“Oh?” Roz glanced around, and those expressive eyebrows lifted. He’d worn a suit, stone gray, that flattered his lean build. He’d gotten a haircut since the last time she’d seen him, she noted, and was looking a little more
She could admit, to herself at least, that it was a treat to study him either way.
Still, he seemed slightly befuddled with the crowd, and shook his head when one of the efficient servers offered him a glass from a tray of champagne.
“Excuse me just a minute,” she said to Will and Logan.
She started to wind her way through the room, and broke her stride when his gaze skimmed over, then locked on her face.
She felt a little bump under her heart, and a quickening of pulse she found both baffling and embarrassing.
He just hones in, she thought. Those eyes just zeroed right on in so she felt—anyone would feel—that she was the only person in the room. A good trick in a space jammed with people and noise, and just a little disconcerting.
But her expression was easy and friendly as she walked to him.
“I’m so glad you could come.”
“When you throw a party, you mean it. I could see the lights from a mile away. You don’t actually know all these people, do you?”
“Never seen them before in my life. What can I get you to drink?”
“Club soda, lime.”
“There’s a bar set up over here.” To guide him, she laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
“Thanks. Listen, I have something for you. A gift.”
He dug into his pocket as they crossed to the bar, then offered her a small wrapped box.
“That’s completely unnecessary, and awfully sweet.”
“Just a thanks for bailing me out with the gift for my niece.” He ordered his drink. “You look . . .
“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.
“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 eyes bright from her own thoughts, but the pale figure behind her.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t jolt. She didn’t spin around. She simply stood as she was, her eyes linked with Amelia’s in the glass.
“Twice in so many weeks,” she said calmly. “You, I imagine, would tell me to brush him off. You don’t like men much, do you, Amelia? Boys, yes, children, but men are a different kettle. No one but a man puts that kind of anger in a woman. I know. Was it one of my blood who put that anger in you?”
There was no answer, none expected.
“Let me finish this one-sided conversation by saying I have to think for myself, decide for myself, just as I always have. If I let Mitchell into my life, into my bed, the consequences, and the pleasure, will be on me.”
She took a slow breath. “But I’ll make you one promise. Whatever I do, or don’t, we won’t stop looking for the answers for you. Not now that we’ve started.”
Even as the figure began to fade, Roz felt something brush her hair, like a soft stroke of fingers that warmed even as it chilled.
