“When you began to socialize again, to see men, even to have lovers, she was only mildly annoyed. Disapproving, as you said. Because they didn’t matter to you, not deeply. They weren’t going to be a part of your life, of this house, not for the long run.”
“You’re saying she knew that?”
“She’s connected to you, Roz. She knows what’s inside you, at least enough to understand what you think and feel, things you might not say out loud.”
“She gets inside my head,” she said softly. “Yes, I’ve felt that. I don’t like it. But what happens to your theory when you add Bryce? I married him. He lived here. And though she acted up a few times, there was nothing extreme, nothing violent.”
“You didn’t love him.”
“I married him.”
“And divorced him. He wasn’t a threat to her. It seems she knew that before you did. At least before you consciously knew it. He was . . . superfluous, let’s say, to her. Maybe it was because he was weak, but for whatever reason, still, no threat to her. Not from her view.”
“And you are.”
“Clearly. We could suppose it has to do with my work, but that doesn’t jibe. She wants us to find out who she was, what she was. She just wants us to work for it.”
“You seem to know her very well, on short acquaintance.”
“Short, but intense acquaintance,” he pointed out. “And understanding the dead is part of my work. It’s actually the part—the personalizing—that makes it the most compelling for me. She’s angry that you’ve allowed me into your life, into your bed.”
“Because you’re not weak.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. “And also because I matter to you, or I will. I’m going to make sure of it. Because what we’re moving toward, you and I, is important.”
“Mitch, we’re having an affair, and while I don’t take that lightly, I—”
“Rosalind.” He laid his hand over hers, kept his eyes on hers. “You know very well I’m falling in love with you. Have been since the minute I opened my apartment door and saw you standing there. Scares the hell out of me, but that doesn’t change it.”
“I didn’t know.” She drew back, and her hand pressed on her heart, ran up to her throat and back again. “I didn’t, and that makes me as oblivious as Hayley. I thought we had a great deal of attraction for each other, and mutual respect along with . . . what are you grinning at?”
“You’re nervous. I’ve never seen you nervous. How about that?”
“I’m not nervous.” She stabbed at the last bite of her chicken. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”
“Scared’s what you are.”
“I’m certainly not.” With some heat, she shoved back from the table. “I’m certainly not. All right, I am.” She pushed to her feet when he laughed. “Yes, that should please you. Men love putting women into a state.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
There was a ring of steel, even through the humor. Intrigued by both, she turned back. “You’re an awfully confident individual.”
“You meant that as a compliment the first time you said it. This time you mean
With that, she laughed. Then pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Oh, God. God, Mitchell, I don’t know if I’ve got it in me for another
“I have no doubt you’ve got plenty of all three, but we’ll take it as it goes, and see.”
He rose. “Can’t say I mind making you a little nervous,” he said as he walked to her. “Nothing much shakes you, at least not so it shows.”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I do.” He slipped his arms around her, led her smoothly into a dance, swaying to the throb of the music. “One of the sexiest things about you is your unshakable capability.”
“I’m capable.” She tipped her head up. “I want my accountant to be capable, but I sure as hell don’t want to sleep with him.”
“I find it devastatingly sexy.”
“Is this the seduction part of the evening?”
“Just getting started. Do you mind?”
He thought her capable, she realized, and found that appealing. And he made her feel soft, and cherished. “You asked me that the first time you kissed me. I didn’t mind then, either.”
“I love that you’re beautiful. Shallow of me, but there you go. A man’s entitled to some flaws.”
Amused, she trailed a finger up the back of his neck. “Perfection’s boring—but, God, don’t tell Stella I said so.”
“Then I’ll never bore you.”
He touched his lips to hers lightly, once, twice, then slowly, slowly, sank into the kiss.
It spilled through her, the warmth, and the life, the thrill and the power. She moved with him, that sensuous dance, that sensuous kiss, and let herself glide. Like a woman glides over a path strewn with fragrant petals. Through moonbeams. And into love.
She heard a door shut quietly, and opened her eyes to see that he’d circled her into the bedroom.
“You’re a clever dancer, Dr. Carnegie.” Then laughed when he spun her out, and back. “Very clever.”
He kissed her again, spinning until her back was pressed to the door, until the kiss took on a bite. Then he ran his hands down her arms, stepped back.
“Light the candles,” he said. “I’ll light the fire.”
Shaken, right down to the soles of her feet, she leaned against the door. Her heart felt swollen and tender, and its beat was a throbbing ache in her breast. When she moved, she moved carefully, like a woman sliding through the fog of a dream. And she saw her own fingers tremble as she set flame to candlewick.
“I want you.” Her voice was steady enough, and she was grateful. “And the want is stronger and different than any I’ve felt before. Maybe it’s because I—”
“Don’t question it. Not tonight anyway.”
“All right.” She turned, as he did, so they faced each other across the room. “We’ll leave it that I want you, very much. That it presses on me, not entirely comfortably.”
In the gilded light, he crossed to her, took both her hands. “Let me show you how I feel.”
He lifted her hands, turning them palms up to press his lips to one, then the other. Then he cupped her face, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks as his fingers slid back into her hair.
“Let me take you,” he said as his mouth cruised over hers. “Tonight, just let me take you.”
He asked for surrender. And surrender was a great deal to ask. But she gave him her mouth, then her body as his hands stroked over her. And they were dancing again, circling and swaying as the dreamy pleasure he offered slipped into her like rich, red wine.
He slid her shirt aside, and was murmuring in her ear, about her skin, her scent. And the dance was like floating.
She was giving him what he’d asked. Surrender. Though it was slow, inch by inch, he could feel it, that gorgeous yielding of self. He undressed her as they danced, taking almost painful care, almost painful pleasure in removing each barrier that blocked his hands from her flesh.
It was incredibly erotic, dancing in the firelight, the candlelight, her naked body pressed to his while he was still fully clothed. To see that long, lean line of her in the mirror, the way the light played over her skin, to feel that skin shiver under his hands. To feel her pulses jump under his mouth.
When he slipped his hand between her thighs, he felt her body jerk, heard her breath catch.
She was hot, already hot and wet. And her nails dug into his shoulders as he began to play her, lazily. Little tortuous strokes that had her breath going short and harsh, and his own blood pumping.
Her body plunged, then melted against his when she came. Her head fell back even as he continued to arouse, and her eyes were glazed and stunned.
She was so pliant he could almost pour her onto the bed. They watched each other as he stood,
