Bed of Roses by Nora Roberts

could keep waiting. She’d just have to deal with it—and him. He and Del were tight, and he was friends, good friends, with the other members of the Quartet. Added to it, with the remodeling Parker was talking about, he’d be spending more time on the estate for the next several months.
    He dragged his hand through his hair again. Okay, that being the case, they’d both have to deal with it.
    “Hell.”
    He scrubbed his hands over his face, then ordered himself to push his brain back into work. Frowning, he studied the bare bones of his design. Then narrowed his eyes.
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute.”
    If he canted the whole thing, angled it, cantilevering the study, he’d create a back patio area, partially covered. It would give them the outdoor living space they lacked, privacy, a potential little garden area or shrubbery. Emma would have ideas on that.
    It would add interest to the shape and lines of the building, and increase usable space without significantly adding on to the cost of the build.
    “You’re a genius, Cooke.”
    As he began to plot it out, someone knocked on the back door.
    Mind still on the drawing, he rose to walk through the main living area of his quarters over his firm. And assuming it was Del or one of his other friends—and hoping they brought their own beer—he opened the door that led into his kitchen.
    She stood in the glimmer of porch light and smelled like moonlit meadows.
    “Emma.”
    “I want to talk to you.” She breezed right by him, tossed her hair back, pivoted. “Are you alone?”
    “Ah . . . yeah.”
    “Good. What the hell is wrong with you?”
    “Give me a context.”
    “Don’t try to be funny. I’m not in the mood for funny. You go flirty on me, jumping my car, rubbing my shoulders, eating my pasta, lending me your jacket, and then—”
    “I guess I could’ve just waved as I passed you on the side of the road. Or let you shiver until you turned blue. And I was hungry.”
    “It’s all of a piece.” She snapped it out then strode through the kitchen into his wide hallway with her hands waving in the air. “And you conveniently left out the shoulder rubbing and the ‘and then.’ ”
    He saw no choice but to tag after her. “You looked stressed and knotted up. You were okay with it at the time.”
    Spinning around, she narrowed those brown velvet eyes. “And then?”
    “Okay, there was an ‘and then.’ You were there, I was there, so ‘and then.’ It’s not like I jumped you or you tried to fight me off. We just . . .” Kissed suddenly sounded too important. “Locked lips for a minute.”
    “Locked lips. Are you twelve? You kissed me.”
    “We kissed each other.”
    “You started it.”
    He smiled. “Are you twelve?”
    She made a low hissing sound that had the back of his neck prickling. “You made the move, Jack. You brought me wine, you got all cozy on the stairs, rubbing my shoulders. You kissed me.”
    “Guilty, all counts. You kissed me right back. Then you went tearing off like I’d drawn blood.”
    “Parker beeped me. I was working . You poofed. And you’ve stayed poofed since.”
    “Poofed? I left. You ran off like the hounds of hell were on your heels, and Whitney irritates the shit out of me. So I left. And, strangely, I have a job—just like you—and I’ve spent the last week working. Not poofing. Jesus, I can’t believe I said poofing.” He had to drag in a breath. “Look, let’s sit down.”
    “I don’t want to sit down. I’m too mad to sit down. You don’t just do that then walk away.”
    Since she pointed an accusatory finger at him, he pointed right back. “You walked away.”
    “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Beeper, Parker, work.” She threw her hands in the air again. “I didn’t go anywhere. I just left because the MBB decided she had to inspect the tossing bouquet before she’d deign to toss it, and insisted it had to be right then and there. She irritates the shit out of everyone, but I