there, her blood sizzling as he devastated her mouth, she felt fragile and giddy, and
alive with need.
'Wait a minute,' she managed. 'Wait.'
'Just want to finish this out first.'
He wanted a great deal more than that, but already knew -he'd have to hold himself at a kiss. So he
didn't intend to rush through it. Her mouth was sumptuous, and that slight tremor in her body brutally erotic. He imagined himself gulping her down whole, with violence, with greed. Or savoring her nibble
by torturous nibble until he was half mad from the flavor.
When he eased back, the drugged, dreamy look in her eyes told him he could do either. Some other
time, some other place.
'Any point in pretending we're going to stop things here?'
'I can't—'
'I don't mean tonight,' he said when she glanced back at the door.
'Then, no, there'd be no point in that.'
'Good.'
'But I can't just jump into something like this. I need to—'
'Plan,' he finished. 'Organize.'
'I'm not good at spontaneity, and spontaneity—this sort—is nearly impossible when you have two children.'
'Then plan. Organize. And let me know. I'm good at spontaneity.' He kissed her again until she felt her knees dissolve from the knee down.
'You've got my numbers. Give me a call.' He stepped back. 'Go on inside, Stella. Traditionally, you don't just kiss the girl good night, you wait until she's inside before you walk off wondering when you'll have the chance to do it again.'
'Good night then.' She went inside, drifted up the stairs, and forgot to turn off the lights.
She was still floating as she started down the hall so the singing didn't register until she was two paces away from her sons' bedroom.
She closed the distance in one leap. And she saw, she saw the silhouette, the glint of blond hair in the nightlight, the gleam of eyes that stared into hers.
The cold hit her like a slap, angry and sharp. Then, it, and she, were gone.
On unsteady legs, she rushed between the beds, stroked Gavin's hair, Luke's. Laid her hands on their cheeks, then their backs as she'd done when they were infants. A nervous mother's way to assure
herself that her child breathed.
Parker rolled lazily over, gave a little greeting growl, a single thump of his tail, then went back to sleep.
He senses me, smells me, knows me. Is it the same with her? Why doesn't he bark at her?
Or am I just losing my mind?
She readied for bed, then took a blanket and pillow into their room. She laid down between her sons
and passed the rest of the night between them, guarding them against the impossible.
TWELVE
In the greenhouse, Roz watered flats of annu-als she'd grown over the winter.. It was nearly time to
put them out for sale. Part of her was always a little sad to know she wouldn't be the one planting them. And she knew that not all of them would be tended properly.
Some would die of neglect, others would be given too much sun, or not enough. Now they were lush
and sweet and full of potential.
And hers.
She had to let them go, the way she'd let her sons go. She had to hope, as with her boys, that they
found their potential and bloomed,, lavishly.
She missed her little guys. More than she'd realized now that her house had boys in it again with all their chatter and scents and debris. Having Harper close helped, so much at times that it was hard for her not to lean too heavily on him, not to surround him with need.
But he'd passed the stage when he was just hers. Though he lived within shouting distance, and they often worked together side by side, he would never be just hers again.
She had to content herself with occasional visits, with phone calls and e-mails from her other sons. And with the knowledge that they were happy building their own lives.
She'd rooted them, and tended them, nurtured and trained. And let them go.
She wouldn't be one of those overbearing, smothering mothers. Sons, like plants, needed space and air. But oh, sometimes she wanted to go back ten years, twenty, and just hold on to those precious boys a little bit longer. •
And sentiment was only going to make her blue, she reminded herself. She switched off the water just
as Stella came into the greenhouse.
Roz drew a deep breath. 'Nothing like the smell of damp soil, is there?'
'Not when you're us. Look at these marigolds. They're going to fly out the door. I missed you this morning.'
'I wanted to get here early. I've got that Garden Club meeting this afternoon. I want to put together a couple dozen six-inch pots as centerpieces.'
'Good advertising. I just wanted to thank you again for watching the boys for me last night.'
'I enjoyed it. A lot. Did you have a good time?'
'I really did. Is it going to be a problem for you if Logan and I see each other socially?'
'Why would it be?'
'In a work situation ...'
'Adults should be able to live their own lives, just like in any situation. You're both unattached adults.
I expect you'll figure out for yourself if there's any problem with you socializing.'
'And we're both using 'socializing' as a euphemism.'
Roz began pinching back some petunias. 'Stella, if you didn't want to have sex with a man who looks
like Logan, I'd worry about you.'
'I guess you've got nothing to worry about, then. Still, I want to say ... I'm working for you, I'm living
in your house, so I want to say I'm not promiscuous.'
'I'm sure you aren't.' She glanced up briefly from her work. 'You're too careful, too deliberate, and a
bit too bound up to be promiscuous.'
'Another way of calling me a tight-ass,' Stella muttered.
'Not precisely. But if you were promiscuous, it would still be your business and not mine. You don't
need my approval.'
'I want it—because I'm working for you and living in your house. And because I respect you.'
'All right, then.' Roz moved on to impatiens. 'You have it. One of the reasons I wanted you to live in
the house was because I wanted to get to know you, on a personal level. When I hired you, I was giving you a piece of something very important to me, personally important. So if I'd decided, after the first few weeks, that you weren't the sort of person I could like and respect, I'd have fired you.' She glanced back. 'No matter how competent you were. Competent just isn't that hard to find.'
'Thanks. I think.'
'I think I'll take in some of these geraniums that are already potted. Saves me time and trouble, and
we've got a good supply of them.'
'Let me know how many, and I'll adjust the inventory. Roz, there was something else I wanted to talk
to you about.'
'Talk away,' Roz invited as she started to select her plants. ;
'It's about the ghost.'
