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336 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2000
In an uptown strip joint, a cop is found bludgeoned to death. The weapon's a baseball bat. The motive's a mystery. It's a case of serious overkill that pushes Eve Dallas straight into overdrive. Her investigation uncovers a private club that's more than a hot spot.
"I don't know how to do this! I love you, and it makes me crazy."
He had to laugh. She looked so baffled.
"Christ Jesus, Eve, you're a piece of work."
"I never cared for that Irish temper of yours ..."
Listen to me now, and carefully. Touch her, put your hand on what’s mine again, and I’ll follow you to hell and peel the skin from your bones. I’ll feed you your own eyes. I take an oath on it. Remember what I was, and you’ll know I’ll do it. And worse.” He straightened again, his body rigid. “Get someone to drag him out of here. This is my place.”
“Life has very little even ground.” But he couldn’t hold out against her misery and stopped halfway down the stairs. “I love you, Eve. Nothing changes that, nothing could. But Christ, you piss me off.”
“Dallas.” Mavis leaned over, then slid gracefully to the floor. “You didn’t figure the man factor. They got dicks. You can’t ever forget the dick when you’re dealing with a man.”
“Because women work on an emotional level.” Mavis hiccuped delicately. “Even you.” Eve rolled over, eyed Mavis narrowly. “Do not.”
“Do, too. First, he got you by the hormones. I mean, Jesus, look at him. The man’s a sexual . . . Gimme minute. A sexual . . . banquet. Yeah, that’s a good one. Then he clicked into your head, because he’s smart and interesting and mysterious and all that stuff you’d really go for. But then, the whammer was when he jammed right into your heart. Whatcha gonna do then? A guy got his hooks in your heart, he just reels you right in.”
“I’m not a goddamn fish.”
“We are all fish,” Mavis said in rounded tones, “in the great sea of life.”
Marriage, Eve thought as she took her seat, was a puzzle she didn’t think she’d ever solve. Too many damn pieces. And the shapes of them were constantly changing on her.
She started out, glanced back. Roarke was still watching her, the faintest of smiles on that killer mouth, the faintest glint in those wild blue eyes. “Jesus, he makes your mouth water.”
“Look, there’s some whattayacallems.”
“Daffodils,” he said and caught her hand in his.
“Daffodils, Eve. It’s spring.”
“Finally feels like it, too.”
"Nonetheless. Both of you reacted as natural for you, engaged in a bout of rough, sweaty sex that no doubt satisfied you."
"You'd have thought so, but we hadn't even cooled off when he picked me up off the floor and carried me into bed and did it all over again."
Mira stared, rather blankly. "Does he have a particular diet? Vitamins?"
“This is just the prototype.”
She felt the color drain out of her face. Actually felt it. “As in experimental?”
With his dark hair whipping in the air blowing through his open window, hetossed her a wide, delighted grin. “Not anymore. We’re going down.”
“What?” She braced every cell in her body. “What?”
“On purpose, darling.”
“ ’Cause I had this dream. Maybe a dream. You were standing over me. I was just floating and you were standing there, ragging my ass. Ever tell you how sexy you look when you’re ragging ass?”
“Jesus.”
“Sorry, a little re . . . residual lust. D’ya say you’d spit on my grave?”
“Yeah. I will, too, if you try to cash out again.”