Black Rose

this guy. Punched him out . And this woman ripped into him—the other guy, not Shelby’s dad. It’s all about teeth and nails. You’re missing it.”
    “Go on back, you can give us the play-by-play later. I’m going to be busy kissing Roz for a while.”
    “Man. I’ve got to come to country clubs more often.” With that, Josh rushed back inside.
    And Mitch lowered his mouth to Roz’s.

    SHE NEEDED TO relax. She’d handled herself, Roz thought as she replaced her jewelry in its case, and she believed that what she’d been able to do had finally pried the monkey of a vindictive ex-husband off her back.
    But the cost had been yet another public scene.
    She was tired of them, tired of having her dirty linen flapped around for avid eyes to see. And she’d have to get over it.
    She undressed, slipped into her warm flannel robe.
    She was glad they’d been able to leave the club early. Hardly any reason to stay, she thought with a sharp smile. The place had been a glorious mess of overturned tables, spilled food and drink, horrified guests, and scrambling security.
    And would be the talk of the gossip circuit for weeks, as she would be.
    That was fine, that was expected, she told herself as she ran a warm bath. She’d ride it out, then things would get back to as close to normal as they ever did.
    She poured in an extra dose of bubble bath, a lovely indulgence for a midnight soak. When she was done, all relaxed and pink and fragrant, she might just wander down to the library and crook a finger at Mitch.
    Bless him for understanding she needed a little alone time. With a sigh, she slid into the tub, right down to the tips of her ears. A man who recognized a woman’s moods, and accepted them, was a rare find.
    John had, she remembered. Most of the time. They’d been so beautifully in tune, moving in tandem to build a family, enjoying their present and planning their future. Losing him had been like losing an arm.
    Still, she’d coped, and damn well if she said so herself. She’d raised sons she, and John, could be proud of, kept a secure home, honored her traditions, built her own business. Not bad for a widow woman.
    She could laugh at that, but the tension gathered at the base of her neck as she moved to the next phase. Bryce. A foolish, impulsive mistake. And that was all right, everyone was entitled to a few. But this one had done such damage, caused such upheaval. And public speculation and gossip, which in some ways was a bigger score to her pride.
    He’d made her doubt herself so often during their marriage, where she’d always been so confident, so sure. But he had an eroding way about him, slick and sly with all those insistent little rubs under the charm.
    It was a lowering thing to admit she’d been stupid—and over a man.
    But she’d cooked him good and proper tonight, and that made up for a lot of irritation, embarrassment, and pain. He’d served himself up on a goddamn platter, she thought, and she’d stuck the fork in. He was done.
    So good for her. Woo-hoo.
    Now maybe it was time for yet another phase in the Life of Rosalind. Was she ready for that? Ready to take that big, scary step toward a man who loved her just as she was? Nearly fifty, and thinking about love and marriage—for the third time. Was that just insane?
    Idly she played her toes through the trickle of hot water she’d left running to keep the bath warm.

    Or was it a gift, already wrapped in pretty paper, tied with a big fat bow, and tossed in her lap?
    She was in love, she thought, her lips curving as she let the tension drain away, closed her eyes. In love with an interesting, attractive, considerate man. A good man. With enough flaws and quirks to keep him from being boring.
    She sighed, as contentment began to settle over her. And a thin gray mist crawled along the tiles.
    And the sex? Oh, thank God for the sex, she thought with a lithe stretch and a purr in her throat. Hot and sweet, tender and exciting. Stimulating. Lord, that man was stimulating. Her body felt juiced again.
    Maybe, just maybe they could have a life together. Maybe love didn’t have to come at convenient and sensible times. And maybe the third time was the charm. It was something worth considering, very, very seriously.
    Marriage. She drifted, drowsy now, trailing her fingers through the frothy water while the mist thickened, rising off the floor like a flood.
    It came down to making an intimate promise to someone you not only loved, but