Edge of Darkness by J. T. Geissinger Page B

calling, and the folded paper menu slipped between her fingers and drifted unnoticed to the floor.

“Hello?”
    Her voice was low and a little breathy, as if she’d run across the room to pick up the phone.
    “Did you get the flowers?” Christian said, smiling. He’d wanted a bigger display, but the flower shop only had a vase large enough to hold one hundred of the beautiful lavender roses, and he thought sending another vase of a hundred might have been overkill. Especially since she seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was determined to keep it that way, too, but still—a few flowers couldn’t hurt.
    “I did.” Ember cleared her throat. “They’re beautiful, thank you. That wasn’t necessary.”
    She sounded lukewarm about the roses, a little businesslike, and it made his smile turn to a frown. Did she think he had some ulterior motive for sending them, perhaps to get a better price on the copy of Casino Royale ? That was a disturbing thought, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. He’d simply been driving down Las Ramblas , spotted the little floral boutique, and given in to the strong impulse to buy her something that might put that spectacular smile back on her face.
    “I didn’t get a chance to ask you what your favorite flower was, so I sent mine.”
    There was a loaded pause. “Oh. Lavender roses are your favorite.”
    Now she sounded disappointed for some reason. His frown grew deeper.
    “Actually, I love all colors of roses. My mother was an incredible gardener; we had what seemed like acres of roses covering the grounds of our property when I was growing up.”
    There was another pause, this one longer. Christian imagined her thinking on the other end of the line, worrying her bottom lip like she did when preoccupied. He wished he could see her face, be near her so he could judge her reactions. He wished he could press his fingers to her throat again and feel that swift, hot throbbing against his skin.
    “By the way you say, ‘grounds’, I’m guessing we’re not talking about a little country cottage here.”
    Her voice had now turned from disappointed to wry, faintly acidic. He’d never thought he could irritate someone so much in three short sentences. “I’m sorry, this conversation doesn’t seem to be going the way I’d hoped. Have I said something to offend you?”
    She exhaled, a pretty, feminine sound that was heavy with some unnamed emotion. “No, of course not. Ignore me. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak to normal people, my bad manners are practically contagious. The roses were beautiful. Really, thank you again.”
    Christian’s voice came very low. “You think I’m normal? Let me assure you, September, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
    “Well, your distractingly pretty looks aside—”
    “Distractingly pretty?” Christian felt vaguely insulted. She’d called him pretty before too—did she mean she thought he looked effeminate? Jesus, this conversation was getting entirely derailed.
    She didn’t even have the decency to sound apologetic. “You are the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, and that’s the ugly truth, Fancypants. You must be aware of how you look by now, you’ve been living with that face for…”
    “Thirty-one years,” he said between gritted teeth. “And how long have you been cultivating that devastating charm of yours, Miss Jones?”
    She chuckled. “Twenty-four years. Perfected it, haven’t I?”
    “To a science.”
    She chuckled again, then sighed. “Okay, truce. I promise not to call you pretty anymore if you promise not to send flowers again.”
    “You don’t like flowers? Are you allergic?”
    “Yes, and no. I love flowers, especially roses. My mother was an amazing gardener, too.” Her tone grew light, suspiciously offhand. “She taught me all the meanings of different flowers. The meanings of their different colors, too.”
    A slow, spreading grin took over Christian’s face. Now we’re getting