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“The reason I made it for you doesn’t change, either.” He slid an arm around her waist, led her out. “Hopefully you remember how you felt the first time I took you into the bedroom.”
“That’s imprinted.”
“Good, as she’ll have designs for the bedroom for us to go over in a day or two.”
“You were serious about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“But the bedroom—”
“Is ours, but was designed for me. Now it will reflect both of us, our needs, wants, tastes.”
“We don’t have the same tastes, exactly. I don’t even know if I have tastes.”
“You know what you like, what you don’t. And won’t it be interesting to see how it all melds? And as with your office, it has to suit you. It has to suit me as well, so may it take a bit more work than the two minutes you spent picking your office design.”
It wouldn’t take two minutes, no, not with Roarke weighing in on it. “Are we going to fight over, like, fabric?”
“I sincerely doubt it, but if we do, I’m sure we’ll make up, on whatever bed we choose together.”
Frowning, she stepped into the bedroom, looked at the enormous bed on its platform under the sky window. And couldn’t imagine anything that could suit her more.
“I like that bed.”
“And we may end up designing around it, but if not, we should bid it farewell as we did your desk. In anticipation.”
“The way you are, we’ll have nailed each other another five dozen times on this one before it’s gone.”
“Think of it as an undress rehearsal,” he said, and scooped her up.
Since it was hard to laugh and protest at the same time, she just went with it, so when she hit the bed, she wrapped her legs, boots and all, around him.
“We’re still dressed.”
“I can fix that. In a minute,” he added, and took her mouth.
Here was the payoff for a long and difficult day. His body pressed down on hers, that magic mouth sparking heat, spreading thrills. No dark thoughts pressing like bloody fingers against glass, pushing, pushing to come in. Here, she could have, she could take, love.
She heard the click as his fingers—as magical as his mouth—released her weapon harness. She shifted so he could tug it off, shove it aside.
“You’re disarmed, Lieutenant.”
“That’s not my only weapon.”
“I’m aware. But I’ve a few of my own.”
When his teeth scraped lightly down the side of her neck, she thought: Yeah, you do. In response, she pressed up, center to center.
“And yours is, as usual, already cocked.”
Against her skin, his lips curved. “Someone has her punny pants on.”
“I’m thinking about trading them in for naked.”
She managed to toe off her boots, the rise and fall of her hips with the effort pleasing them both. Rather than pull her sweater off, he slid his hands under it, skimmed them over the tank she wore beneath. When her nipples hardened against the snug material, he roamed down to unhook her belt, then up again to mold her breasts, to tease.
Down to unclasp a button, to slowly, slowly ease the zipper open.
