NRoberts - G2 Black Rose - Black Rose

 “Let’s see what she does with it.”

 “You gave her the chance to do something. Just like you did with me, and Stella, too.”

 “Oh, don’t start.”

 “I will. We all came to this corner, and you’re the one who gave us a hand to get around it and start down the road. Now Jane’s got a place of her own, and a new job. I’ve got a beautiful baby and a wonderful home for her. And Stella’s getting married tomorrow.”

 She began to sniffle, and Roz rolled her eyes toward the rearview mirror. “Ireally mean don’t start.”

 “I can’t help it. I’m so happy. Stella’s getting married tomorrow. And y’all are my best friends in the whole, wide world.”

 Stella passed tissues over the seat, and kept one out for herself.

 THERE WERE SIXTEENjournals in all, five of her grandmother Elizabeth Harper’s, and nine written by her great-grandmother Beatrice. And each was filled, first page to last.

 There were some sketches as well, Roz noted on a quick flip-through—her grandmother’s work. It made her feel warm to look at them.

 But she didn’t need Mitch to tell her that even though they had the books, the job of reading them and finding anything pertaining to Amelia was daunting.

 “They’re not dated.” Rubbing her eyes, Stella leaned back on the sofa in the parlor. “From what I can tell at a quick glance, Beatrice Harper didn’t use a journal per year, but simply filled each, however much time that involved, and moved to the next.”

 “So we’ll sort them as best we can,” Mitch said, “divide them up, and read each through.”

 “I hope I get a juicy one.” Due to the circumstances, David had put together an elaborate high tea, and now helped himself to a scone.

 “I’ll want them all accounted for, at all times. But we have a wedding tomorrow. Stella, I don’t want you to overdo it. I’m not going to be responsible for you getting married with circles under your eyes. Who could that be?” Roz said when the doorbell rang. “Everyone’s here. No, sit, David. I’ll get it.”

 She walked out with Parker prancing at her heels, barking as if to let her know he was on the job. When she opened the door, Roz’s eyebrows winged up. And her smile was sharp as a blade.

 “Why, Cousin Rissy, what an unpleasant surprise.”

 “Where is that useless girl, and my property?”

 “I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about, and care even less.” She noted her aunt had hired a sedan, and driver, for the trip from the city. “I suppose good manners dictate I ask you in, but I warn you, I’m not above arranging a strip search before you go—which would be traumatic for all parties—so don’t even think about taking anything.”

 “You are, and always have been, a rude and dislikable creature.”

 “Isn’t that funny?” Roz stepped back so Clarise could march into the foyer with her cane. “I was thinking the same thing about you. We’re in the parlor, having tea.” Roz stepped to the doorway. “Cousin Rissy is paying a call. Isn’t that unfortunate? You may remember my son, Harper. You always enjoyed complaining about him incessantly on your other visits. And David, Harper’s childhood friend who tends Harper House, and would have counted the silverware.”

 “I’m not interested in your sass.”

 “I have so little else to offer you. I believe you’ve also made the acquaintance of Dr. Carnegie.”

 “I have, and will be speaking to my lawyer about him.”

 He smiled broadly. “It’s Mitchell Carnegie. Two els.”

 “This is Logan Kitridge, friend, neighbor, and employee, who is the fiancé of Ms. Stella Rothchild, who manages my garden center.”

 “I have no interest in your motley arrangement of employees, or your questionable habit of crowding them into Harper House.”

 “These are her children, Gavin and Luke, and their dog, Parker,” Roz continued as if Clarise hadn’t spoken. “And a young cousin of mine, on the Ashby side, also an employee, Hayley Phillips, and her beautiful daughter, Lily. I believe that covers everyone. David, I suppose you’d better pour Clarise a cup of tea.”

 “I don’t want tea, particularly any prepared and poured by a homosexual.”

 “It’s not catching,” David offered, unfazed.

 “Why, David, you’re a homosexual?” Roz feigned surprise. “How amazing.”

 “I try to be subtle about it.”

 “Where is Jane?” Clarise demanded. “I insist on speaking to her this instant.”

 Roz picked up a tiny cookie and gave it to a delighted Lily. “And Jane would be?”

 “You know very well. Jane Paulson.”

 “Oh, of course, Cousin Jane. I’m afraid she’s not here.”

 “I won’t tolerate your lies.” At her tone, Parker sent up a warning growl. “And keep that horrible little dog away from me.”

 “He’snot horrible.” Gavin sprang up, and was immediately grabbed by his mother. “You’re horrible.”

 “And if you’re mean,” Luke piped up, “he’ll bite you, because he’s a good dog.”

 “Gavin, you and Luke take Parker outside. Go on, now.” Stella gave Gavin a little squeeze.

 “Get the Frisbee,” Logan suggested, with a wink for the boys. “I’ll come out in a few minutes.”

 Gavin picked up the dog, scowling on the way out, and Luke stopped at the door. “We don’t like you,” he said and strode on his sturdy little legs behind his brother.

 “I see your employees are no better equipped to raise well-mannered children than you, Rosalind.”

 “Apparently not. I’m so proud. Well, since you won’t have tea, and I can’t help you regarding Jane, you must want to be on your way.”

 “Where are the journals?”

 “Journals? Do you mean the journals written by my grandmother and my great-grandmother that were taken out of this house without my permission?”

 “Your permission was not required. I’m the oldest living Harper, and those journals are mine by right.”

 “We certainly disagree on that, but I can help you as to their location. They’re back where they belong—morally, legally, and ethically.”

 “I’ll have you arrested.”

 “Oh, please, try. Won’t that be fun?” The dangerous iceberg was back as she sat on the arm of a chair, crossed her legs casually. “Won’t you just relish having your name, the Harper family name, smeared all over the press, talked about all over the county?” Her eyes went hot, in direct contrast to the chill of her voice. “Because I’ll see that it is. I’ll grant every interview and discuss the whole unseemly mess over cocktails at every opportunity. Such things don’t concern me.”

 She paused, leaning down to take the cookie Lily was holding up to her. “Why, thank you, sugar-pie. But you?” she said to Clarise. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy being the butt of gossip and innuendo and jokes. Particularly when it’ll come to nothing. I have possession of what is my legal property.”

 She picked Lily up, set her on her knee, and gave the cookie back while the room remained silent but for Clarise’s outraged breaths. Roz decided it was one of the rare times she could actually, and accurately, describe a scene with the phraseher bosom heaved .

 It was glorious.

 “If you want to have the police question how I came to regain possession, I’ll be happy to tell them. And I hope you enjoy explaining to them how you had what belongs to Harper House, and therefore me, locked away in your desk. Along with several other expensive pieces that are catalogued as Harper House property.”

 “You’ll dirty the family name!” Her face dark with rage, Clarise stepped forward. “You have no right. You have no business digging into what is best left buried.”

 Calmly Roz passed the baby to Mitch, where Lily babbled and generously offered to share her mangled cookie. She heard Mitch’s murmured “Take her down, honey” as she got to her feet. “What are you afraid of? What did they do to her? Who was Amelia?”

 “Nothing but a tramp, a low-class whore who got no more than she deserved. I knew, the minute you were born, that blood would tell in you. I see it has.”

 “So I am from her,” Roz said quietly.

 “I’ll speak no more about it. It’s a crime and a sin that a woman like you is mistress of this house. You have no right here, and never did. You’re no-account, grasping, nothing but a blight on the family name. My grandmother would’ve set the dogs on you before she let your kind cross the threshold of Harper House.”

 “Okay, that’s about enough.” Before Roz could speak—and she had plenty to say—Harper was up and across the room. “You’re leaving, and you’re never coming through that door again.”

 “Don’t you back-talk me, boy.”

 “I’m not eight anymore, and you’re not welcome here. You think you can stand here and insult my mother? A woman with more class in one eyelash than you could cobble together out of every dried-up bone in your body? Now, I can show you the way out, or I can kick you out. Your choice.”

 “You’re just like her.”

 “That’s the first genuine thing you’ve said since you came in. This way,Cousin Rissy.”

 He took her arm and, though she tried to swat him away, led her out of the room.

 There was a beat of silence, then Hayley’s low whistle. “Go, Harper.”

 TWENTY

UPSTAIRS IN THEsitting room, Mitch lifted Roz’s feet into his lap, and began to rub. “Long day for you.”

 “Wasn’t it just.”

 “You got in some mighty swings, Slugger.”

 “I did, but Harper sure did bat clean-up and knock it out of the park.”

 “I know I’m in love when my girl can talk in baseball analogies.” He lifted her foot higher to kiss her ankle. “I’ll take my share of the journals with me. I should be able to get a start on them tonight.”

 “You’ve had a long day yourself. After the wedding’s soon enough.” She tipped her head back, closed her eyes as his thumb pressed into her arch. “Besides, if you go, you’ll stop rubbing my feet.”

 “I was hoping this would be a suitable bribe.”

 “You don’t need a bribe. I was hoping you’d stay.”

 “It so happens I have my suit for the wedding out in the car.”

 Her eyes stayed closed; her lips curved. “I like a man who thinks ahead.”

 “I wasn’t sure there’d be a place for a man in the house tonight. Wedding eve, female rituals.”

 “We started our rituals at the salon this morning, and we’ll pick them up tomorrow. They’re going to make a lovely family, aren’t they?”

 “They already do. I enjoyed watching those boys stand up to the old woman, and your elegantly executed shots. Followed by Harper’s base-clearing run.”

 “We were all wonderfully rude, weren’t we? Of course, she won’t speak to you again. Won’t help you with your book.”

 “I’m not worried about it. And—we’ll call it postseason play—she’s unlikely to be entertained by what I write about her.”

 “I will be. She knows. She knows who Amelia is, what happened to her. I suppose she always has. There’s a possibility she destroyed any journals with a mention of her—a small one, as anything pertaining to Harper House is sacrosanct to her. But it’s something we should be prepared for.”

 “We just need a few seeds. I can propagate from there.”

 She opened her eyes. “Aren’t you clever? I know I’m in love when my guy can talk in gardening terms.”

 “You haven’t seen anything yet. Rosalind, I’m seduced by your feet.”

 “My feet?”

 “Crazy about them. I just never know . . .” Slowly he drew off one of her thick socks. “What I’ll find. Ah.” He brushed a finger over her toenails, painted pale shell pink, with just a hint of glitter. “Surprise, surprise.”

 “They’re often one of my little secrets.”

 He lifted her feet, traced his lips down her arch. “I love secrets.”

 There was something powerful about pleasuring a strong woman, watching her, feeling her surrender to sensation. A tiny quiver, a quiet sigh was unspeakably erotic when you knew the woman yeilded to no one.

 From attraction to passion, from passion to love. It was a journey he’d never planned to make again. Yet here he was. When he touched her, he knew she was the woman, the only woman he wanted to spend his life with. He wondered how he’d reached this point in his life without knowing, and needing, her scent, the sound of her voice, the fascinating textures of her skin.

 When she rose up, locking her arms around him, fixing her mouth warmly on his, his heart nearly burst.

 “I can see you in the dark,” he told her. “I can hear you when you’re miles away.”

 The small sound she made was pure emotion as she sank into him.

 She held tight, tight a moment with her head on his shoulder, her heart knocking against his. How love could be so many different things at so many different times, she’d never understand. She could only be grateful for it, grateful to have found this love at this time.

 She would cherish it. Cherish him.

 She eased back to take his face in her hands, so their eyes met. “It’s harder when you come into something like this, knowing more, having more behind you. But at the same time, it’s more itself. Fuller, richer. I want you to know that’s how I feel with you. Full and rich.”

 “I don’t think I can do without you, Rosalind.”

 “Good.” She touched her lips to his. “Good,” she repeated and slid slow and deep into the kiss.

 She curled around him, breathing him in. His hair, his skin. Here, unbearable tenderness, and there, a simmering excitement. While her mouth clung to his, her fingers flipped open the buttons of his shirt, lifted her arms so he could draw her away and they could press together, warm flesh to warm flesh.

 He pressed her back onto the couch, let his hands and lips roam over her. Breasts and shoulders and throat, down to that impossibly narrow torso.

 There were signs of the children she’d borne, the men she’d made. For a moment he lay his cheek on her belly, amazed he’d been given the gift of a woman so vital, so potent.

 She stroked his back, gliding on the shimmer that coated her senses, lazily working her hands between them to unbutton his jeans. She found him hard and hot, and felt her own muscles bunch and quiver in anticipation.

 Now they tugged at clothes, and once again she rose up. This time she straddled him, staring into those bottle-green eyes as she slowly, slowly took him inside her.

 “Ah. God.” She gripped the back of the couch, her fingers digging in.

 With a brutal hold on control, she rode, hips moving in a tortuously gentle rhythm, strong thighs caging him as she set the pace.

 She could feel his hands on her, a desperate grip on her hips as he struggled to let her lead. Then a smooth caress up her back, a slick stroke to cup her breasts.

 She tightened around him, pressing her mouth to his when she came so he could taste her moan. He was buried in her, their arms locked around each other, when she threw her head back. When her eyes, glassy with arousal, finally closed.