Black Rose - NRoberts - G2 Black Rose

His voice heated up on the rant, his fury for her lighting little fires. “You’ve got balls of steel, Roz. And I mean that in the best possible way.”

“It was self-serving, not courageous or ballsy.” She shrugged it off, or tried to. “Causing a scene with a house full of guests would only have been more humiliating.”

“In your place, I’d’ve scratched both of them blind, then chased them out the door brandishing one of your great-great . . . however many greats-granddaddy’s muskets.”

She let out a little sigh, sipped again. “That would’ve been satisfying, and damn if I don’t wish I’d thought of the musket after the guests had gone. Well, we didn’t let him spoil that evening, and we won’t let him spoil this one.”

She polished off the champagne and turned to David with the determined look of a woman prepared for battle. “Let’s get the rest of these candles lit, put some music on. I’m ready for a party.”

YES,IT WAS good to open the house again. To have wine and music, good food, good friends. She listened to snippets of gossip, political debates, discussions on sports and the arts as she moved from group to group, from room to room.

She hooked her arm through her old friend Will Dooley’s, who was also Stella’s father, and Roz’s landscaper, Logan Kitridge’s future father-in-law. “You slipped by me.”

“Just got here.” He brushed his lips over her cheek. “Jo kept changing her shoes. She just went upstairs with Hayley. Said she had to peek at the baby.”

“I’ll find her. Lose your fiancée, Logan?”

“She’s everywhere.” He shrugged, sipped from his pilsner. “Woman can’t rest until she’s checked every detail personally. Nice party, Roz.”

“Oh, you hate parties.”

Now Logan grinned, a quick grin that added charm to his rugged looks. “A lot of people. But the food’s first-rate, the beer’s cold, and my date’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Tough to complain. Don’t tell her daddy, but I plan to lure her out to the gardens later to neck.”

He winked at Will, then shifted his gaze. “Your Dr. Carnegie just came in. Seems to be looking for you—or somebody.”

“Oh?” Roz glanced around, and those expressive eyebrows lifted. He’d worn a suit, stone gray, that flattered his lean build. He’d gotten a haircut since the last time she’d seen him, she noted, and was looking a little more GQ than professorial.

She could admit, to herself at least, that it was a treat to study him either way.

Still, he seemed slightly befuddled with the crowd, and shook his head when one of the efficient servers offered him a glass from a tray of champagne.

“Excuse me just a minute,” she said to Will and Logan.

She started to wind her way through the room, and broke her stride when his gaze skimmed over, then locked on her face.

She felt a little bump under her heart, and a quickening of pulse she found both baffling and embarrassing.

He just hones in, she thought. Those eyes just zeroed right on in so she felt—anyone would feel—that she was the only person in the room. A good trick in a space jammed with people and noise, and just a little disconcerting.

But her expression was easy and friendly as she walked to him.

“I’m so glad you could come.”

“When you throw a party, you mean it. I could see the lights from a mile away. You don’t actually know all these people, do you?”

“Never seen them before in my life. What can I get you to drink?”

“Club soda, lime.”

“There’s a bar set up over here.” To guide him, she laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

“Thanks. Listen, I have something for you. A gift.”

He dug into his pocket as they crossed to the bar, then offered her a small wrapped box.

“That’s completely unnecessary, and awfully sweet.”

“Just a thanks for bailing me out with the gift for my niece.” He ordered his drink. “You look . . . amazing is the word that springs to mind, with spectacular coming right behind it.”

“Thank you.”

“From head.” His gaze skimmed down to her silver-heeled sandals—and the ruby-red toenails. “To toe.”

“My mama always said a woman wasn’t groomed unless her toenails were painted. It’s one of the few pieces of advice she gave me I agreed with. Should I open this now?”

He’d barely glanced at the rubies, though his amateur antiquer’s eye judged them to be vintage. But the toes. The toes were terrific.

“What?”

“The gift.” She smiled. It was hard not to be pleased, and a little bit smug, when a man was enraptured by your feet. “Should I open it now?”

“Oh, no, I wish you wouldn’t. If you open it later, and you hate it, you’ll have time to prepare a polite lie.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m opening it now.”

She tugged off the ribbon, lifted the top. Inside was a miniature clock, framed in silver filigree. “It’s lovely. It’s really lovely.”

“Antiquing’s a hobby of mine. Makes sense, considering. I figured with this house, you’d enjoy old things. There’s an inscription on the back. It got to me.”

She turned it over and read.

L, Count the hours. N

“Lovely, and romantic. It’s wonderful, Mitch, and certainly more than I deserve for picking out a toy.”

“It made me think of you.” When she lifted her head, he shook his. “That put a cynical look in your eye. But fact’s fact. I saw it, thought of you.”

“Does that happen often?”

“My thinking of you?”

“No, thinking of someone and buying her a charming gift.”

“From time to time. Not in some time, actually. Does it happen often on your end?”

She smiled a little. “Not in some time. Thank you, very much. I want to put this upstairs. Why don’t I introduce you to . . . oh, there’s Stella. Nobody can steer you through a party better than our Stella.”

“Mitch.” Stella held out a hand for him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you. You’re blooming,” he said. “It must be love.”

“I can confirm that.”

“And how are your boys?”

“They’re great, thanks. Conked out upstairs, and . . . oh.” She broke off when she saw the little clock. “Isn’t that sweet? So romantic and female.”

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Roz agreed. “It was a gift, for a very small favor.”

“You wouldn’t say small if you’d been on the receiving end of the phone call I got from my sister and my niece,” Mitch told her. “I’m not only officially forgiven, I’m currently enjoying favorite-uncle status.”

“Well then, obviously I deserve this. Stella, show Mitch around, will you? I just want to put this upstairs.”

“Sure.” And Stella noted the way Mitch’s gaze followed Roz out of the room.

“One question before we make the rounds. Is she seeing anyone?”

“No, she’s not.”

He grinned as he took Stella’s arm. “How about that?”

Roz mingled her way to the foyer, then started upstairs. It reminded her that she’d walked up these stairs at another party, with the voices and the music and lights behind her. And she’d stepped into the end of a relationship.

She wasn’t naive. She knew very well Mitch was asking her if she was interested in beginning a relationship, and was laying some groundwork so she would be. What was strange was that her answer wasn’t a flat no. What was strange, Roz thought as she walked to her bedroom, was not knowing the answer.

She slipped into the room to set the romantic little clock on her dresser. She couldn’t stop the smile as she traced the frame. A very thoughtful gift, she thought, and yes, her cynical side added that it was a very clever gift. Then again, a woman who’d been through two marriages was bound to have a healthy dose of cynicism.