Black Rose Page 0,45

leaving the door open. They were at the top of the stairs when the clock began to bong.

"Midnight?" Roz looked at her watch to be certain. "I didn't realize it was so late. Well, Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." He took her hand before she could continue down the steps and, laying the other on her cheek, said, "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind."

His lips brushed hers, very lightly, a kind of civilized and polite gesture to commemorate the changing year. And somewhere in the east wing, Roz's wing, a door slammed shut like a gunshot.

Though her heart jumped, she managed to speak evenly. "Obviously, she doesn't approve."

"More like she's pissed off. And if she's going to be pissed off, we might as well give her a good reason."

He didn't ask this time, just slid the hand that lay on her cheek around to cup the back of her neck. And this time his mouth wasn't light, or polite, or civilized. There was a punch of heat, straight to her belly, as his mouth crushed down on hers, as his body pressed, hard against hers. She felt that sizzle zip through her blood, fast and reckless, and let herself ride on it for just one mad moment.

The door in the east wing slammed, again and again, and the clock continued to chime, madly now, well past the hour of twelve.

He'd known she'd taste like this, ripe and strong. More tang than sweetness. He'd wanted to feel those lips move against his as they were now, to discover just how that long, slender body fit to his. Now that he was, she settled inside him and made him want more.

But she eased back, her eyes open and direct. "Well. That ought to do it."

"It's a start."

"I think it'd be best to keep everything . . . calm for tonight. I really should tidy up the parlor, and settle down up here, with Lily."

"All right. I'll get my notes and head home."

In the parlor she loaded the cart while he gathered his things. "You're a difficult woman to read, Rosalind."

"I'm sure that's true."

"You know I want to stay, you know I want to take you to bed."

"Yes, I know." She looked over at him. "I don't take lovers . . . I was going to say just that. That I don't take lovers, but I'm going to say, instead, I don't take them rashly, or lightly. So if I decide to take you as a lover, or let you take me, it will be serious business, Mitchell. Very serious business. That's something both of us need to consider."

"Ever just jump off the ledge, Roz?"

"I've been known to. But, except for the regrettable and rare occasion, I like to make certain I'm going to land on my feet. If I wasn't interested, I'd tell you, flat out. I don't play games in this arena. Instead, I'm telling you that I am interested, enough to think about it. Enough to regret, a little, that I'm no longer young and foolish enough to act without thinking."

The phone rang. "That'll be Hayley again. I need to get that or she'll panic. Drive carefully."

She walked out to get the phone, and heard, as she assured Hayley the baby was fine, was sleeping like an angel, had been no trouble at all, the front door close behind him.

Chapter Eight

ALITTLE DISTANCE , Mitch decided, was in order. The woman was a paradox, and since there was no finite solution to a paradox, it was best accepted for what it was - instead of puzzling over it until blood leaked out of your ears.

So he'd try a little distance where he could funnel his energies into puzzles other than the enigmatic Rosalind Harper.

He had plenty of legwork, or, more accurately, butt work. A few hours on his computer and he could verify the births and deaths and marriages listed in the Harper family Bible. He'd already generated a chart of the family ancestry, using his on-line and his courthouse information.

Clients liked charts. Beyond that, they were tools for him, as the copies of family pictures were, as letters were. He pinned everything onto a huge board. Two in this case. One for his office in his apartment, and one in the library at Harper House.

Pictures, old photos, old letters, diaries, scribbled family recipes, all of those things brought the people alive for him. When they were alive for him, when he began to envision their daily routines, their habits,