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A victim. Always a victim.
Work. She drew a deep breath and lifted her head. She’d get back to work where she had control. And power. And direction.
She was steadier when he came back with the water and crouched at her feet.
Steady enough for suspicion to worm its way through relief and gratitude. “Did you put a soother in this?”
“Drink it.”
“Damn it, Roarke.”
“Damn it, Eve,” he said mildly, and drank half the glass himself. “Drink the rest.”
She frowned, and sipping slowly, studied him over the rim. He looked a little frazzled, which was a rare thing for him. A little weary, which was even more rare.
It wasn’t work he needed, she realized, but rest. Rest he wouldn’t take, even if she put the work aside for the night. He’d just wait until she’d run down, until she slept, then he’d keep going.
But he wasn’t the only one who knew how to press the right buttons. She set the empty glass aside. “Satisfied?”
“More or less. You should leave this until morning and get some sleep.”
Perfect, she thought, but made sure her nod was reluctant. “I guess. I can’t keep my mind focused anyway, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Would you stay here with me?” She reached for his hand. “I know it’s stupid, but . . .”
“No, it’s not.” He got into the sleep chair with her, stroking her hair as her arms came tightly around him. “Just turn it off until morning.”
“I will.” Just as she’d keep her arms around him to make sure he did the same. “Don’t go away, okay?”
“I won’t.”
And knowing he wouldn’t leave her, would rest, she closed her eyes, and let herself drift into dreamless sleep.
After a while, a long while, so did he.
She woke first, still wrapped around him, when the dark began to soften and thin. She stayed very still so as not to lose the rare opportunity to watch him sleep.
Love struck her, as it did often and without warning. Not the steady day-to-day feeling she’d grown used to, but the hot, wild spurt of it that geysered up and filled her with so many feelings they couldn’t be separated.
Delight, confusion, possessiveness, lust, and a kind of smugness that butted right up against wonder.
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’d never believed anyone would, or could. And had never believed there was enough inside her to give all of those things back.
So here they were, the cop and the billionaire, squished together in an office sleep chair like a couple of overworked drones.
It was just fucking great.
She was still grinning when those fabulous eyes of his opened. Clear as blue crystal, alert, and ever so mildly amused. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“I never get how you can come awake like that, from sleep to full alert, and without coffee.”
