reached out, flicked a finger over her cheek. When her brows shot up again, he eased back, just a step.
“Sorry. You had a little dirt...”
“Something else I’m used to.”
“So...” He reminded himself to keep his hands otherwise occupied. “I guess from what I saw the other day, you’re ready for Christmas.”
“Near enough. You?”
“Not even close, though I owe you big—once again—for the gift for my sister.”
“You went for the cashmere, then.”
“Something the salesgirl called a twinset, and she said no woman could have too many of them.”
“Absolutely true.”
“Okay. So, I’m going to put some effort into the rest of it over the next few days. Get the tree out, fight with the lights.”
“Get it out?” A look that might have been pity, might have been derision covered her face. “I assume that means you’ve got a fake tree.”
His hands slid into his pockets, his smile spread slowly. “It’s simplest. Apartment life.”
“And from the state of that dieffenbachia, probably for the best.”
“State of the what?”
“The plant you were slowly murdering. The one I took when I came to your place to meet you the first time.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” When she’d been wearing that lady suit, he thought, and those high heels that had made her legs look ten feet long. “How’s it doing?”
“It’s just fine now, and don’t think I’ll be giving it back.”
“Maybe I could just visit it sometime.”
“That could be arranged. We’re having a holiday party at the house, a week from Saturday. Nine o’clock. You’re welcome to come, if you like. And bring a guest, of course.”
“I’d like that. Would you mind if I went over to the house now, took a look at the library? Get a ground floor started?”
“No, that’ll be fine. I’ll just call David and let him know you’re coming.”
“Good. I’ll go on, then, and get out of your way. I appreciate the time.”
“I’ve plenty of it.”
He didn’t see how. “I’ll call you later, then. You have a strong place here, Rosalind.”
“Yes, I do.”
When he’d gone out, she set her tools aside to drink deeply from the water bottle. She wasn’t a silly young girl who was flustered and giddy at the touch of a man’s hand on her skin. But it had felt strange and oddly sweet, that careful brush of his fingers over her cheek, and that look in his eyes when he touched her.
English rose, she thought and let out a half laugh. Once, long ago, she might have appeared that fragile and dewy. She turned and studied one of her healthy stock plants. She was much more like that now, sturdy and strong.
And that, she thought as she got back to work, was just fine with her.
DESPITE THE STEADY rain, Mitch took a walk around the buildings, and gained even more respect for Roz and what she’d built. And built almost single-handedly, he thought. The Harper money may have given her a cushion, he decided, but it took more than funds to create all this.
It took guts and vision and hard work.
Had he actually made that lame, clichéd comment about her skin? English rose, he thought now and shook his head. Like she hadn’t heard that one before.
In any case, it wasn’t even particularly apt. She was no delicate English rose. More a black rose, he decided, long and slender and exotic. A little haughty, a lot sexy.
He’d learned a lot about her life, just from that conversation in her work space. A lot about her. She’d lost someone she’d loved very much—her grandmother—at a tender age. She hadn’t been very close with her parents. And had lost them as well. Her relatives were far-flung, and it didn’t appear she had close relations with any of them.
Other than her sons, she had no one.
And after her husband’s death, she’d had only herself to depend on, only herself to turn to while she raised three boys.
But he’d detected no sense of pity, certainly no weakness in her.
Independent, direct, strong. But there
“Sorry. You had a little dirt...”
“Something else I’m used to.”
“So...” He reminded himself to keep his hands otherwise occupied. “I guess from what I saw the other day, you’re ready for Christmas.”
“Near enough. You?”
“Not even close, though I owe you big—once again—for the gift for my sister.”
“You went for the cashmere, then.”
“Something the salesgirl called a twinset, and she said no woman could have too many of them.”
“Absolutely true.”
“Okay. So, I’m going to put some effort into the rest of it over the next few days. Get the tree out, fight with the lights.”
“Get it out?” A look that might have been pity, might have been derision covered her face. “I assume that means you’ve got a fake tree.”
His hands slid into his pockets, his smile spread slowly. “It’s simplest. Apartment life.”
“And from the state of that dieffenbachia, probably for the best.”
“State of the what?”
“The plant you were slowly murdering. The one I took when I came to your place to meet you the first time.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” When she’d been wearing that lady suit, he thought, and those high heels that had made her legs look ten feet long. “How’s it doing?”
“It’s just fine now, and don’t think I’ll be giving it back.”
“Maybe I could just visit it sometime.”
“That could be arranged. We’re having a holiday party at the house, a week from Saturday. Nine o’clock. You’re welcome to come, if you like. And bring a guest, of course.”
“I’d like that. Would you mind if I went over to the house now, took a look at the library? Get a ground floor started?”
“No, that’ll be fine. I’ll just call David and let him know you’re coming.”
“Good. I’ll go on, then, and get out of your way. I appreciate the time.”
“I’ve plenty of it.”
He didn’t see how. “I’ll call you later, then. You have a strong place here, Rosalind.”
“Yes, I do.”
When he’d gone out, she set her tools aside to drink deeply from the water bottle. She wasn’t a silly young girl who was flustered and giddy at the touch of a man’s hand on her skin. But it had felt strange and oddly sweet, that careful brush of his fingers over her cheek, and that look in his eyes when he touched her.
English rose, she thought and let out a half laugh. Once, long ago, she might have appeared that fragile and dewy. She turned and studied one of her healthy stock plants. She was much more like that now, sturdy and strong.
And that, she thought as she got back to work, was just fine with her.
DESPITE THE STEADY rain, Mitch took a walk around the buildings, and gained even more respect for Roz and what she’d built. And built almost single-handedly, he thought. The Harper money may have given her a cushion, he decided, but it took more than funds to create all this.
It took guts and vision and hard work.
Had he actually made that lame, clichéd comment about her skin? English rose, he thought now and shook his head. Like she hadn’t heard that one before.
In any case, it wasn’t even particularly apt. She was no delicate English rose. More a black rose, he decided, long and slender and exotic. A little haughty, a lot sexy.
He’d learned a lot about her life, just from that conversation in her work space. A lot about her. She’d lost someone she’d loved very much—her grandmother—at a tender age. She hadn’t been very close with her parents. And had lost them as well. Her relatives were far-flung, and it didn’t appear she had close relations with any of them.
Other than her sons, she had no one.
And after her husband’s death, she’d had only herself to depend on, only herself to turn to while she raised three boys.
But he’d detected no sense of pity, certainly no weakness in her.
Independent, direct, strong. But there
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