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“If you had a chance to kill him now, you’d do it. You’d cut him to pieces if you had a chance to do it all over again.”
“No.” And God, dear God, that was a relief. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m not helpless now, not afraid for my life now. I’m a fucking cop.”
She shoved him back.
“I’m a cop,” she repeated. “And I’ll do my best by you.”
“I’m the best!” he shouted as she stepped down, walked toward the doors.
“You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing. But you’re mine.”
She walked out, into the night. She looked down at her hands, found them clean.
She woke in the soft gray light of morning in the warmth of her own bed.
“It’s all right,” Roarke murmured, drawing her closer. “You’re all right.”
“I’m all right,” she repeated. “My hands are clean.” She held one up, turned it in the quiet light. “My hands are clean.”
On a half laugh, she shifted, found his eyes open and on hers. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“That’s right. Me, too. But what are you doing here when the sun’s up? Why aren’t you conferencing with Zurich or buying a solar system?”
“I’m sleeping with my wife on a Saturday morning.”
“The day of the week doesn’t mean squat in your endless quest for world domination. Could be you’re slipping, pal. Then where will I get my coffee?”
“I can always buy a solar system this afternoon if it makes you feel more confident in my ability to supply coffee.”
“Shake my confidence there, I could go hunt for another supplier. He might not be as pretty, but I have my priorities.”
“Feeling playful this morning, are you then?”
“Maybe. My hands are clean.”
“So you keep saying.”
“It’s important. And since they are . . .” She ran a hand down his chest, and down, then closed her fingers around him. “Look what I found.”
“And now that you have?”
“I can probably think of something constructive to do with it.”
But first she simply rolled on top of him, her face buried in the curve of his throat, her heart beating lightly on his.
Warm, she thought, everything so warm and smooth and easy.
“We lose too many Saturday mornings.”
He ran a hand up and down her back. “The day of the week doesn’t mean squat.”
She laughed, pressed her lips to that curve, then lifted her head. “You’re right.” She kissed him, light as their heartbeats. “But since solar systems are for later . . .”
She touched her lips to his again, then took hers sliding down the line of his throat, over his chest. Whatever the day, it was lovely to have the time to just be with him, to feel as she felt now. Warm and smooth and easy.
As she rose up to straddle him, bells rang and there was an unmistakable sound of irritation just before the thump of the cat deserting the bed for the floor.
