Black Rose

word that springs to mind, with spectacular coming right behind it.”
    “Thank you.”
    “From head.” His gaze skimmed down to her silver-heeled sandals—and the ruby-red toenails. “To toe.”
    “My mama always said a woman wasn’t groomed unless her toenails were painted. It’s one of the few pieces of advice she gave me I agreed with. Should I open this now?”
    He’d barely glanced at the rubies, though his amateur antiquer’s eye judged them to be vintage. But the toes. The toes were terrific.
    “What?”
    “The gift.” She smiled. It was hard not to be pleased, and a little bit smug, when a man was enraptured by your feet. “Should I open it now?”
    “Oh, no, I wish you wouldn’t. If you open it later, and you hate it, you’ll have time to prepare a polite lie.”
    “Don’t be silly. I’m opening it now.”
    She tugged off the ribbon, lifted the top. Inside was a miniature clock, framed in silver filigree. “It’s lovely. It’s really lovely.”
    “Antiquing’s a hobby of mine. Makes sense, considering. I figured with this house, you’d enjoy old things. There’s an inscription on the back. It got to me.”
    She turned it over and read.
    L, Count the hours. N

    “Lovely, and romantic. It’s wonderful, Mitch, and certainly more than I deserve for picking out a toy.”
    “It made me think of you.” When she lifted her head, he shook his. “That put a cynical look in your eye. But fact’s fact. I saw it, thought of you.”
    “Does that happen often?”
    “My thinking of you?”
    “No, thinking of someone and buying her a charming gift.”
    “From time to time. Not in some time, actually. Does it happen often on your end?”
    She smiled a little. “Not in some time. Thank you, very much. I want to put this upstairs. Why don’t I introduce you to... oh, there’s Stella. Nobody can steer you through a party better than our Stella.”
    “Mitch.” Stella held out a hand for him. “It’s good to see you again.”
    “And you. You’re blooming,” he said. “It must be love.”
    “I can confirm that.”
    “And how are your boys?”
    “They’re great, thanks. Conked out upstairs, and... oh.” She broke off when she saw the little clock. “Isn’t that sweet? So romantic and female.”
    “Lovely, isn’t it?” Roz agreed. “It was a gift, for a very small favor.”
    “You wouldn’t say small if you’d been on the receiving end of the phone call I got from my sister and my niece,” Mitch told her. “I’m not only officially forgiven, I’m currently enjoying favorite-uncle status.”
    “Well then, obviously I deserve this. Stella, show Mitch around, will you? I just want to put this upstairs.”
    “Sure.” And Stella noted the way Mitch’s gaze followed Roz out of the room.
    “One question before we make the rounds. Is she seeing anyone?”

    “No, she’s not.”
    He grinned as he took Stella’s arm. “How about that?”
    Roz mingled her way to the foyer, then started upstairs. It reminded her that she’d walked up these stairs at another party, with the voices and the music and lights behind her. And she’d stepped into the end of a relationship.
    She wasn’t naive. She knew very well Mitch was asking her if she was interested in beginning a relationship, and was laying some groundwork so she would be. What was strange was that her answer wasn’t a flat no. What was strange, Roz thought as she walked to her bedroom, was not knowing the answer.
    She slipped into the room to set the romantic little clock on her dresser. She couldn’t stop the smile as she traced the frame. A very thoughtful gift, she thought, and yes, her cynical side added that it was a very clever gift. Then again, a woman who’d been through two marriages was bound to have a healthy dose of cynicism.
    A relationship with him might be interesting, even entertaining, and God knew she was due for some passion in her life. But it would also be complicated, possibly intense. And potentially sticky with the work she’d hired him to do.
    She was allowing the man to write a book that involved her family history, and would certainly involve herself to some extent. Did she really want to become intimate with someone who could, if things burned out, slap her, and her family, in print?
    Her experience with Bryce warned her that when things went bad, things got worse.
    A lot to consider, she mused. Then she raised her eyes to the mirror.
    She saw not only herself, her skin flushed, her