Black Rose

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.
    He felt the heat from her. He’d known it was there, under that fascinating and cool veneer. Her skin was like velvet, warmed velvet, over her sides, her torso, the lovely curve of her breasts.
    Slim, but not delicate, her body was tough and disciplined. Like her mind, he thought. And just as appealing.
    She tasted of ripe, forbidden fruit and smelled of midnight gardens.
    Her hands slid under his shirt, up his back. Hard, strong hands, an arousing contrast to the wand-slim body, the satiny skin.
    She drew his shirt over his head, reared up enough to set her teeth on his bare shoulder. And the shock of it speared straight to his loins.
    The terrace door flew open once more, and the wind burst through to slap over him. He simply reached down, hauled the duvet up. And burrowed under it with her.
    She laughed, and found his mouth in the blanketing dark.
    Tasting her, feasting on her, he tugged her sweater up and off. “Tell me if you’re too cold.”
    “No. I couldn’t be.”
    She was burning up from the inside out,