NRoberts - G2 Black Rose

 “You weren’t going to tell me about this latest harassment.”

 For an instant, she thought of the phone call from New York, then tucked it away again. “Nothing to tell. I’m dealing with it.”

 “What’s happened since last night? You’re good, so I must’ve caught you off guard. What else happened?”

 “Just a minor irritation, one I’ve already handled. It’s not important. More accurately, I won’t let it be important. If I do, it makes me the victim, and he wins. I won’t be his victim. That’s one thing I never allowed myself to be, and I won’t start now.”

 “Telling me, venting some of the stress, doesn’t make you a victim, either.”

 “I’m not used to airing my problems. I’m not comfortable with it. But I appreciate the offer.”

 He took her hand, held it. “Consider it a standing one. For my next offer,Chicago ’s coming to the Orpheum next week. Come with me, have a late supper with me after.”

 “I might. Are you courting me, Mitchell?”

 His thumb grazed back and forth over her hand. “I like to think I’m romancing you, Rosalind.”

 “That’s a pretty word,romancing . You’ve been careful not to pressure me into taking that romancing into intimacy.”

 “If I pressured you, it wouldn’t be romance, or intimacy. Besides the fact, I imagine the door would hit me in the ass as you shoved me out of it.”

 Humor danced over her face. “That’s astute. I think you’re a clever man.”

 “I know I’m a besotted one.”

 “Another pretty word.”

 “I’ll have to be careful with them. They’re the sort of thing you’d distrust.”

 “Yes, a clever man. Well.” She had a choice, and she made it. “Come upstairs.”

 For the second time that night, she watched surprise run over his face. Then he lifted her hand to his lips. “Would this be serious business?”

 “It would. Very serious business.”

 “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.