Bed of Roses tbq-2

by Nora Roberts

  “Rips out your heart and makes you laugh?”

  “Yes. Men never get that. I’m not going to tell you the whole thing, just that it’s wrenching and charming and sad and affirming. It’s unspeakably romantic.”

  “And that’s what you do, secretly, in your bed at night, when you’re alone.”

  “It is. Hundreds of times. I’ve had to replace the DVD twice.”

  Obviously baffled, he studied her as he drank champagne. “A dead guy’s romantic?”

  “Hello? Alan Rickman. And yes, in this case, it’s wonderfully romantic. After I watch it—and finish crying—I sleep like a baby.”

  “What about Die Hard? He’s in Die Hard. Now that’s a movie you can watch a hundred times. Maybe we should do a double feature some time. If you can handle that.”

  “Yippee-ki-yay.”

  He grinned at her. “Pick a night next week, and you’re on. But there has to be popcorn. You can’t watch Die Hard without popcorn.”

  “Fair enough. Then we’ll see what you’re made of.” She brushed her lips to his. “I’m going to change. It won’t take me long. Maybe you should bring the champagne into the bedroom.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  In the bedroom he took off his jacket and tie, and thought about her. Thought about the surprises and facets and layers of her.

  It was odd, really, to think you knew someone inside and out, and discover there was more to learn. And the more you learned the more you wanted to know.

  On impulse, he took the rose from the vase and laid it on a pillow.

  When she stepped out into the candlelight, he lost his breath. Black hair tumbling over white silk, smooth skin gold against white lace. And those eyes, he thought, deep and dark, looking into his.

  “You said something about dream date,” he managed.

  “I wanted to do my part.”

  The silk flowed over her curves as she walked to him, and as she lifted her arms to wind them around his neck in a way that was so essentially Emma, her scent shimmered in the air like the candlelight.

  “Did I thank you for dinner?”

  “You did.”

  “Well . . .” She scraped her teeth over his bottom lip—lightly, lightly—before the kiss. “Thanks again. And the champagne? Did I thank you for that?”

  “As I recall.”

  “Just in case.” On a sigh her mouth met his. “And the candlelight, the rose, the long walk, the view.” Her body moved against his, leading him into a slow, circling dance.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He drew her in, closer still, so her body pressed to his. Time spun out as they circled, as mouth clung to mouth, as heart beat to heart.

  She drew in his scent, his flavor. So familiar and still so new. Her fingers trailed up into hair bronzed and gilded by the sun, then curled, tugged to bring him just a little closer.

  They slid down together onto smooth white sheets, and into the perfume of a single red rose. More sighs now, more dreamy movements. A caress, a tender touch, shimmered over her skin. She stroked his face, opened—body and heart—as she found, with him, passion wrapped in the shimmer of romance.

  Here was all she wanted, had ever wished for. The sweetness and the heat. And as she gave, more and more, she filled until she was dizzy with love.

  His flesh to her flesh, so warm, brought her a quiet joy even as pulses spiked. His lips pressed to her heart as it beat for him.

  Did he know it? Couldn’t he feel it?

  And when he took her up, slowly up, his name—just his name—bloomed in that heart.

  She clouded his mind like a silver mist, sparkled in his blood like champagne. Every languorous move, every whisper, every touch seduced, entranced.

  When she broke for him, rising up like a wave, she breathed his name. And she smiled.

  Something inside him stumbled.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Impossibly beautiful.”

  “I feel beautiful when you look at me.”

  He skimmed his fingers over her breast, watched her eyes glow with fresh pleasure. He lowered his mouth, a gentle taste with teeth and tongue, and felt her body quiver with fresh need.

  “I want you.” Her breath caught as she arched under him. “You’re what I want, Jack.”

  She surrounded him, taking him in, moving with him in slow, savoring beats. Surrounded, he lost himself in her.

  Sated, he rested his cheek on her breast, let his mind drift.

  “No chance of playing hooky tomorrow and staying right here?”

  “Mmm.” Her fingers threaded through his hair. “Not this time. But what a nice thought.”

  “The way things stand we’ll have to get up at dawn.”

  “I find I often do better on no sleep than with a few stingy hours.”

  He lifted his head, smiled at her. “That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

  “It would be a shame to waste the rest of that champagne, and those lovely chocolate-covered strawberries.”

  “Criminal. Stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll get them.”

  She stretched, sighed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Five minutes after Emma got home, Mac came through the door.

  “I waited until he left,” Mac called out as she climbed the stairs. “That’s herculean restraint.” She scowled when she walked into Emma’s bedroom. “You’re unpacking. Putting everything away. I hate this level of efficiency. Why can’t at least one of you be a slob like me?”

  “You’re not a slob. You’re just a bit relaxed with your personal space.”

  “Hey, I like that. Relaxed with my personal space. Okay, enough about me. Tell me all. I left my own lover to his lonely bowl of corn flakes.”

  With last night’s dress in her hands, Emma spun a happy circle. “It was fabulous. Every minute.”

  “Deets, deets, deets.”

  “An elegant French restaurant, champagne, a suite at the Waldorf.”

  “God, that’s all so you. Snazzy date wise. Casual date-wise, maybe moonlight picnic at the beach, red wine, candles tucked into little shells.”

  Emma closed her empty suitcase. “Why aren’t I dating you?”

  “We’d make a lovely couple, it’s true.” Draping an arm over Emma’s shoulder, Mac turned to the mirror and studied—Emma in her trim jeans and soft shirt, and herself in the cotton pants and T-shirt she’d slept in. “Stunning, really. Well, we can keep it in reserve if things don’t work out otherwise.”

  “Always good to have a backup. Oh, God, Mac, it was the most perfect night.” She turned, squeezed Mac into a hug before doing another spin. “We didn’t sleep. At all. It’s amazing, really, that we have so much to talk about, to find out about each other still. We talked all through dinner, then took a long walk. And he’d had them bring up champagne and light candles, put on music.”

  “Wow.”

  “We drank more champagne and we talked, and we made love. It was so romantic.” On a humming sound, she closed her eyes, hugged herself. “Then we talked and drank more champagne, and we made love again. We had breakfast by candlelight and—”

  “Made love again.”

  “We did. We drove home through horrible traffic with the top down, and the traffic didn’t matter. Nothing did. Nothing could.” She gave herself another hug. “Mac? I’m a happy person most of the time.”

  “Yeah, it can be annoying.”

  “I know, but too bad. Anyway, I’m a happy person, but I never knew I could be this happy. I didn’t know I could feel like this. Like I just want to jump and dance and spin and sing. Like Julie Andrews on a mountaintop.”

  “Okay, but don’t do that because that’s seriously annoying.”

  “I know, so I’m only doing it on the inside. All the times I imagined what it would be like to be crazy in love, I never knew.”

  She dropped down on the bed, grinned up at the ceiling. “Do you feel this way all the time? With Carter?”


  Mac flopped down beside her. “I never thought I’d be in love. Not really. I never imagined it the way you always did, or looked for it. In some ways it snuck up on me, and in others it fell on me like a ton of bricks. It’s still a shock to the system to realize I have this inside me—not the spinning and singing part, because even inside it would annoy me. But I’ve got the jumping and dancing going on. And somebody has it inside for me. Talk about shocking.”

  Emma reached out to take Mac’s hand. “I don’t know if Jack has it back for me, not the way I do for him. But I know he cares. I know he feels. And I have so much, Mac. I have to believe all this love I have will . . . take root, I guess. I thought I loved him before, but now I think that was a kind of infatuation mixed up inside lust. Because this is different.”

  “Can you tell him?”

  “I would’ve said no, even a couple of days ago. Don’t want to ruin anything, don’t want to tip the scales. Actually did say no when Parker and I talked about it. But now I think I can. I think I should. I just have to figure out how and when.”

  “It scared me, when Carter told me he loved me. Don’t be upset if it scares him a little, at least at first.”

  “I don’t think you tell someone you love them because you expect something. I think you tell them because you have something to give.”

  “You unpack as soon as you get home from a trip. You have a happy nature. And you’re wise about love. I’m surprised the three of us haven’t ganged up and beaten the hell out of you regularly.”

  “You can’t. You love me.”

  Mac turned so they faced each other. “We do. I’m pulling for you, Em. We all are.”

  “Then how can I go wrong?”

  The knock interrupted Emma halfway through processing the morning delivery. Grumbling only a little, she left the flowers holding. She winced when she saw Kathryn Seaman and her sister through the glass. Wet and messy weren’t ways to impress important clients.

  Trapped, she fixed an easy smile on her face and opened the door. “Mrs. Seaman, Mrs. Lattimer, how nice to see you.”

  “I apologize for dropping in on you this way, but Jessica and her girls decided on the bridesmaids’ dresses. I wanted to bring you the swatch of the material.”

  “That’s perfect. Please come in. Can I get you something to drink? Maybe some sun tea? It’s a warm day.”

  “I’d love some,” Adele said immediately. “If it’s no bother.”

  “Not at all. Why don’t you sit down, be comfortable? I’ll just be a minute.”

  Tea, Emma thought as she hurried into the kitchen. Lemon slices, the good glasses. Crap, crap. A little plate of cookies. Thank God for Laurel’s emergency tin. She scrambled everything onto a tray, shoved at her hair.

  She pulled her emergency lip gloss out of a kitchen drawer, glided some on, then pinched her cheeks.

  As that was the best she could manage under the circumstances, she took two deep breaths to make sure she looked un-rushed. She strolled back in to find both women wandering her greeting area.

  “Kate told me what a pretty setup you had here. She was right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And your private rooms are upstairs?”

  “Yes. It’s not only convenient, but very comfortable.”

  “I noticed your partner—Mackensie—is expanding her studio.”

  “Yes.” Emma poured the tea, then continued to stand as neither woman seemed inclined to sit. “Mac’s getting married this December, and they’ll need more room in their private space, so they’re expanding the studio space as well.”

  “Isn’t that exciting?” Sipping tea, Adele continued to wander, fluffing at flowers, studying photos. “Planning a wedding for one of your own.”

  “It really is. We’ve all been friends since we were children.”

  “I noticed the photo here. Is that you, and two of your partners?”

  “Yes, Laurel and Parker. We loved playing Wedding Day,” Emma told her as she smiled at the photo. “I was the bride that day, and Mac, in a glimpse of the future, official photographer. She’ll tell you it was that moment—the blue butterfly moment—when she knew she wanted to be a photographer.”

  “It’s charming.” Kathryn turned to Emma. “We’ve interrupted your work, and are taking up entirely too much of your time.”

  “It’s always lovely to have an unexpected break.”

  “I hope you mean that,” Adele put in, “because I’m dying to see where you work. Are you arranging today? Making bouquets?”

  “Ah . . . actually I’m processing a morning delivery, which is why I’m a little messy.”

  “I’m shameless, and I’m going to ask if I can see where you work.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She shot a look at Kathryn. “Don’t panic.”

  “I’ve seen where you work.”

  “Yes, but not while I was working,” Emma pointed out as she led the way. “Processing is . . . Well, as you can see.” She gestured to her work counter.

  “Just look at the flowers!” Flushed with excitement, Adele moved forward. “Oh, and smell the peonies.”

  “The bride’s favorite,” Emma told her. “We’ll be using this wonderful rich red for her bouquet, contrasted with the bold pinks down to the palest blush. It’ll be hand-tied with wine-colored ribbon and candy pink studs. The attendants will carry smaller versions, in the pinks.”

  “And you keep them in these buckets?”

  “In a solution that hydrates and feeds. It’s an important step to keep them fresh, and to help them last after the event. I’ll keep them in the cooler until we’re ready to start designing.”

  “How do you—”

  “Adele.” Kathryn clucked her tongue. “You’re interrogating again.”

  “All right, all right. I’m full of questions, I know. But I’m very serious about launching a wedding planning company in Jamaica.” Nodding, Adele scanned the area again. “It seems you have a perfect arrangement here, so there’s little hope in luring you away.”

  “But I’m happy to answer questions. Still, for an overview of a business model, Parker’s your girl.”

  “We’re going to get out of your way.” Kathryn reached in her bag. “The swatch.”

  “Oh, what a beautiful color. Like a spring leaf through a drop of dew. Perfect for a fairy-tale wedding.” She turned to her display and chose a white silk tulip. “See how the white just gleams against this watery green?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. As soon as the final designs are approved, we’ll send you the sketches. Thank you, Emma, for the time.”

  “We’re all here to make certain Jessica has the perfect day.”

  “You see.” Adele poked her sister’s arm. “That’s exactly the sort of attitude I want to offer. In fact, I think The Perfect Day would be a wonderful name for the business.”

  “I like it,” Emma told her.

  “If you change your mind, you’ve got my card,” she reminded Emma. “I’ll promise you ten percent over what you make annually now.”

  “I’m trying not to be annoyed she’d try to steal you. Again.” Parker slipped off her shoes after the second of two full consults.

  “How much did she offer you to move to Jamaica?” Emma asked.

  “Carte blanche, which I told her was a rudimentary mistake. No one’s worth a blank check, especially when you’re designing a business model.”

  “She’s rolling in it,” Laurel pointed out. “And yes, I know that doesn’t matter on a practical, business level. But she’s used to rolling in it.”

  “She has a good concept. An exclusive and inclusive wedding company in a popular destination wedding site. And she’s smart to try to hook people with solid experience. But she’s got to create a budget, and stick.”

  “Then why aren’t we doing it?” Mac wanted to know. “I don’t mean let’s all pack up and move to Jamaica or Aruba, or wherever, but a branch of Vows in some exotic locale? We’d kill.”

  “I’ll kill
you.” Laurel formed a gun with her thumb and finger, and went bang. “Haven’t we got enough work?”

  “I’ve thought about it.”

  Laurel gaped at Parker. “Let me reload.”

  “Just a loose outline, for the future.”

  “When they perfect human cloning.”

  “A franchise rather than a branch,” Parker explained. “With very specific requirements. But I haven’t worked out all the details or kinks. If and when I do, we’ll all talk it through. And we’ll all have to agree. But for now, yes, we do have enough work. Except for the third week in August. We’re blank.”

  “I saw that. I meant to ask you about it,” Emma continued as she stretched out some kinks in the small of her back. “I figured I’d forgotten to plug something in.”

  “No, we don’t have an event that week because I blacked it out. I can change that if nobody’s interested in taking a week at the beach.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then three women leaped up to do a happy dance. Laurel snatched Parker’s hand and pulled her up to join them.

  “I take it you’re interested.”

  “Can we pack now? Can we? Can we?” Mac demanded.

  “Sunscreen, a bikini, and a blender for margaritas. What else do you need?” Laurel swung Parker around. “Vacation!”

  “Where?” Emma asked. “What beach?”

  “Who cares?” Laurel flopped down on the couch again. “It’s the beach. It’s a week without fondant or sugar paste. I wipe a tear from my cheek.”

  “The Hamptons. Del bought a house.”

  “Del bought a house in the Hamptons?” Mac lifted her fists in the air. “Go, Del.”

  “Actually, Brown LLC bought it. That’s what some of the paperwork he’s been bringing over was about. A property came up. It’s a good investment. I didn’t say anything, in case it fell through. But it’s a done deal now. So, we’ll all pack ourselves off to the beach for a week the end of August.”

  “All?” Laurel echoed.