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“Who said no?”
She crossed to him, long and lithe, and sat on his lap, facing him. Grabbing his hair, she crushed her mouth to his, drawing the kiss down, down, coloring it dark and dangerous. She slid her hand down between them, gave him one hard stroke. “Yeah, you seem to be in the mood now.”
She angled away, slithered onto the bed, then rolled, lifted her eyebrows at him. “About those clothes.”
It took him roughly ten seconds to get rid of them. “What clothes?” he asked, and tumbled down to her.
She was laughing when they rolled. The cat, who’d assumed it was nap time, leaped off the bed to stalk away in disgust.
She needed to play, Roarke thought, to offset the brief journey into bad dreams and hard memories. He played his fingertips down her ribs, made her squirm and gasp out what was close to a giggle.
“Foul!” She grabbed his ass in a hard squeeze.
“What, this?” He tickled her ribs again until she bucked, choking on a laugh.
“Keep that up, you won’t get laid.”
“Oh, I think I will as you’ll be too weak to fight me off.” He drilled his finger into her side, and when she squealed—a sound so rare and foreign for her—he dissolved into laughter of his own.
“Got you now,” he murmured, nipping lightly at her shoulder. “A bit of a tickle and you turn into a girl.”
“You’re looking for trouble.”
“Oh, that I am, and as you’re all naked with girlish squeals under me, I think I can find it.”
“We’ll see who squeals, pal.” She caught his earlobe, not so lightly, between her teeth.
“That was a yelp,” he claimed. “And a manly one.”
She levered up, so he used the momentum to roll again, once, twice, until they ended up in the same position but across the bed.
“You’re outweighed, Lieutenant. And outmuscled.” He gripped her hands, drew them over her head. “Might as well give it over.”
He lowered his mouth to take her, and the sound she made now was pure pleasure. Her body went soft beneath his while the sole of her foot slid up to stroke his leg.
The next he knew he was on his back, her knee at his balls, her elbow at his throat. Her eyes glinted down into his.
“Weight and muscle fall beneath agility.”
“You’re a slippery one, you are.”
“Damn right, so you might as well give it over.” Now she lowered her mouth, then stopped a teasing breath away, drew back, teased in for a sampling nip, then another before she covered his mouth with hers.
“Who’s a girl?”
“You’re mine.” His hands glided down her back, around and up to her breasts. “You’re my girl.”
“Sap,” she said, but in a little sigh as she gave him her lips again.
She’d never been anybody’s girl, had never wanted to be. It had always seemed a weak term to her, one of submission and vulnerability. But with him, it was sweet and foolish, and just exactly right.
With more affection than passion—passion would come—she dropped kisses on his face. Oh, how she loved his face, the angles of it, the planes of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw.
She felt that affection, the simplicity of it, the scope of it from him as he wrapped his arms around her.
For a moment they stayed quiet, body to body, her lips resting on his cheek.
When she pressed her face into the side of his throat, he thought it the most magnificent thing.
