In the Garden Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

“Then I’d love to.”

  She led him out of the room, and down the hall. “The house emptied out on me tonight. So it’s just the two of us. Well, three.” She looked up at him as they walked up the stairs. “Will that bother you?”

  “The fact that she may be watching.” He took a little breath. “I guess we’ll find out. Did you—” He cut himself off, shook his head.

  “What?”

  “No, we’ll save that.”

  “All right. I hope you don’t mind putting off dinner a bit.”

  As an answer he turned to her, into her, backing her against a wall. Then laying his lips on hers.

  It began warm and soft, then edged up to heat, and demand. She trembled, just once, a shiver of anticipation that spread through her system and reminded her what it was like to be poised on the brink.

  He lifted his head, angled it. “You were saying?”

  It made her laugh, and feel easy. Taking his hand, she drew him into her bedroom. Shut the door.

  He took a moment, scanned the room with its lovely old four-poster and tall windows with the curtains drawn back to let in the night.

  “It looks like you. The room,” he explained, taking in the silvery green walls, the antiques, the clean lines and elegant details. “Beautiful and classy with a simple elegance that reflects an innate grace and sense of style.”

  “You make me wish I’d taken the time to fuss with myself a bit.”

  He looked at her then, the casual sweater, the comfortable trousers. “You are exactly right.”

  “Right or not, I’m what I am. I think a fire would be nice.” She stepped toward it, but he laid a hand on her arm.

  “I’ll do it. You’d have a view of the back gardens from here,” he began as he crouched in front of the fire.

  And the terrace doors slashed open on a frigid gust of wind.

  “Yes, I do.” Calmly Roz crossed over, muscled the doors closed again. “Some mornings, when there’s time, I like to take coffee out on the terrace.”

  He set the kindling to blaze, and his tone was as matter-of-fact as hers. “I can’t think of many better ways to start the day.”

  She stepped to the bed to turn down the duvet. “Or end it. I often have a last glass of wine or cup of coffee out there before I go to bed. It helps smooth out any rough edges left over from the day.” She reached over, turned out the lamp.

  “Why not leave it on?”

  She shook her head. “The firelight’s enough, the first time. It’s more flattering, and I’m vain enough to prefer that.”

  She stood where she was, waited for him to come to her. As he laid his hands on her shoulders, the bedroom door slammed open, and closed.

  “I expect we might have more of that to contend with,” she said.

  “I don’t care.” His hands slid up to her face. “I don’t care,” he repeated and took her mouth with his.

  She felt her pulse jump, what a glorious jolt. The sort that woke the whole system at once, brought it to quivering life. In answer, she lifted her arms to link them around his neck, changed the angle of the kiss to deepen it.

  Clocks began to chime, insanely. In defiance as much as need, she pressed her body to his. “I want you to touch me,” she murmured against his mouth. “I want to be touched. By you. Your hands on me.”

  He eased her back on the bed, sank in with her. The weight of him made her sigh, the weight of a man, and what it meant. Then he touched, and she moaned.

  He felt the heat from her. He’d known it was there, under that fascinating and cool veneer. Her skin was like velvet, warmed velvet, over her sides, her torso, the lovely curve of her breasts.

  Slim, but not delicate, her body was tough and disciplined. Like her mind, he thought. And just as appealing.

  She tasted of ripe, forbidden fruit and smelled of midnight gardens.

  Her hands slid under his shirt, up his back. Hard, strong hands, an arousing contrast to the wand-slim body, the satiny skin.

  She drew his shirt over his head, reared up enough to set her teeth on his bare shoulder. And the shock of it speared straight to his loins.

  The terrace door flew open once more, and the wind burst through to slap over him. He simply reached down, hauled the duvet up. And burrowed under it with her.

  She laughed, and found his mouth in the blanketing dark.

  Tasting her, feasting on her, he tugged her sweater up and off. “Tell me if you’re too cold.”

  “No. I couldn’t be.”

  She was burning up from the inside out, and only wanted more. More of his hands, his mouth. She arched to him, demanding, exalting when those hands, that mouth claimed her breast. The thrill of it stabbed through her, the bliss of giving her body, of having it used.

  They rolled together, tugging each other free of clothes, sliding together naked as flesh began to slick from heat and passion.

  The blankets fell away, so firelight flickered over them. And if in some dim corner of her brain she heard someone weeping, she could feel only that steady rise of excitement. She could see only him, in the glow of the fire, rising over her.

  She lifted to meet him, opened to take him. And sighed, sighed, when he slipped inside her.

  He watched her now as she watched him, gazes and bodies locked. Then the movement, slow, intensely focused as her breath came short and ragged, as dark, deep pleasure flooded her, swept her away.

  He watched her crest, the arch of her throat, the blur of her eyes, felt her fly over as she squeezed around him. He fought to hold on another moment, just another moment while she quaked under him, while her breath hitched, then released on a long, low moan. And her body went soft and limp in surrender.

  He kissed her then, one last, desperate kiss before he plunged, and emptied.

  THE DOORS WERE closed as they should be. The fire crackled and simmered. And the house was quiet, settled, and warm.

  She was cocooned with him in the center of the bed, allowing herself to enjoy the bliss and the glow. With very little effort, she could have drifted straight off to sleep.

  “Looks like she gave up,” Mitch commented.

  “Yes. For now, anyway.”

  “You were right about the fire. It’s nice. Very nice.”

  Then he rolled so that she was under him again, and he could look down at her face. “Being with you,” he began, then shook his head, touched his lips to hers. “Being with you.”

  “Yes.” Smiling, she stroked her fingers through his hair. “That’s very nice, too. I haven’t wanted to be with anyone in a very long time. You know, you’ve got good arms, for a scholar.” She gave his biceps a squeeze. “I like good arms. I don’t like to think I’m shallow, but I have to say it’s a pleasure being naked with a man who keeps in shape.”

  “I’ll change that to a woman, then say the same. The first time I met you, I stood and watched you walk away. You’ve got one excellent ass, Ms. Harper.”

  “It happens I do.” With a laugh, she gave his a light slap. “We’d better get dressed, go on down before everyone starts coming home.”

  “In a minute. It was your eyes that hooked me—hooked right through me.”

  “My eyes?”

  “Oh yeah. I thought maybe it was because they’re the color of good aged whiskey—and I did love a good whiskey. But that’s not it. It’s the way they look straight at me. Straight on. Fearless, and just a little regal.”

  “Please.”

  “Oh yeah, there’s lady of the manor in there, and it beats the hell out of me why it’s so sexy. Ought to be irritating, or intimidating at least. But for me, it’s just . . . stimulating.”

  “If that’s the case, I’m going to have to start wearing dark glasses so I don’t get you heated up at inappropriate times.”

  “Won’t matter a damn.” He gave her a light kiss, then shifted. Took her hand. “This mattered. This was important. There isn’t anyone else.”

  Her heart trembled a little, made her feel young and just a little foolish
. “Yes, this mattered. This was important. There isn’t anyone else.”

  “Serious business,” he said, and drew her hand to his lips. “I’m going to start wanting you again, real soon.”

  She squeezed his hand. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

  TWELVE

  ROZ FOLLOWED THE scent of coffee, and the noise, into the kitchen. The dreary gray rain had canceled her morning run, so she’d channeled the energy into three miles on her treadmill. It was an alternative that usually bored her senseless, but today she’d found herself singing along with commercial jingles during the Today show breaks.

  In the kitchen the baby was banging away on her high chair tray with the enthusiasm of a heavy metal drummer, and Stella’s boys were whining over their cereal.

  “Yes,” Stella announced with the snap of motherly frustration in her voice, “you both have to wear your raincoats, because I’m mean and bossy and I want you to be miserable.”

  “We hate the raincoats,” Gavin informed her.

  “Really? That’s not what you said when you begged me to buy them.”

  “That was before.”

  Perhaps in sympathy, perhaps for the fun of it, Lily stopped banging her teething rattle and threw it—along with her mangled Zwieback. The eagle-eyed Parker fielded the Zwieback before it hit the floor, and the rattle landed with a solid plop in Luke’s bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

  Milk fumed up and over the rim of the bowl, causing Lily to scream in delight. In a chain reaction, Parker let out a spate of ear-piercing barks and did canine flips while Gavin doubled over in hysterics.

  Stella was quick, but for once Luke was quicker and had the rattle out of the bowl and tossed, dripping, into his brother’s lap.

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Stella grabbed a napkin with one hand and held up the other to block Gavin’s retaliation. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Hayley scooped up the bowl, more napkins as the boys shoved at each other.

  A calm in the storm, David walked over with a damp rag. “We’ll mop it up. Troublemaker,” he said to Lily, who answered him with a huge, crumby grin.

  Roz studied the chaos, and just beamed.

  “Morning,” she said and strolled in.

  Heads turned.

  “Roz?” Stella stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Since I live here, I thought I’d come in and get myself a cup of coffee.” She bent down to brush a kiss over the top of Lily’s head. “Hello, boys. That baby’s got pretty good aim, doesn’t she? Two-pointed it right in the goal.”

  The idea was so intriguing the boys stopped fighting. “Do it again, Lily!” Luke tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “Give it back to her, Mom, so she can do it again.”

  “Not right now. You’ve got to finish up or you’ll be late for school.” She checked her watch and saw it was indeed just after eight, and a full hour after Roz was usually on her way out the door.

  “My cereal’s got baby spit in it now,” Luke complained.

  “You can have a muffin instead.”

  “Then I want a muffin.” Gavin shoved his cereal aside. “If he can have a muffin, I can have a muffin, too.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  “I’ll get them.” Hayley gestured Stella back. “Least I can do.”

  “Mmm, don’t they smell great?” Roz sniffed at the bowl filled with fresh apple muffins. She plucked one out for herself, then leaned back against the counter, her coffee in one hand, her muffin in the other. “Can’t be a better way to start the day. And look at that rain. Nothing like a good all-day soaker.”

  After Hayley passed out muffins, she bent close to Stella’s ear. “Somebody got her batteries charged.”

  Stella fought to swallow a snorting laugh. “We’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

  “No rush.” Roz bit into the muffin.

  “You’re usually gone, or finishing up before the invasion.”

  “Slept in a little today.”

  “That explains the bulletin I heard on the news this morning about hell freezing over.” David didn’t bother to hide the smirk as he brought the coffeepot over to top off Roz’s mug.

  “Aren’t you full of sass this morning.”

  “I’m not the only one full of something. How’d the . . . lasagna go over?”

  “Very well.” She gave him a bland look over the rim of her cup, and wondered if she was wearing a sign: Recently Got Laid.

  “You ought to have a nice big helping of it more often. Puts roses in your cheeks.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I could use a nice hot dish of lasagna myself,” Hayley commented. “Come on, baby doll, let’s get you cleaned up.” She took Lily out of the high chair.

  “You guys go up and get your things—including raincoats,” Stella ordered. “It’s almost time to go.”

  But she loitered another minute. “You want to ride over with me?” she asked Roz.

  “I guess I will.”

  STELLA WAITED UNTIL they were starting down the drive. By her calculations, swinging just a half a mile out of the way to drop Lily off at the babysitter’s should give them enough time.

  “We made a lot of progress on the painting last night. It’s going to be nice to have the dining room finished and put together by the wedding. I’d really like to have a dinner party once we’re set. David and all of us, Harper, my parents. Oh and Mitch, of course.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “He’s around so much—Mitch, I mean—these days, he feels like part of the household.” At Roz’s noncommittal hmmm, Stella glanced in the rearview mirror to see Hayley rolling her eyes and giving get-to-it hand signals.

  “So . . . ah, did you and Mitch work on the project last night, or take advantage of the quiet house and just relax?”

  “Stella, why don’t you just ask me if I had sex with him instead of beating around the bush? Nothing I hate more than seeing a bush beat half to death.”

  “I was being subtle,” Stella replied.

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “I told her she didn’t have to lead up to everything,” Hayley said from the back. “Besides, we know you had sex. You’ve got that recently waxed and lubed look.”

  “God.”

  “Of course, it’s none of our business,” Stella put in, shooting Hayley a hot look in the mirror.

  “Of course it’s not,” Roz agreed easily.

  “But we just wanted to find a way to say that we’re happy if you’re happy. That we think Mitch is a terrific guy, and we’re here to support—”

  “Jeez.” Hayley leaned forward as much as her seat belt would allow. “What she’s trying to say in her Stella way is: Score!”

  “I am not. Exactly. I’m trying to say, with some delicacy—”

  “Screw delicacy. Hey, just because people are a little older and all doesn’t mean they don’t want and deserve some touch the same as the next guy.”

  “Oh,” Roz declared. “I repeat, God.”

  “You’re beautiful and sexy,” Hayley continued. “He’s great looking and sexy. So, it seems to me that sex is . . . She really can’t understand all this, right?” Biting her lip, she glanced at Lily, who was busy playing with her own fingers. “I read this theory on how babies absorb all the stimuli around them, including voices and words, and kind of file them away, and shoot, here we are.”

  She gathered the diaper bag, then jumped out of the car in the rain. After jogging around, she opened the door to release Lily’s harness and drape a blanket over her head. “Don’t say anything interesting while I’m gone. I mean it.”

  When she dashed off, Roz let out a long, heartfelt sigh. “Half the time that girl makes me feel old and creaky, and the other half she makes me feel about eighteen and grass green.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. And I know it sounds like we’re pushing and prying into your private life, but it’s because, well, it’s just because
we love you, that’s all. And added to it, we were wondering when you and Mitch might take things up a level.”

  “Wondering, were you?”

  Stella winced. “The subject might have come up in casual conversation. Once or twice.”

  “Why don’t I let you know when and if I’d like to have a casual conversation on the subject?”

  “Sure. Absolutely.”

  When Hayley ran back out, jerked open the door, Stella cleared her throat—loudly—and gave a quick shake of her head. As Hayley let out a disgusted sigh, Stella pulled away from the side of the road and spoke brightly.

  “So, I’ve been working on ideas for displaying the potting soil.”

  HER LIFE DIDN’T change, Roz reminded herself, just because she’d gone to bed with a man she found attractive and appealing. Life went on, with its duties and obligations, its irritations and its pleasures.

  As she headed for her garden club’s monthly meeting, she wasn’t sure which category her current destination landed in.

  A Harper had been a member of the garden club since her grandmother’s day. In fact, her grandmother had helped form it in 1928, and Harper House had held many of its early meetings.

  As the owner of a garden center, she felt a double obligation to support the group and remain an active member. And there were some pleasures attached to it. She enjoyed talking with like-minded people about gardening and felt the club had worked hard to implement fund-raisers for beautification projects.

  But then, there were plenty who just wanted to dress up, have lunch, and gossip.

  She walked into the meeting room at the country club into that beehive hum of female voices. Square enameled pots exploding with forced narcissus sat festively on tables draped with spring-green linen. A podium stood in front of the room for the various committee chairs who’d give their reports or pitches.

  She could only thank God she wasn’t chairing anything currently.

  When she stepped farther into the room, glances shot her way, and the hum of voices trailed off. And died.

  Almost immediately they started up again, just a bit too loud, just a bit too bright. She let the cold shield slide over her, and continued to walk straight to a table.