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She heard her own teeth grind. “There is no wrong side of Charles’s bed,” she said sweetly. “It’s a big, soft, round playpen.”
“Oh yeah?” Half the circuits in his brains fried at the image of Peabody romping naked in some plush, sexy bed. With someone else.
“That’s just the sort of quick repartee I’ve come to expect from you. You must be sharpening your wits on all those bimbos you’re bouncing on these days.”
“The last bimbo had a doctorate from MIT, the body of a goddess, and the face of an angel. We didn’t spend much time on wit-sharpening.”
“Pig.”
“Bitch.” He grabbed her arm as she swung toward Roarke’s gate. “I’m getting fed up with the way you slap at me every time I get within striking distance, Peabody. You’re the one who put the brakes on.”
“Not soon enough.” She tugged, but his grip stayed firm. She always underestimated those skinny arms of his. It was mortifying to realize the strength in them had her stomach doing cartwheels. “And as usual you’re wrong and you’re stupid. You’re the one who ended things because you couldn’t have everything your way.”
“Right. Excuse me for objecting to the fact you’d roll out of my bed and roll into the whore’s.”
She rammed a fist into his chest. “Don’t call him that. You don’t know anything about it, and if you had one tenth of Charles’s class, his charm, his consideration, you’d crawl up to subhuman. But since you don’t I should thank you for putting the skids on what was a ridiculous, embarrassing, and revolting mistake on my part by ever letting you lay a hand on me. So thanks!”
“You’re welcome.”
They were panting, wild-eyed and nose to nose. Then they were moaning and mouth to mouth. They jerked apart, still wild-eyed.
“That didn’t mean anything,” she managed between gasps.
“Right. It didn’t mean anything. So let’s do it again.”
He yanked her back, sank his teeth greedily into her bottom lip. It was, she thought, dizzying, like being shot out of a cannon. Her ears were ringing, her breath and balance gone. And all she wanted was to run her hands all over his long, bony body.
She settled for his butt, digging her fingers in as if she could twist off a nice little chunk to keep in her pocket.
He spun her around, struggling to get his hands under the stiff, starched jacket of her uniform. Under it, he knew her body was a wonder of curves and soft, yielding flesh. Desperate for it, he shoved her back, through the gate sensors and rapped her smartly against the iron bars.
“Ow.”
“Sorry. Let me—God.” He buried his mouth against her neck and wondered if he could just slurp her up like ice cream.
“I beg your pardon.” The voice came from nowhere, from everywhere, and had them both goggling at each other.
“Did you say something?” she asked.
“No? Did you?”
“Officer. Detective.”
Still in midgrope, they both slid their eyes to the right and stared at the security panel on the stone pillar. Summerset, his face expressionless, stared back out from the view screen.
“I believe the li
eutenant is expecting you,” he said, coolly polite. “If you take a step back from the gate, you’re less likely to fall through them when they’re opened.”
Peabody felt her own face flame like a scorched tomato. “Oh man. Oh shit.” She shoved McNab, stepped clear, then began to tug her uniform back into place. “That was just stupid.”
“Felt good though.” Somehow his kneecaps had become detached so that the first steps he took through the open gate were wobbly and disjointed. “What the hell, Peabody.”
“Just because we’ve got this . . . chemical reaction, doesn’t mean we have to act on it. It just screws things up.”
He danced in front of her, walking backward. His long, sleek ponytail bobbed from side to side. His thin jacket billowed to his knees and was the color of field poppies. Despite all her good intentions, her lips twitched into a smile.
“You’re so damn goofy.”
