courageous warrior. The woman he had repeatedly seen take on and defeat dangerous killers single handed lay like a wraith, defenseless among the cushions. He set down the drink, a banana flavored concoction designed to hide the taste of the vitamins Dr. Dimatto had sent. Then he took out a soft cashmere blanket, ready to carefully spread it over her when Galahad jogged strenuously into the room, jumped onto the sofa and settled beside her, putting his chin on her knee. She sighed, her hand reached to cover the cat’s soft gray fur. Then she stilled again. There was a beep from his pocket. The gates had opened.
Summerset went to open the door for Roarke. “She’s in the parlor.”
“Eve” Roarke called out the greeting, putting every bit of whole hearted welcome he could into the sound. He saw the beautiful browns of her hair against the umber colored cushions of the new couch he’d purchased with her in mind, wrapped in his arms. He rounded it. And found himself frozen. How many times had he faced her injured? How many times had he feared her death? It was too much. This job, this life she chose. He wouldn’t ever allow this to happen again. Wordlessly, soundlessly, he dropped to his knees in front of her small form. He took her hand from its rest on Galahad, kissed the thin fingers that held his heart. Then he gathered her close and rested his head against her heart.
Problem two with con achieved. Dispatch got it confused and thought she was really on the rolls. When the call came in, it was two in the morning. Eve responded, absently brushing Roarke’s hair back from his face as she processed the address and told Dispatch to notify Peabody. He stretched out, drawing her across his body until he could nuzzle at her neck. He said something, and Eve thought she’d misunderstood. “What?” She leaned back so she could see his face in the dimly lit parlor.
“You’re not going,” Roarke repeated.
“Very funny. Go upstairs and go to sleep.” She moved to get off him and his arms tightened like steel. “Roarke, I have to go.” She patted his shoulder, shifting again to get up.
“You’re not going,” he said again, still nuzzling her.
It occurred to Eve that he could still be sleeping. Having a dream. She knew he’d had it hard with the business world in crisis these past weeks. The financial world was in some kind of spiral, everyone who cared was trying not to panic. Eve didn’t care, other than how it might effect Roarke. “Ssshh. It’s ok. I’ll be back.” She patted his shoulder, rubbed a reassuring circle, tried to get up again. He rolled them so she was between his body and the back of the soft couch, began to run his hands over her body in slow strokes.
“You’re staying.” This time, his voice wasn’t that quiet murmur. It was a direct order.
Her link signaled. She got her hands free. “Peabody.”
“Dallas, did you just get a call from Dispatch? Um, hey, Roarke?” She coughed delicately as Roarke continued his rediscovery of Eve’s neck. “I can’t see Dallas.”
Eve got her head up, trying without success to shove Roarke off her. “Yeah. Roarke, stop it,” she hissed as he began tugging at her jeans.
“You’re not on roll. I’ll tag them back and see if it’s a mistake.” Peabody hurriedly cut them off and called Dispatch. It took thirty seconds to confirm the call. She tagged Dallas back. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Dallas was trying to dress and Roarke was trying to keep that from happening. Since it was fairly dark from where they were at, Peabody couldn’t be sure. “Um, Dallas? You know you’re live, right? You wanna block video?” She didn’t think her friend heard her.
Eve tried squirming. Figured that wouldn’t work. Went to wriggling. “I’m trying to talk to my partner,“ she snarled at Roarke, getting her right arm free and holding it over her head so she could see Peabody’s amused face. “What did they say?”
“We’re up.”
With one hand less to defend herself, he was making fast work of her clothes. She tried wriggling down instead of up. That only caught her deeper in the damn couch cushions. She heard the green silk teddy tearing. “Get off me, you idiot! Peabody could see this. Roarke!” She gasped in shocked as he pressed his hand intimately against her. “Peabody, I’ll meet you there.”
“No she won’t, Peabody.” Roarke terminated the call. Then he burrowed his fingers through her hair and held her still for his kiss. The taste of her stunned him. It had been so long since he’d had her mouth under his like this, he’d forgotten the taste. And suddenly it was like being scalded. All over. His skin was on fire, the nerve endings screaming with sensation. Her taste intoxicated him. His mind clouded, everything else was pushed away but the overwhelming hunger for her mouth. He had to know how each bit would feel, how that bit would make him feel. The sounds she made as he took her mouth as he wanted. As he needed. He used a slow rhythm with his tongue, his fingers echoing the movement. She shuddered and keened. He licked her lips. How could he have forgotten this? What god had deprived him of her these past weeks? There was nothing but her, to be tasted and enjoyed. By him. Only by him. He pressed his fingers deeper, arching her head back so he could thrust his tongue deeper. So his tongue could rub over the heat and wetness inside her mouth, echoing his fingers. She clenched around him, so tight he was trapped. Delicious contractions trembled her body. His tongue stroked over hers, lapping at the moisture of her mouth, demanding sumptuousness, even as her body filled his hand with hot wetness. “More” he demanded, as she exploded under his hand and mouth.
He stripped while she lay lax against the couch. Her eyes were open, glowing golden, reflecting light, watching him. His lust was like a hand around his throat, he wasn’t sure how long he could last. Some small part of his mind thrust Charles’ voice with the word ‘positioning’ in front of him before he could fall on her. With a guttural sound, he scooped her up, strode around the sofa and laid her face down over the back. Gripping her hips, some part of him aware that the bones must be held gently, he brought himself into her. She made a sound of pleasure as he withdrew, then pressed in deeper. He held, pressed, moved, finding how she needed him to fill her. And when he had, he pulled back and did it all over again. He closed his eyes, feeling her quiver beneath him, excited beyond reason to be with his mate again.
Roarke wanted her to speak in Gaelic to him again. He wanted to pleasure her again. He wanted this to last. But the fist around his throat closed. He was breathless. And with his need for air, he climaxed and drew breath as he shuddered, lost completely in her. And in that act of love and need, he gave of his vital energy to her.
Eve was trying to decide how she could contact Peabody from this position without humiliating and or embarrassing everyone involved. Roarke had collapsed over her maybe ten minutes ago, barely shifting half off her so she could take breaths as they lay tumbled onto the cushions of the new couch. But she was definitely pinned. Maybe not if she was in top form, but for her present condition, she was trapped. The man weighed a hundred pounds more than her. She couldn’t budge him. She was on the verge of going with the utter humiliation and additional scoops of horror in the form of calling Summerset for rescue, when Roarke clasped her against him and rolled onto the floor, cradling her to his side as she landed on top of him with a jolt. He muttered something, growled like a cat, relaxed again.
Eve began to shake with suppressed laughter. She had never heard him make a noise like that. Oh Christ! It was child’s play now to escape his loosened hold. She jogged up the stairs naked and took a fast shower, dressed, having to tie her belt to keep her jeans fixed firmly on her hips. Back downstairs she took her harness, stunner, boot knife, and ankle piece off some kind of new fancy end table that she assumed had come with the couch and secured them. She strode out into the front entrance and Summerset glided up, holding a glass of yellow thick liquid. Eve, suddenly starving, gulped it down. Summerset helped her into her coat. Handed her a bag with cinnamon bagels, two to go cups of coffee. She had no doubt the DLE Urban was warmed up, the heater running on high. “He’s on the floor behind the new couch,” she advised, whiskey colored eyes laughing. She vibrated energy, power, a lean lethal animal ready to spring to the hunt.
Summerset smoothly handed her the necklace with her symbols of Roarke’s love for her. She slipped it over her head, under her shirt. “Shall we agree upon a truce until you’ve put some weight back on, Lieutenant? I do hate taking down an opponent who is unfit.” His eyes gleamed.
Eve nodded, sniffed in imitation of her nemesis, turned and strode out into the night to meet death, and then find justice for the dead.
End.
She was feeling almost confident when she drove up the drive. She reminded herself that she would not feel rejected or shamed if he was a little repulsed. If he involuntarily flinched from her, she would ignore it. She was prepared to fake an orgasm – who would have thought there was so much to that? She’d gotten an education there. And if all else failed, she’d been coached on how to bring up real tears for a crying jag so she could give Roarke an easy out in case he couldn’t … couldn’t. Then he would be able to offer comfort without passion. They had Peabody on standby to get Dispatch to call her in for a fake homicide, in case the entire thing exploded. And Feeney had been pulled out of hiding in EDD long enough to add a very simple program to her wrist link that allowed her to beep Peabody with one touch of a button; just making it easier to contact her partner, yes sirree. Just in case Roarke had it programmed to notify him when there were adjustments made, Feeney had reassured her. He hadn’t asked why he was doing it, bless him.
The final out was her plan to go to a health spa Trina swore by, to build some pounds back on. She could go away for however long it took, come back and she and Roarke could pretend the entire fiasco had never happened. Yeah, that’d work. Eve grimaced.
Summerset eyed her when she came in. He took note of her styled hair, the subtle face enhancements, her rather flowery scent. Eve eyed him back. He took the duffle bag from her. She let him. He was both surprised and pleased she didn’t collapse from its simple weight. “I wasn’t expecting you back so early, Lieutenant. Roarke just let me know he’ll be here shortly. Would you care for an energy drink?” He took her arm and guided her to the parlor, not sure she could make it up the stairs and knowing she would refuse to use the elevator, settling her on the new sofa that had appeared since she’d last been in the room. It was plush and she sank into it. Unusual for Roarke’s parlor taste, Eve mused.
“Thank you, Summerset. Drinking something you’ve cooked up to poison me with is the only reason I came home” Eve sniped, then settled back into the couch. It was actually too big, she mused. She scooted around, drew her legs up. Hmm. Nice, she thought, leaning her head back into a pillowed softness. Ok, problem one with the con achieved. Roarke was supposed to be home already, so he could sweep her off her feet, supposedly overcome with desire by her skeletal-thin frame, and take her upstairs to ravish her. They hadn’t planned for this. But she was quick on her feet. After the energy drink, she’d …
Summerset found her curled up on the new sofa. His jaw clenched as he studied her frighteningly fragile frame. He’d seen her on the screen, but the reality was … difficult. Gone was the strong, courageous warrior. The woman he had repeatedly seen take on and defeat dangerous killers single handed lay like a wraith, defenseless among the cushions. He set down the drink, a banana flavored concoction designed to hide the taste of the vitamins Dr. Dimatto had sent. Then he took out a soft cashmere blanket, ready to carefully spread it over her when Galahad jogged strenuously into the room, jumped onto the sofa and settled beside her, putting his chin on her knee. She sighed, her hand reached to cover the cat’s soft gray fur. Then she stilled again. There was a beep from his pocket. The gates had opened.
Summerset went to open the door for Roarke. “She’s in the parlor.”
“Eve” Roarke called out the greeting, putting every bit of whole hearted welcome he could into the sound. He saw the beautiful browns of her hair against the umber colored cushions of the new couch he’d purchased with her in mind, wrapped in his arms. He rounded it. And found himself frozen. How many times had he faced her injured? How many times had he feared her death? It was too much. This job, this life she chose. He wouldn’t ever allow this to happen again. Wordlessly, soundlessly, he dropped to his knees in front of her small form. He took her hand from its rest on Galahad, kissed the thin fingers that held his heart. Then he gathered her close and rested his head against her heart.
Problem two with con achieved. Dispatch got it confused and thought she was really on the rolls. When the call came in, it was two in the morning. Eve responded, absently brushing Roarke’s hair back from his face as she processed the address and told Dispatch to notify Peabody. He stretched out, drawing her across his body until he could nuzzle at her neck. He said something, and Eve thought she’d misunderstood. “What?” She leaned back so she could see his face in the dimly lit parlor.
“You’re not going,” Roarke repeated.
“Very funny. Go upstairs and go to sleep.” She moved to get off him and his arms tightened like steel. “Roarke, I have to go.” She patted his shoulder, shifting again to get up.
“You’re not going,” he said again, still nuzzling her.
It occurred to Eve that he could still be sleeping. Having a dream. She knew he’d had it hard with the business world in crisis these past weeks. The financial world was in some kind of spiral, everyone who cared was trying not to panic. Eve didn’t care, other than how it might effect Roarke. “Ssshh. It’s ok. I’ll be back.” She patted his shoulder, rubbed a reassuring circle, tried to get up again. He rolled them so she was between his body and the back of the soft couch, began to run his hands over her body in slow strokes.
“You’re staying.” This time, his voice wasn’t that quiet murmur. It was a direct order.
Her link signaled. She got her hands free. “Peabody.”
“Dallas, did you just get a call from Dispatch? Um, hey, Roarke?” She coughed delicately as Roarke continued his rediscovery of Eve’s neck. “I can’t see Dallas.”
Eve got her head up, trying without success to shove Roarke off her. “Yeah. Roarke, stop it,” she hissed as he began tugging at her jeans.
“You’re not on roll. I’ll tag them back and see if it’s a mistake.” Peabody hurriedly cut them off and called Dispatch. It took thirty seconds to confirm the call. She tagged Dallas back. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Dallas was trying to dress and Roarke was trying to keep that from happening. Since it was fairly dark from where they were at, Peabody couldn’t be sure. “Um, Dallas? You know you’re live, right? You wanna block video?” She didn’t think her friend heard her.
Eve tried squirming. Figured that wouldn’t work. Went to wriggling. “I’m trying to talk to my partner,“ she snarled at Roarke, getting her right arm free and holding it over her head so she could see Peabody’s amused face. “What did they say?”
“We’re up.”
With one hand less to defend herself, he was making fast work of her clothes. She tried wriggling down instead of up. That only caught her deeper in the damn couch cushions. She heard the green silk teddy tearing. “Get off me, you idiot! Peabody could see this. Roarke!” She gasped in shocked as he pressed his hand intimately against her. “Peabody, I’ll meet you there.”
“No she won’t, Peabody.” Roarke terminated the call. Then he burrowed his fingers through her hair and held her still for his kiss. The taste of her stunned him. It had been so long since he’d had her mouth under his like this, he’d forgotten the taste. And suddenly it was like being scalded. All over. His skin was on fire, the nerve endings screaming with sensation. Her taste intoxicated him. His mind clouded, everything else was pushed away but the overwhelming hunger for her mouth. He had to know how each bit would feel, how that bit would make him feel. The sounds she made as he took her mouth as he wanted. As he needed. He used a slow rhythm with his tongue, his fingers echoing the movement. She shuddered and keened. He licked her lips. How could he have forgotten this? What god had deprived him of her these past weeks? There was nothing but her, to be tasted and enjoyed. By him. Only by him. He pressed his fingers deeper, arching her head back so he could thrust his tongue deeper. So his tongue could rub over the heat and wetness inside her mouth, echoing his fingers. She clenched around him, so tight he was trapped. Delicious contractions trembled her body. His tongue stroked over hers, lapping at the moisture of her mouth, demanding sumptuousness, even as her body filled his hand with hot wetness. “More” he demanded, as she exploded under his hand and mouth.
He stripped while she lay lax against the couch. Her eyes were open, glowing golden, reflecting light, watching him. His lust was like a hand around his throat, he wasn’t sure how long he could last. Some small part of his mind thrust Charles’ voice with the word ‘positioning’ in front of him before he could fall on her. With a guttural sound, he scooped her up, strode around the sofa and laid her face down over the back. Gripping her hips, some part of him aware that the bones must be held gently, he brought himself into her. She made a sound of pleasure as he withdrew, then pressed in deeper. He held, pressed, moved, finding how she needed him to fill her. And when he had, he pulled back and did it all over again. He closed his eyes, feeling her quiver beneath him, excited beyond reason to be with his mate again.
Roarke wanted her to speak in Gaelic to him again. He wanted to pleasure her again. He wanted this to last. But the fist around his throat closed. He was breathless. And with his need for air, he climaxed and drew breath as he shuddered, lost completely in her. And in that act of love and need, he gave of his vital energy to her.
Eve was trying to decide how she could contact Peabody from this position without humiliating and or embarrassing everyone involved. Roarke had collapsed over her maybe ten minutes ago, barely shifting half off her so she could take breaths as they lay tumbled onto the cushions of the new couch. But she was definitely pinned. Maybe not if she was in top form, but for her present condition, she was trapped. The man weighed a hundred pounds more than her. She couldn’t budge him. She was on the verge of going with the utter humiliation and additional scoops of horror in the form of calling Summerset for rescue, when Roarke clasped her against him and rolled onto the floor, cradling her to his side as she landed on top of him with a jolt. He muttered something, growled like a cat, relaxed again.
Eve began to shake with suppressed laughter. She had never heard him make a noise like that. Oh Christ! It was child’s play now to escape his loosened hold. She jogged up the stairs naked and took a fast shower, dressed, having to tie her belt to keep her jeans fixed firmly on her hips. Back downstairs she took her harness, stunner, boot knife, and ankle piece off some kind of new fancy end table that she assumed had come with the couch and secured them. She strode out into the front entrance and Summerset glided up, holding a glass of yellow thick liquid. Eve, suddenly starving, gulped it down. Summerset helped her into her coat. Handed her a bag with cinnamon bagels, two to go cups of coffee. She had no doubt the DLE Urban was warmed up, the heater running on high. “He’s on the floor behind the new couch,” she advised, whiskey colored eyes laughing. She vibrated energy, power, a lean lethal animal ready to spring to the hunt.
Summerset smoothly handed her the necklace with her symbols of Roarke’s love for her. She slipped it over her head, under her shirt. “Shall we agree upon a truce until you’ve put some weight back on, Lieutenant? I do hate taking down an opponent who is unfit.” His eyes gleamed.
Eve nodded, sniffed in imitation of her nemesis, turned and strode out into the night to meet death, and then find justice for the dead.
End.
