Read Online Origin in Death by J. D. Robb - Free Book Online Page A

comeback for that one ready. Oh yeah. She'd say there was still time, fuckhead. No, no, fuckface. Still time, fuckface. Planting my fist through your needle-dick nose ought to get some blood on my shirt.
    Then she'd start up the stairs, stop like she'd just thought of something, and say: Oh wait, you don't run on blood, do you? I'd just end up with viscous green goo all over me.
    She entertained herself all the way uptown with varieties of the same theme, and alternate intonations.
    The gates opened for her, and lights bloomed on to illuminate the curving drive that wound through the grounds toward the house.
    Part fortress, part castle, part fantasy, it was home now. Its peaks and towers, its juts and terraces silhouetted against the broody night sky. Windows, countless windows, glowed against the gloom of the evening in a kind of welcome she'd never known before he'd come into her life.
    Had never expected to know.
    Seeing it, the house, the lights, the strength and beauty of what he'd built, what he'd made, what he'd given to her, she missed him outrageously. She very nearly drove around the loop, headed out again.
    She could go see Mavis. Wasn't her friend and music disc star in town? She was pregnant-a lot pregnant now, Eve calculated. If she went to see Mavis, she'd have to run the gauntlet first-touch the scary belly, listen to knocked-up talk, be shown strange little clothes and weird equipment.
    After that, it would be fine, it would be good.
    But she was too damn tired to go through the hoops first. Besides, she had work to do.
    She grabbed the loaded disc and file bag, left her car at the steps- mainly because it annoyed Summerset-and headed inside, somewhat cheered she'd be able to use her stored insults.
    She stepped inside, into the warmth of the grand foyer, into light and fragrance. Deliberately she stripped off her jacket, tossed it over the newel post-another little poke at Summerset.
    But he didn't ooze like evil fog out of the walls or woodwork. He always oozed like evil fog out of the walls or woodwork. She had a moment to be puzzled, then irritated, then mildly concerned he'd dropped dead during the day.
    Then her heart picked up a beat, something shivered along her skin. She looked up, and saw Roarke at the top of the stairs.
    He couldn't have become more beautiful than he'd been a week before, but it seemed to her, in that shimmering light, that he had.
    His face-the strength, power, and yes, the beauty of a fallen angel with no regrets-was framed by the thick black of his hair. His mouth-full, carved, irresistible-smiled as he came toward her. And those eyes-impossibly, brilliantly blue-dazzled her where she stood.
    He made her weak in the knees. Foolish, foolish, she thought. He was her husband, and she knew him as she knew no other. Yet her knees were weak, and her heart was tumbling in her chest. She only had to look at him.
    "You're not supposed to be here," she said.
    He stopped at the base of the stairs, lifted a brow. "Did we move while I was out of town?"
    She shook her head, dropped her bag. And jumped into his arms.
    The taste of him-that was home, that was true welcome. The feel of his body-lean muscle, smooth flesh-that was both thrill and comfort.
    She sniffed at him like a puppy, scented him, caught the whiff of soap. He'd just showered, she thought, while her mouth met his again. Changed out of business clothes and into jeans and a pullover.
    It meant they were going nowhere, expecting no one. It meant it was the two of them.
    "I missed you." She caught his face in her hands. "I really, really missed you."
    "Darling Eve." Ireland drifted through his voice, as he took her wrist, turned his face so his lips pressed to her palm. "I'm sorry it all took longer than I'd hoped."
    She shook her head. "You're back now, and a hell of a better welcoming committee than the one I was expecting. Where is the walking dead ?"
    He tapped a finger on the shallow dent in her chin. "If you mean Summerset, I