He came to her smiling, brushed a hand over her hair. “A lot of people for you to deal with at one time.”
“They’re okay. At least after you figure out what they’re talking about. What they talk about, a lot, is you.”
“I’m the new element.” He kissed her forehead. “We’re the new element, as they’re fairly fascinated by my cop.” He drew her in so they stood holding each other in the center of the pretty farmhouse bedroom with the night breeze wafting through the window to stir the fragrance of the flowers through the air. “It’s a different life entirely here. A world away.”
“The last murder was about a dozen years ago.”
He drew back, shook his head. Just laughed. “Trust you.”
“I didn’t bring it up. Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Nothing. See, it’s really quiet, and it’s really dark,” she added with a glance at the window. “Dead quiet, dead dark. So you’d think there’d be more murders.”
“Looking for a busman’s holiday?”
“I know what that means even though it doesn’t make any sense. And no. I’m good with the quiet. Mostly.” She ran a hand up his side, laid it on the wound. “Okay?”
“Well enough. In fact . . .” He leaned down, took her mouth with his, and let his own hand roam.
“Okay, hold it. That’s just weird.”
“It feels very natural to me.”
“Your aunt’s just—what is it—down the hall. You know damn well this place isn’t soundproofed.”
“You’ll just have to be quiet.” He gave her ribs a deliberate tickle that made her jump and yelp. “Or not.”
“Didn’t I bang you already today, twice this morning?”
“Darling Eve, you’re a pathetic romantic.” He backed her toward the bed she’d already noted was less than half the size of the one at home.
“At least turn on the screen or something. For cover noise.”
He brushed his lips over her cheek, his hand over the taut muscles of her ass. “There’s no screen in here.”
“No screen?” She nudged him away, scanned the walls. “Seriously? What kind of place is this?”
“The sort where people use bedrooms for sex and sleep, which is exactly what I have in mind.” To prove it, he tumbled her onto the bed.
It squeaked.
“What is that? Did you hear that? Is there a farm animal in here?”
“I’m fairly certain they keep those outside. It’s the bed.” He tugged her shirt over her head.
Testing, she lifted her hips, let them fall. “Oh, for God’s sake. We can’t do this on a talking bed. Everybody in the house will know what’s going on in here.”
Enjoying himself, he nuzzled at her throat. “I believe they already suspect we have sex.”
“Maybe, but that’s different than having the bed yell out, ‘Whoopee!’”
Was it any wonder he adored her? he thought.
Watching her face, he trailed a finger over her breast. “We’ll have quiet, dignified sex.”
“If sex is dignified it’s not being done right.”
“There’s a point.” He smiled down at her, cupping her breasts now, laying his lips lightly on hers. “Look at you,” he murmured, “all mine for two more lovely weeks.”
“Now you’re just trying to soften me up.” And softened, she reached out to comb her fingers through his hair.
All hers, she thought in turn.
“It’s good, being here.” She took his shirt by the hem, drew it over his head. Once again laid her palm on the healing wound. “Getting here, we’ll forget all about that. But being here, it’s good.”
“It’s been an interesting journey altogether.”
“I wouldn’t have missed a single mile.” She framed his face now, lifted until their lips met. “Even the rocky ones.”
When he lowered to her, she drew him in, and sighed.
Eyes closed, she ran her hands over the good, strong muscles of his back, let the shape and scent of him seep into those places inside her that always waited. Always opened, always welcomed.
She turned her head, found his lips again. Longer, deeper into a drift as easy and sweet as the night air.
The bed gave another rusty squeak, made her laugh. Then another as she shifted to him. “We should try the floor.”
“Next time,” he suggested, and made her laugh again. Made her sigh again. Made all those waiting, welcoming places warm.
And when they curled together, sated and sleepy, she nuzzled in and said, “Whoopee.”
She woke in the gray, shot straight up in bed.
“What was that? Did you hear that?” Naked, she leaped out of bed to grab the clutch piece she’d left on the little bedside table.
“There! There it is again! What language is that?”
From the bed, Roarke shifted. “I believe it’s known as rooster.”
With the weapon at her side, she stared at him, slack-jawed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Not a bit. It’s morning, more or less, and that’s a cock signaling the dawn.”
“A cock?”
“I’d say. I don’t think Sinead and her man want you to stun their rooster, but I have to say, Lieutenant, you make a fascinating picture.”
She heaved out a breath, set her weapon down. “Jesus Christ, we may as well be on another planet.” She slid back into bed. “And if your cock gets any ideas about signaling the day, remember I’ve got a weapon.”
“As charming an idea as that is, I think that’s my wake-up call. Though I’d rather be riding my wife instead of a tractor, they’re expecting me.”
“Have fun.” Eve rolled over and put the pillow over her head.
Screaming cocks, she thought, squeezing her eyes tight. And, good God, was that a cow? Actually mooing? Just how close were those bastards to the house?
She lifted the pillow an inch, squinted to assure herself her weapon was at hand.
How the hell was a person supposed to sleep with all that mooing and cockadoodledooing, and only God knew what else was going on out there? It was just plain creepy, that’s what it was. What were they saying to each other? And why?
Wasn’t the window open? Maybe she should get up and . . .
The next thing she knew she awoke to yellow sunlight.
She’d slept after all, even if she’d had an unsettling farm animal dream where they were all decked out in military fatigues.
Her first thought was coffee before she remembered where she was and barely muttered a curse. They drank tea over here, and she didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to deal with the day she had ahead of her without a hit.
She dragged herself up, looked blearily around. And spotted the robe at the foot of the bed, and the memo cube sitting on it. She reached for the cube, flicked it on.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. In case you’re still half asleep, the shower’s straight down the hall to the left. Sinead says to come down for breakfast whenever you’re up and about. Apparently I’m to meet you about noon. Sinead will take you wherever we’re supposed to be. Take care of my cop.
“No bad guys, remember?”
She put on her robe, and after a moment’s deliberation, stuffed her weapon in its pocket. Better on her, she decided, than left in the room.
And mourning coffee, she walked down to wake herself up in the shower.
2
THE BED WAS MADE AND THE ROOM TIDIED when she finished her shower. Did they have droids? she wondered, and decided she’d been smart to take her weapon with her.
If they had droids, why not an AutoChef in the bedroom—one with coffee on the menu? Or a screen so she could scan the international crime news to see what was happening at home.
Adapt, she ordered herself as she dressed while some species of bird went cuckoo—literally—over and over again outside the window. This wasn’t New York, or even a close facsimile. And surely she was racking up good wife points every minute.
She raked her fingers through her damp hair—no drying tube in the facilities—and considered herself as ready for the day as she was going to get.
Halfway down the steps she heard more singing, a pretty and bright human voice lilting away about love. And on the turn for the kitchen, she swore she caught the siren’s scent of coffee.