Charisma coughed. “A real man totally gets when a woman gets involved in her work. I’m sure Lance Mathews will get how important your work is to you, too.”
“Really?” Rosamund looked from Charisma to Martha to Aaron.
They all nodded.
“Sure.” Charisma handed Rosamund the second ice-cream sandwich. “Here, eat this. It will make you feel better.”
Rosamund peeled back the paper.
“Aren’t I right about guys understanding how important a woman’s work is, Aaron?” Charisma asked.
“Heavens, yes. If Lance Mathews is half the man I think he is, he will understand completely.” Aaron turned to Martha. “Has anyone told Rosamund that Irving called the library?”
Rosamund paused, the ice-cream sandwich halfway to her mouth. “The library? You mean the Arthur W. Nelson Fine Arts Library? Why? What did he call for?”
“He convinced the board to give you a leave of absence to work for him,” Martha said.
“Irving’s a wily old thing,” Charisma said. “He insinuated that he wanted you to assess his collection because he was deciding who was going to get it. The head of the board, some snooty guy in a suit—”
“Mr. Perez.” Rosamund bit into the ice-cream sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “This is tremendous.”
“A gourmet ice-cream sandwich, orange ice cream between two oatmeal cookies.” Charisma polished hers off.
Rosamund took another bite, and closed her eyes as she chewed. “Bliss.”
When she opened them, Aaron was watching her so intently she figured she must have a crumb on her face, and dabbed at her mouth.
“Apparently Mr. Perez bowed and scraped and let Irving have his way. You’re on loan to Irving as long as he wants you.” Charisma flung herself back into a chair, and declared, “That sandwich was sick . Now I can die happy.”
Rosamund didn’t know if she could die happy, but she had to admit, the infusion of flavors and sugars did wonders to decrease her anxiety about Lance Mathews. “So you really think he won’t be mad that I forgot him?”
Charisma made an amused face. “No. Geez, only a guy with an immense, silly ego would notice.”
“So true.” Aaron captured Rosamund’s hand, brought it to his mouth, and took a bite of her ice-cream sandwich.
“Hey!” she said.
“You’re right—it is good.” Still holding her hand, he looked into her eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat. That sculpted, strong, and bronzed face . . . that curious, intent expression . . .
What was wrong with her? She was interested in Lance Mathews, not Aaron Eagle, but when Aaron looked at her like that, he made her breath sing in her chest.
He let go of her hand.
She looked away.
No one seemed to notice the brief moment of chest-singing . . . except her.
“Irving’s bedroom is right through that door. But let me lock it on this side.” Martha went over and turned the key.
“Irving had a cot brought in here for you.” Charisma waved at the twin-sized folding bed. “And Isabelle and I put together clothes we thought would fit you. Irving wants you to be comfortable while you look for the prophecy.”
When Rosamund glanced back at Aaron, he was looking at Charisma with the kind of affectionate smile she never saw him use when he looked at her.
Nope. She was right. He didn’t even like her.
“Hey, Rosamund, probably you want to sleep now,” Charisma said.
“I’ll get your warm milk,” Martha said.
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll sleep. Now . . . I need to use the facilities.” She edged toward the corridor, far too aware of three pairs of eyes keenly watching her. “I’m tired. I know I’ll sleep well. I really will.” She made it into the bathroom, shut the door behind her, locked it and leaned against it.
She understood the situation. She really did. They desperately wanted an explanation about the explosion at the Gypsy Travel Agency, what it meant and what would happen next. They thought she could find
“Really?” Rosamund looked from Charisma to Martha to Aaron.
They all nodded.
“Sure.” Charisma handed Rosamund the second ice-cream sandwich. “Here, eat this. It will make you feel better.”
Rosamund peeled back the paper.
“Aren’t I right about guys understanding how important a woman’s work is, Aaron?” Charisma asked.
“Heavens, yes. If Lance Mathews is half the man I think he is, he will understand completely.” Aaron turned to Martha. “Has anyone told Rosamund that Irving called the library?”
Rosamund paused, the ice-cream sandwich halfway to her mouth. “The library? You mean the Arthur W. Nelson Fine Arts Library? Why? What did he call for?”
“He convinced the board to give you a leave of absence to work for him,” Martha said.
“Irving’s a wily old thing,” Charisma said. “He insinuated that he wanted you to assess his collection because he was deciding who was going to get it. The head of the board, some snooty guy in a suit—”
“Mr. Perez.” Rosamund bit into the ice-cream sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “This is tremendous.”
“A gourmet ice-cream sandwich, orange ice cream between two oatmeal cookies.” Charisma polished hers off.
Rosamund took another bite, and closed her eyes as she chewed. “Bliss.”
When she opened them, Aaron was watching her so intently she figured she must have a crumb on her face, and dabbed at her mouth.
“Apparently Mr. Perez bowed and scraped and let Irving have his way. You’re on loan to Irving as long as he wants you.” Charisma flung herself back into a chair, and declared, “That sandwich was sick . Now I can die happy.”
Rosamund didn’t know if she could die happy, but she had to admit, the infusion of flavors and sugars did wonders to decrease her anxiety about Lance Mathews. “So you really think he won’t be mad that I forgot him?”
Charisma made an amused face. “No. Geez, only a guy with an immense, silly ego would notice.”
“So true.” Aaron captured Rosamund’s hand, brought it to his mouth, and took a bite of her ice-cream sandwich.
“Hey!” she said.
“You’re right—it is good.” Still holding her hand, he looked into her eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat. That sculpted, strong, and bronzed face . . . that curious, intent expression . . .
What was wrong with her? She was interested in Lance Mathews, not Aaron Eagle, but when Aaron looked at her like that, he made her breath sing in her chest.
He let go of her hand.
She looked away.
No one seemed to notice the brief moment of chest-singing . . . except her.
“Irving’s bedroom is right through that door. But let me lock it on this side.” Martha went over and turned the key.
“Irving had a cot brought in here for you.” Charisma waved at the twin-sized folding bed. “And Isabelle and I put together clothes we thought would fit you. Irving wants you to be comfortable while you look for the prophecy.”
When Rosamund glanced back at Aaron, he was looking at Charisma with the kind of affectionate smile she never saw him use when he looked at her.
Nope. She was right. He didn’t even like her.
“Hey, Rosamund, probably you want to sleep now,” Charisma said.
“I’ll get your warm milk,” Martha said.
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll sleep. Now . . . I need to use the facilities.” She edged toward the corridor, far too aware of three pairs of eyes keenly watching her. “I’m tired. I know I’ll sleep well. I really will.” She made it into the bathroom, shut the door behind her, locked it and leaned against it.
She understood the situation. She really did. They desperately wanted an explanation about the explosion at the Gypsy Travel Agency, what it meant and what would happen next. They thought she could find
Similar Books
