And then she grabbed him and pulled him on top of her.
The heat took them beyond caution, even beyond play. Lost time, raw emotions, and aching need all cycloned into a swirl of passion with no mind, only frenzy. In minutes the room itself was in motion, not just the bed. Lampshades swayed, books toppled on shelves, even the pencil cup on Rook’s nightstand tipped, and a dozen Blackwing 602s rolled onto the floor.
Then it was over and they flopped back, panting, smiling. “Oh you’re definitely healthy enough for sex,” said Nikki.
All Rook could manage was a dry-throated “That was … Whoa.” And then he added, “The earth moved.”
Nikki laughed. “Feel good about you.”
“No, I think it literally moved.” He got up on one elbow to look at the room. “I think we just had an earthquake.”
By the time she came out from drying her hair, Rook had tidied up the fallen items in his loft and planted himself in front of the TV. “Channel 7 says it was a 5.8 on something called the Ramapo Fault Line, epicenter in Sloatsburg, New York.”
Nikki put her empty mug on the counter and checked her cell phone. “I’ve got service back. No messages or TAC alerts, at least not for me. What’s the impact?”
“They’re still assessing. No fatalities, some injuries from fallen bricks and whatnot, nothing major, so far. Airports and some subway lines closed as a precaution. Oh, and I won’t have to shake the orange juice. Want some?”
She said no and put on her gun. “Who’d have thought? An earthquake in New York City?”
He put his arms around her. “Can’t complain about the timing.”
“Hard to top.”
“Guess we’ll just have to try,” he said, and they kissed. Her phone rang, and Heat pulled away to answer. Without being asked, he handed her a pen and notepad and she jotted an address. “On my way.”
“You know what I think we should do today?”
Nikki slipped her phone into her blazer pocket. “Yes, I do. And as much as I’d love to—believe me, I’d love to—I’ve got to get to work.”
“Go to Hawaii.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. Let’s just go. Maui. Mmm, Maui.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Give me one reason.”
“I’ve got a murder to handle.”
“Nikki. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in our time together, it’s never let a murder get in the way of a good time.”
“So I’ve noticed. And what about your work? Don’t you have some magazine article you should be writing? Some expose of corruption in the dark corridors of the World Bank? A chronicle of your ride-along with a bin Laden hunter? Your weekend in the Seychelles with Johnny Depp or Sting?”
Rook pondered that and said, “If we left this afternoon, we could be in Lahaina for breakfast. And if you feel guilty, don’t. You deserve it after taking care of me for two months.” She ignored him and clipped her detective shield onto her waistband. “Come on, Nikki, how many homicides are there in this city in a year, five hundred?”
“More like five thirty.”
“All right, that’s fewer than two a day. Look, we peace-out to Maui today and come back in a week, you’d miss, maybe, ten murders. And not all of them would be in your precinct anyway.”
“You’re making a very clear point here, Rook.”
He looked at her, mildly taken aback. “I am?”
“Yes. And the point is, I don’t care how many Pulitzer Prizes you’ve won. You still have the brain of a sixteen-year-old.”
“So is that a yes?”