J. Robb - Conspiracy in Death

"So why not take advantage of it?" He tugged her to her feet. "Let's build a snowman."

He surprised her, constantly, but this time, she simply gaped. "You want to build a snowman?"

"Why not? I'd thought we'd fly out, spend the weekend in Mexico, but…" Still holding her hand, he looked out the window and smiled. "How often do we have an opportunity like this?"

"I don't know how to build a snowman."

"Neither do I. Let's see what we come up with."

She did a lot of muttering, came up with alternate suggestions that included mindless sex in a warm bed, but in the end, she found herself bundled from head to foot in extreme climate gear and stepping out into the teeth of the blizzard.

"Christ, Roarke, this is crazy. You can't see five feet."

"Fabulous, isn't it?" Grinning, he linked his gloved hand with hers and pulled her down the snow-heaped steps.

"We'll be buried alive."

He simply reached down, took a handful, fisted it. "Packs pretty well," he observed. "I never saw much snow as a boy. Dublin's for rain. We need a good base."

Bending down, he began to mound snow.

Eve watched for a moment, amazed at how intent her sophisticated husband, sleek in his black gear, scooped and packed snow.

"Is this an 'I was a deprived child' thing?"

He glanced up, one brow lifting. "Weren't we?"

She picked up a handful of snow, absently patted it onto the mound. "We've pretty well made up for it," she murmured, then frowned. "You're making it too tall. It should be wider."

He straightened, smiled, then framed her face with snow-covered hands, kissing her when she squealed. "Pitch in or back off."

She wiped the snow off her face, sniffed. "I'm going to build my own and he'll kick your snowman's butt."

"I've always admired your competitive streak."

"Yeah, well, be prepared to be amazed."

She moved off a bit and began to dig in.

She didn't consider herself artistic, so went with her strengths: muscle, determination, and endurance.

The form she worked on might have been slightly lopsided, but it was big. And when she glanced over at Roarke, she noted with glee that hers had his by a good foot.

The cold stung her cheeks, her muscles warmed with exercise, and without realizing it, she relaxed. Instead of unnerving her, the sheer silence soothed. It was like being in the center of a dream, one without sound, without color. One that lulled the mind and gave the body rest.

By the time she got to the head, she was packing and shaping with abandon. "I'm nearly done here, pal, and my guy is built like an arena ball tackle. Your pitiful attempt is doomed."

"We'll see about that." He stepped back, studied his snow sculpture with narrowed eyes, then smiled. "Yes, this works for me."

She tossed a look over her shoulder and snorted. "Better bulk him up before my guy chews him up and spits him out."

"No, I think this is the right shape." He waited while Eve patted her snowman's bulging pecs, then trudged through the snow toward him.

Her eyes went to slits. "Yours has tits."

"Yes, rather gorgeous ones."

Stunned, Eve clamped her hands on her hips and stared. The figure was sleek and curvy, with enormous snow breasts that had been shaped into wicked points.

Roarke stroked one snowy breast lightly. "She'll lead your pumped-up slab of beef there around by the nose."

Eve could only shake her head. "Pervert. Those boobs are way out of proportion."

"A boy needs his dreams, darling." He took the snowball in the center of the shoulder blades and turned with a wolfish smile. "I was hoping you'd do that. Now that you've shed first blood…" He kept his eyes on her as he scooped up snow, balled it.

She dodged left, quickly made another ball, and let it fly with the grace and speed of a major-league infielder. He caught that one on the heart, nodded an acknowledgment of her aim and speed, and went for her.

Snow flew, hard bullets, heavy cannonballs, a barrage of fire. She watched a missile explode in his face and, grinning fiercely, followed up with a trio of body blows.

He gave as good as he got, even causing her to yelp once when she took a hard hit to the side of the head, but she thought she could have taken him, would have taken him, if she hadn't started to laugh.

She couldn't stop, and it made her slow and clumsy. As she fought for breath, her arms shook, throwing off her aim. Wheezing, she held up a hand. "Truce! Cease fire."

Snow splatted high on her chest and into her face. "I can't hear you," Roarke said, moving steadily forward. "Did you say, 'I surrender'?"

"No, damn it." She fought to snort in air, grabbed weakly for ammo, then let out a laughing scream when he jumped her.

She went down, spilling into the thick cushion of snow with Roarke on top of her. "Maniac," she managed and concentrated on getting her breath back.

"You lose."

"Did not."

"I seem to be on top of things, Lieutenant." Aware just how tricky she could be, he clamped his hands over hers. "You're now at my mercy."

"Oh yeah? You don't scare me, tough guy." She grinned up at him. The black ski cap he'd pulled on was crusted white with snow, the glorious hair that spilled out of it wet and gleaming. "I mortally wounded you a half dozen times. You're a dead man."

"I think I have just enough life left to make you suffer." He lowered his head, nipped lightly at her jaw. "And to make you beg."

His tongue traced her lips and blurred the edges of her mind. "If you're getting ideas about starting anything out here…"

"What?"

"Good," she said and arched up to find his mouth with hers.

Hot and hungry from the first. With a little sound of greed, she took more. It burst through her, that wild, climbing need she'd only felt with him, for him. Trapped in the swirl of white, she gave herself to it.

"Inside." He was lost in her. No one else had taken him as deep as she could. "We need to go inside."

"Put your hands on me." Her voice was rough, her breath already ragged. "I want your hands on me."

He was tempted to rip away at the tough, thin suit, to find the flesh beneath. To sink his teeth into it. He yanked her up until they were sitting in the depression of snow, tangled and breathless.

They stared at each other a moment, both stunned at how quickly the mood had changed from playful to desperate. Then her lips curved. "Roarke?"

"Eve?"

"I think we should go in and give these snow people some privacy."

"Good idea."

"Just one thing." She moved into him, slid her arms around him, brought her mouth teasingly close. Then, snake-quick, tugged the collar of his suit out and dumped snow under it.

He was still hissing when she scrambled to her feet.

"Cheat."

"You can make me pay for it when I've got you naked."

As cold shivered down his back, he pushed himself up. "I'd be delighted."

They started in the pool, in the fluid curve where with a mere touch of the controls, the water churned and went steamy. There in the pulsing heat, he put his hands on her however he liked, driving them both from edge to edge, yanking them back, time after time just short of full release.

She was dizzy, weak, her body teetering on the brink, when he dragged her to her feet. Water cascaded from them and steamed up in clouds.

"In bed," was all he said, and he swept her up to carry her from the pool to the elevator.

"Hurry." She pressed her face against his neck, nipped her teeth into it.

Her heart was raging. She wondered that it didn't simply burst out of the cage of her ribs and fall into his hands. He already owned it. And her.

Delirious, battered with so much more than the easy lust they could spark off each other with a look, she curled into him. "I love you, Roarke."