Bed of Roses tbq-2

by Nora Roberts

  “What?”

  “We’d gone to the beach for a week. All of us. A friend of Del’s lent us his place—his parents’ place, I guess—in the Hamptons. It was the summer before you started this place.”

  “Yes. I remember. We had the best time.”

  “One morning early, I couldn’t sleep, so I walked down to the beach. And I saw you. For a minute—just a second or two, really—I didn’t realize it was you. You were wearing this long scarf thing tied around your waist, lots of wild colors, and it blew around your legs. You had on a red bathing suit under it.”

  “You . . .” She literally had to catch her breath. “You remember what I was wearing?”

  “Yes, I do. And I remember your hair was longer than it is now, halfway down your back. All those mad curls flying. Bare feet. All that golden skin, wild colors, mad curls. My heart just stopped. I thought: That’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I wanted that woman, in a way I’d never wanted one before.”

  He stopped, turned a little as she simply stared at him. “Then I saw it was you. You walked off, down the beach, the surf foaming up over your bare feet, your ankles, your calves. And I wanted you. I thought I’d lost my mind.”

  She wouldn’t be able to catch her breath much longer, she realized. Wouldn’t be able to think. Wouldn’t want to be able to think.

  “If you’d walked down to me, looked at me the way you’re looking at me now, you’d have had me.”

  “Worth waiting for.” He kissed her long, slow, deep, then walked with her into the bedroom. “Nice,” he said, noting the flowers, the candles.

  “Even friends should fuss a little, I think.” Because it would calm her, and set the mood, she picked up the lighter, wandered the room setting candles to flame.

  “Nicer.” He smiled when she switched on the music.

  She turned to him, with the room between them. “I’m going to be honest with you, Jack—as promised. I have a weakness for romance, the trappings, the gestures. I also have a weakness for passion, the quick and the crazed. I’ll take you either way. And tonight, you can take me, any way you want.”

  With those words, with Emma standing in candlelight, he was utterly seduced.

  He crossed to her, and she to him so they met in the center of the room. He combed his fingers through her hair, drawing it back from her face, lowering his lips to hers slowly. Tonight, he would do all in his power to exploit all her weaknesses.

  She gave, her body soft in surrender to echo the kiss. Warmth layered on warmth, longing wrapped in anticipation. When he swept her up to carry her to the bed, those dark eyes went slumberous.

  “I want to touch you everywhere I’ve dreamed of touching you.” Slowly, he slid his hand under her dress, along her thigh. “Everywhere.”

  He kissed her again, hints of greed now, of possession, while his fingers feathered over her skin, over the lace that barely covered her. She bowed up at his touch, offering more.

  His lips trailed down her throat in whispers as he slid the sweater down her arms. Then in a fast, rough move, he flipped her over to graze his teeth over her shoulder. When he straddled her to ease down the zipper at the back of her dress, she looked over her shoulder. Her smile was full of secrets.

  “Need any help?”

  “I think I’ve got it.”

  “I think you do. Since I’m not in a position to do it myself, take off your shirt.”

  He unbuttoned it, peeled it off while she watched him. “I’ve always liked watching you shirtless around here in the summer. I like this even better.” She rolled over again. “Undress me, Jack, and touch me. Everywhere.”

  She moved under him, lazy, teasing motions as he drew the dress over her head, and felt the sizzle of pleasure as his gaze traveled over her.

  “You’re spectacular.” He traced the edges of red lace, the tiny black petals. “This may take a while.”

  “No rush.”

  When he lowered his lips again, she let herself steep in the sensation of being explored.

  Inch by inch, he’d said, and he was a man of his word. He touched, he tasted, he lingered until her quivers became trembles and the perfumed air thickened.

  Generous curves, skin gold in candlelight, her hair spread out in lush coils of black silk. He’d thought her beautiful, always, but tonight she was a banquet willing to allow him a feast.

  Every time he came back to those soft, lush lips, she gave a little more. He guided her up, slowly, slowly, felt her rise and rise, then crest and break.

  Sensation drenched her, sweet and hot and lovely.

  “My turn.” She pushed herself up to link her arms around his neck, to fix her mouth to his.

  She shifted, nudging him over and back. Now she explored, strong shoulders, hard chest, firm belly. And teased his zipper down to free him.

  “I’d better—”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  She took a condom out of her nightstand and took her time pleasuring him in the act of protection. Her hands, her lips set every muscle quivering until he gripped her hair, dragged her up. “Now.”

  “Now.”

  She slid down, bowed up. And took him into her.

  The shiver ran through her, bright, silver-edged—a shimmering in the blood—as she began to move. Slowly, to draw out every drop of pleasure, with her eyes on his.

  He gripped her hips, fighting to let her set the torturous pace. As her hands ran down her body in glorious abandon, he ached from the sight of her. Her skin glowed, like gold dust set to flame with her black velvet eyes shimmering in the flickering light. His pulse beat in wild drums while she took her fill. And fisting around him, she shuddered over the edge.

  He levered up, rolled her to her back. On her gasp he pushed her knees up. “My turn.”

  He let control snap.

  The sleepy, shimmering pleasure flashed to frenzy. She cried out from the shock of it as he drove her in fast, powerful thrusts. Lost, thrilled, she met the unreasoned demand beat for beat. The orgasm ripped through her, filled her, then hollowed her out.

  She lay helpless, quivering even as he took more and reached his own.

  He collapsed on her, undone. He felt her quaking beneath him, felt the hammer strikes of her heart, and still her hand came up to stroke his back in a gesture of affection that was so utterly Emma.

  Jack closed his eyes a moment. He’d lost his wind, had probably lost his mind. He lay, breathing her in, absorbing the way her body, completely relaxed now, felt under his.

  “Well, since we promised to be honest,” he began, “I have to tell you that didn’t do much for me.”

  Under him she laughed and pinched his ass. “Yeah, it’s a shame. I guess we just don’t have any chemistry.”

  He grinned, lifted his head. “No chemistry. That’s why we blew up the lab.”

  “Lab, hell. We leveled the building.” She sighed, long and deep as she stroked her hands down. “God, you’ve got a nice ass. If I may say so.”

  “You may, and, baby, you, too.”

  She smiled up at him. “Look at us.”

  He kissed her, softly, then again with light affection. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. How do you feel about cold Chinese?”

  “I feel perfectly fine about it.”

  They ate at her kitchen counter, digging noodles, sweet and sour pork, and Kung Pao chicken right out of the cartons.

  “Why do you eat like that?” he asked.

  “Like what?”

  “In microscopic bites.”

  “Well.” She worked her way through a single noodle as he topped off her wineglass. “It started as a way to needle my brothers, and became a habit. Whenever we’d get a treat, ice cream or candy, whatever, they’d just scarf theirs down. It drove them crazy that I’d have some of mine left. So I started eating even slower so I’d have more left and make them crazier. Anyway, I eat less and enjoy it more this way.”

  “I bet.” Jack purposely shoveled a huge forkful of noodles
into his mouth. “You know, your family’s part of your appeal.”

  “Is it?”

  “Your family’s probably part of the reason you’re appealing, but I meant they’re all . . . great,” he decided for lack of better. “They’re great.”

  “I’m lucky. Of the four—well, six of us counting you and Del—I’m the only one with the whole shot. The Browns were amazing. You didn’t know them very well, but I grew up here almost as much as at home. And they were amazing. It was devastating for all of us when they died.”

  “Del was wrecked. I liked them a lot. They were fun, interesting people. Involved people. Losing your parents so suddenly, both of them, out of the blue, it has to be the worst. Divorce is hard on a kid, but . . .”

  “It is hard. It was tough on Mac when we were little, then it happened again. And again. For Laurel I think it came out of nowhere. She was a teenager, and suddenly her parents are splitting up and then they’re not, then they’re whatever they are. She hardly ever sees them. It couldn’t have been easy for you, either.”

  “It was rough, but it could’ve been a lot rougher.” He shrugged and ate. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. Why dwell on something painful that couldn’t be changed? “Both my parents made a real effort not to play tug-of-war with me, and they managed to keep it civilized. Eventually, they figured out how to be friendly.”

  “They’re both nice people, and they both love you. It makes a difference.”

  “We do okay.” And he’d learned “okay” sometimes had to be good enough. “Plus I think we do better with the distance. My mother has her second family, my father his.” His tone was a shrug, despite the fact he’d never reconciled himself to the ease with which they’d gone their separate ways, made their separate lives. “It got smoother all around when I went off to college. Smoother yet when I decided to move here.”

  He studied her as he drank some wine. “Your family, on the other hand, is like one of those rubber band balls you make, all twisted together into a solid core.” He considered for a moment. “Are you going to tell them about this?”

  She blinked. “Ah. I don’t know. If they ask me, but I don’t know why any of them would.”

  “Could be sticky.”

  “They like you. And they know I’ve had sex. They might be surprised. I mean, I’m surprised. But I don’t see anyone having a problem with it.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “The girls are fine with it.”

  “The girls?” Those smoky eyes widened. “You told the others we were going to sleep together?”

  “We’re girls, Jack,” she said dryly.

  “Right.”

  “Plus I thought, before, that you and Mac had been together.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Well, I thought you had, so I had to say something to her because of the Rule, and by the time we got that straightened out, everybody knew I was thinking about you and sex in the same sentence.”

  “I never slept with Mac.”

  “I know that now. I didn’t, however, know you kissed Parker.”

  “That was a long time ago. And it wasn’t really . . . Okay, it was, but it didn’t work.” He dug out more pork.

  “

  And you kissed Mrs. G. You man-slut.”

  “Now that might’ve worked. I don’t think we gave it enough time.”

  She grinned at him, poked at some chicken. “What does Del think?”

  “About me kissing Mrs. Grady?”

  “No. You and me. This.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a girl.”

  She paused with the glass halfway to her lips. “You haven’t talked to him about it? He’s your best friend.”

  “My best friend is going to want to kick my ass for thinking about touching you, much less doing what we just did upstairs.”

  “He, too, knows I’ve had sex.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true. He puts that in another dimension. The other-dimension Emma has sex.” Jack shook his head. “You, not so much.”

  “If we’re going to be together in bed, I’m not going to treat it like some illicit affair. He’ll find out. You’d better say something to him before he does. Because if you don’t, and he does, he will kick your ass.”

  “I’ll figure it out. There’s just one more thing, since we’re on all this. Since we’re together like this, I’d like to know that we’re not together with anyone else like this. Is that a problem?”

  She sipped her wine wondering why he’d have to ask. “Blood oath or pinky swear?” When he laughed, she took another sip. “If I’m sleeping with a man, I don’t see anyone else. It’s not only rude and against my principles, but it’s too much trouble.”

  “Good. So it’s you and me.”

  “It’s you and me,” she repeated.

  “I have to be on-site at seven.”

  Here it comes, she thought. Early day tomorrow, honey. It was great. I’ll call you.

  “Any objection if I stay, since I’d need to get up at about five?”

  Her lips curved. “No objection.”

  Jack discovered when they finally slipped toward sleep that Emma was a snuggler. The sort of woman who burrowed in and wrapped around.

  He was generally a man who liked his space. Space kept a man from getting tangled up—literally and metaphorically.

  But he found, under the circumstances, he didn’t really mind.

  She fell asleep like a stone dropped in a pond. Up and moving one minute, submerged the next. He was a drifter, with the movie reel of the day’s events and the previews of the next running through his mind as his body settled down.

  So he drifted, with Emma’s head nestled in the curve of his shoulder, her arm flung around his waist, and her leg twined between his.

  He woke, in nearly the same position, about six hours later to the beep of his cell phone’s alarm. And as he woke to the scent of her hair, she was his first conscious thought.

  His attempt to ease away without waking her resulted in causing her to snuggle closer. Even as his body cheerfully responded, he tried to nudge her away.

  She said,

  “Hmmmm?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Time’s it?”

  “Just after five.”

  She sighed again, then lifted her mouth to brush his lips with hers. “I’ve got about an hour. Too bad you don’t.”

  He’d managed to shift her so they were front to-front, and her hand was making slow, lazy circles over his ass.

  “There are two things I’m finding really convenient at the moment.”

  “What?”

  “Being the boss, so I don’t get fired for being late. Even more, my own habit of keeping spare work clothes in the trunk. If I leave right from here, I’ve got most of an hour.”

  “Convenient. Want coffee?”

  “That, too,” he said, and rolled on top of her.

  Chapter Ten

  While Tiffany processed another delivery, Emma completed the third hand-tied bouquet. She loved the combination of frilly tulips with the ranunculus and hydrangea. And though wiring the tiny crystals among the blooms abused her fingers, she knew she’d been right to suggest it. As she had with the strips of lace, the studs of pearls securing the stems.

  With the steps, the details, the precision required, even with her experience each bouquet took nearly an hour to create. Wasn’t she lucky, she thought, that she enjoyed every minute of it?

  There wasn’t a better job in the world, as far as she was concerned. And just now, as she began the painstaking assembly of the next bouquet, with Tiffany working quietly at the other end of the counter, with music and perfume winding in the air, she considered herself the luckiest woman on the planet.

  She turned the flowers in her hand, adding tulips at varying heights, adjusting, interspersing the ranunculus to create the shape she wanted. She added the beads, pleased with the touch of glitter, and time clicked away.

  �
��Do you want me to start on the centerpieces?”

  “Hmm?” Emma glanced up. “Oh. Sorry, off in another world. What did you say?”

  “It’s really beautiful. All the textures.” As she admired the work, Tiffany gulped down water. “You’ve got one more to go after that. I’d start it, but I’m not as good at the hand tied. I can get the centerpieces started though. I’ve got the list and the design.”

  “Go ahead.” Emma used a cable tie to secure the stems, clipped the excess plastic with her wire cutters. “Tink should be here . . . Well, she’s already late, so she should be here.” She exchanged cutters for clippers and began trimming the stems. “If you take the centerpieces, I’ll get her started on the standing arrangements.”

  Emma wrapped the stems in lace, anchored the lace with pearl corsage pins. Once the bouquet was in its holding vase and in the cooler, she washed her hands—again—rubbed in Neosporin—again—then set to work on the final hand-tied.

  When Tink wandered in, guzzling from a bottle of Mountain Dew, Emma merely lifted her eyebrows.

  “You’re late,” Tink said, “blah, blah, blah. I’ll stay late if you need me.” And yawned. “Didn’t get to bed—well, to sleep—until after three. This guy? Jake? He’s Iron Man, in all good ways. Then this morning . . .” She trailed off, blowing a streak of pink out of her eyes as she angled her head. “Somebody else got lucky last night. Jack, right? Hey, Jake and Jack. Cool.”

  “I managed to get lucky and finish four hand-tieds. If you want to make enough to keep yourself in Mountain Dew, you’d better get started.”

  “No problem. Is he as good as he looks?”

  “I’m not complaining, am I?”

  “Who’s Jack?” Tiffany wanted to know.

  “You know. Jack of the excellent ass and smoky eyes.” Tink stepped over to wash her hands.

  “

  That Jack?” Gaping, Tiffany stopped with a hydrangea in her hand. “Wow. Where have I been?”

  “It’s still breaking news, so you’re pretty up to date. You going back for more?” Tink asked Emma.

  “Work,” Emma muttered. “We’re working here.”