Bed of Roses by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

re-creation of the bridal bouquet for every year. What are you doing here?”
    “I need my jacket.”
    “Oh, right. Sorry I forgot to give it back to you last night.”
    “No problem. I had an appointment down the road.” He took another twirl of pasta. “Do you have any more of this? I missed lunch.”
    “Yeah, sure. I owe you lunch at least. Sit down. I’ll get you a plate.”
    “I’ll take it, and I wouldn’t mind a hit of caffeine. Hot or cold.”
    “No problem.” Studying him, she pushed at hair that escaped pins. “You look a little whipped.”
    “Busy morning. And I’ve got another site to visit in about forty-five minutes. You were between the two, so . . .”
    “That’s handy. Be right back.”
    He was whipped, he thought, and stretched out his legs. Not so much from the work, or the in-your-face with an inspector that morning. Which he would’ve handled better if he hadn’t been sleep-deprived. Tossing and turning and trying to block out sex dreams of a Spanish-eyed lady would whip anyone.
    So, of course, he had to be stupid and masochistic, and drop by with the excuse of the jacket.
    Who knew how sexy she looked when she slept in the sunlight?
    He did, now. It wasn’t going to give him easier dreams.
    The thing to do was get over it. He should make a date with a blonde or a redhead. Several dates with several blondes and/or redheads until he managed to put Emma back on the No Trespassing list.
    Where she belonged.
    She came out, his jacket over her arm, a tray in her hands.
    She had, he thought, the kind of beauty that just slammed a man’s throat shut. And when she smiled, the way she did now, it blew through him like a bolt of lightning.
    He tried to build a No Trespassing sign in his head.
    “I had some of my aunt Terry’s olive bread,” she told him. “It’s great. I went with cold caffeine.”
    “That does the job. Thanks.”
    “No problem. And it’s nice to have company on a break.” She sat again. “What are you working on?”
    “I’m juggling a few things.” He bit into the bread. “You’re right. It’s great.”
    “Aunt Terry’s secret recipe. You said you had a job near here?”
    “A couple. The one I’m heading to’s a never-ending. The client started out two years ago wanting a kitchen remodel, which moved into a complete reno of the master bath, which now includes a Japanese soaking tub, a sunken whirlpool, and a steam shower big enough for six friends.”
    She wiggled her brows over those gorgeous eyes, then took a bite of pasta. “Fancy.”
    “I kept waiting for her to ask if we could extend the addition a little more for the lap pool. But she turned her focus outside. She decided she wants a summer kitchen by the pool. She saw one in a magazine. She can’t live without it.”
    “How does anyone?”
    He smiled and ate. “She’s twenty-six. Her husband’s fifty-eight, rolling in it and happy to indulge her every whim. She has a lot of whim.”
    “I’m sure he loves her, and if he can afford it, why not make her happy?”
    Jack merely shrugged. “Fine by me. It keeps me in beer and nachos.”
    “You’re cynical.” She pointed at him with her fork before she stabbed more pasta. “You see her as the bimbo trophy wife and him as the middle-aged dumbass.”
    “I bet his first wife does, but I see them as clients.”
    “I don’t think age should factor into love or marriage. It’s about the two people in it, and how they feel about each other. Maybe she makes him feel young and vital, and opened something new inside him. If it was just sex, why marry her?”
    “I’ll just say a woman who looks like she does has great powers of persuasion.”
    “That may be, but we’ve done a lot of weddings here where there’s been a significant age difference.”
    He wagged his fork, then stabbed more pasta in a mirror of her move. “A wedding isn’t a marriage.”
    She sat back, drummed her fingers. “Okay, you’re right. But a wedding’s a prelude,