Нора Робертс - Bed of Roses

“The girls are fine with it.”

“The girls?” Those smoky eyes widened. “You told the others we were going to sleep together?”

“We’re girls, Jack,” she said dryly.

“Right.”

“Plus I thought, before, that you and Mac had been together.”

“Whoa.”

“Well, I thought you had, so I had to say something to her because of the Rule, and by the time we got that straightened out, everybody knew I was thinking about you and sex in the same sentence.”

“I never slept with Mac.”

“I know that now. I didn’t, however, know you kissed Parker.”

“That was a long time ago. And it wasn’t really . . . Okay, it was, but it didn’t work.” He dug out more pork.

“

And you kissed Mrs. G. You man-slut.”

“Now that might’ve worked. I don’t think we gave it enough time.”

She grinned at him, poked at some chicken. “What does Del think?”

“About me kissing Mrs. Grady?”

“No. You and me. This.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a girl.”

She paused with the glass halfway to her lips. “You haven’t talked to him about it? He’s your best friend.”

“My best friend is going to want to kick my ass for thinking about touching you, much less doing what we just did upstairs.”

“He, too, knows I’ve had sex.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. He puts that in another dimension. The other-dimension Emma has sex.” Jack shook his head. “You, not so much.”

“If we’re going to be together in bed, I’m not going to treat it like some illicit affair. He’ll find out. You’d better say something to him before he does. Because if you don’t, and he does, he will kick your ass.”

“I’ll figure it out. There’s just one more thing, since we’re on all this. Since we’re together like this, I’d like to know that we’re not together with anyone else like this. Is that a problem?”

She sipped her wine wondering why he’d have to ask. “Blood oath or pinky swear?” When he laughed, she took another sip. “If I’m sleeping with a man, I don’t see anyone else. It’s not only rude and against my principles, but it’s too much trouble.”

“Good. So it’s you and me.”

“It’s you and me,” she repeated.

“I have to be on-site at seven.”

Here it comes, she thought. Early day tomorrow, honey. It was great. I’ll call you.

“Any objection if I stay, since I’d need to get up at about five?”

Her lips curved. “No objection.”

Jack discovered when they finally slipped toward sleep that Emma was a snuggler. The sort of woman who burrowed in and wrapped around.

He was generally a man who liked his space. Space kept a man from getting tangled up—literally and metaphorically.

But he found, under the circumstances, he didn’t really mind.

She fell asleep like a stone dropped in a pond. Up and moving one minute, submerged the next. He was a drifter, with the movie reel of the day’s events and the previews of the next running through his mind as his body settled down.

So he drifted, with Emma’s head nestled in the curve of his shoulder, her arm flung around his waist, and her leg twined between his.

He woke, in nearly the same position, about six hours later to the beep of his cell phone’s alarm. And as he woke to the scent of her hair, she was his first conscious thought.

His attempt to ease away without waking her resulted in causing her to snuggle closer. Even as his body cheerfully responded, he tried to nudge her away.

She said,

“Hmmmm?”

“Sorry. I’ve got to get going.”

“Time’s it?”

“Just after five.”

She sighed again, then lifted her mouth to brush his lips with hers. “I’ve got about an hour. Too bad you don’t.”

He’d managed to shift her so they were front to-front, and her hand was making slow, lazy circles over his ass.

“There are two things I’m finding really convenient at the moment.”

“What?”

“Being the boss, so I don’t get fired for being late. Even more, my own habit of keeping spare work clothes in the trunk. If I leave right from here, I’ve got most of an hour.”

“Convenient. Want coffee?”

“That, too,” he said, and rolled on top of her.

While Tiffany processed another delivery, Emma completed the third hand-tied bouquet. She loved the combination of frilly tulips with the ranunculus and hydrangea. And though wiring the tiny crystals among the blooms abused her fingers, she knew she’d been right to suggest it. As she had with the strips of lace, the studs of pearls securing the stems.

With the steps, the details, the precision required, even with her experience each bouquet took nearly an hour to create. Wasn’t she lucky, she thought, that she enjoyed every minute of it?

There wasn’t a better job in the world, as far as she was concerned. And just now, as she began the painstaking assembly of the next bouquet, with Tiffany working quietly at the other end of the counter, with music and perfume winding in the air, she considered herself the luckiest woman on the planet.

She turned the flowers in her hand, adding tulips at varying heights, adjusting, interspersing the ranunculus to create the shape she wanted. She added the beads, pleased with the touch of glitter, and time clicked away.

“Do you want me to start on the centerpieces?”

“Hmm?” Emma glanced up. “Oh. Sorry, off in another world. What did you say?”

“It’s really beautiful. All the textures.” As she admired the work, Tiffany gulped down water. “You’ve got one more to go after that. I’d start it, but I’m not as good at the hand tied. I can get the centerpieces started though. I’ve got the list and the design.”

“Go ahead.” Emma used a cable tie to secure the stems, clipped the excess plastic with her wire cutters. “Tink should be here . . . Well, she’s already late, so she should be here.” She exchanged cutters for clippers and began trimming the stems. “If you take the centerpieces, I’ll get her started on the standing arrangements.”

Emma wrapped the stems in lace, anchored the lace with pearl corsage pins. Once the bouquet was in its holding vase and in the cooler, she washed her hands—again—rubbed in Neosporin—again—then set to work on the final hand-tied.

When Tink wandered in, guzzling from a bottle of Mountain Dew, Emma merely lifted her eyebrows.

“You’re late,” Tink said, “blah, blah, blah. I’ll stay late if you need me.” And yawned. “Didn’t get to bed—well, to sleep—until after three. This guy? Jake? He’s Iron Man, in all good ways. Then this morning . . .” She trailed off, blowing a streak of pink out of her eyes as she angled her head. “Somebody else got lucky last night. Jack, right? Hey, Jake and Jack. Cool.”

“I managed to get lucky and finish four hand-tieds. If you want to make enough to keep yourself in Mountain Dew, you’d better get started.”

“No problem. Is he as good as he looks?”

“I’m not complaining, am I?”

“Who’s Jack?” Tiffany wanted to know.

“You know. Jack of the excellent ass and smoky eyes.” Tink stepped over to wash her hands.

“

That Jack?” Gaping, Tiffany stopped with a hydrangea in her hand. “Wow. Where have I been?”

“It’s still breaking news, so you’re pretty up to date. You going back for more?” Tink asked Emma.

“Work,” Emma muttered. “We’re working here.”

“She’s going back for more,” Tink concluded. “Nice bouquet,” she added. “The tulips look like they come from the Planet Zorth, but in a romantic way. What am I on first?”

“The standing arrangements for the terraces. You need—”

“Hydrangeas, the tulips, ranunculus,” Tink began, and rattling off the rest of the flowers and foliage, reminded Emma why she kept her on.

At five, she let Tiffany go and, leaving Tink working magic with flowers, took a break to rest her hands and clear her head. She stepped outside to stroll toward Mac’s studio.

Her friend came out, a camera bag slung on her shoulder, a can of Diet Coke in her hand.

“Five thirty rehearsal,” Emma called out.

“Just heading that way.” Mac detoured toward Emma.

“You can tell the bride the flowers for tomorrow are amazing, if I do say so myself.” When they met halfway, Emma stopped, stretched her back. “Long day, and a longer one coming.”

“I heard a rumor Mrs. G’s making lasagna. Big rafts of lasagna. Carter and I plan to pig out.”

“I’m there. In fact, the thought of lasagna inspires me. Tink’s finishing up her part. I’ll give you and Parker a hand with the rehearsal, indulge, then put in an hour or two later tonight.”

“There’s a plan.”

Emma looked down at her work clothes. “How bad am I?”

Mac took a survey while she chugged her drink. “You look like a woman who’s put in a long day. The bride will be thrilled with you.”

“I say you’re right. I don’t want to clean up, then have to change again.” She hooked her arm through Mac’s free one as they started toward the house. “You know what I was thinking today? I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“Jack was that good?”

Snorting out a laugh, Emma bumped Mac’s hip with hers. “Yes, but besides that. I’m tired, my hands hurt, but I spent all day doing what I love. I got a call this afternoon after my flowers got to the off-site, the baby shower? The client just bubbled at me over the phone, just had to call me as soon as she saw the flowers to tell me how fabulous they were. Who else gets what we get, Mac?” She sighed and lifted her face to the sun. “We have such happy jobs.”

“While I agree, in general, here’s what I love about you. You can forget or ignore all the Monster Brides, all the Insane Mothers, Drunken Groomsmen, Bitchy Bridesmaids, and remember all the good stuff.”