sighted a glimpse of her inner struggle as she geared herself to deal with him. Signs she wasn’t anywhere near as calm as she’d have him believe.
‘A journey is but a series of many steps.’ The quote teased his brain, although he couldn’t be sure of its accuracy or its origin, only that the words were pertinent.
Rebekah Stanford intrigued him. He admired the look of her, the strength of character apparent. The exigent sexual chemistry. But it was more than mere physical attraction. There was mystery surrounding her, something he couldn’t quite pin down.
During the past year he hadn’t been able to dismiss her from his mind. Her features teased his subconscious, the scent and feel of her. The way she’d responded to his touch haunted him…and destroyed anything he thought he could feel for another woman. Plural, he amended ruefully, aware of the few women he’d sought to fill a void.
Now he was back, intent on combining business with pleasure…or was it the other way round? Intent on determining if memory of an emotion still existed, and if it did, just what he intended to do about it.
‘Roses.’ Their velvety texture, exotic perfume, the exquisite petals so tightly budded just waiting to unfold.
‘What colour do you have in mind?’
Rebekah moved towards the temperature-controlled cabinet and indicated several vases holding a variety of colours.
There was the perfection of white, glorious pinks and corals in their various shadings, and deep, dark red.
He didn’t hesitate. ‘The red.’
She opened the glass door, removed the vase and carried it to the work table. ‘How many would you like? The cost—’
‘Is immaterial,’ Jace concluded. ‘Three dozen.’
‘Would you like them delivered? An extra charge applies.’
‘I’ll handle delivery.’
A woman undoubtedly. Hostess, friend, or lover?
If it was a lover, he must possess all the right moves. He’d only been in the country two days.
Rebekah gestured towards a stand containing cards for every occasion. ‘Perhaps you’d like to choose a card and write on it while I fix these.’ She was already reaching for Cellophane, and mentally selecting ribbon.
Within minutes the bouquet was ready, and she attached the card, accepted payment, then handed him the roses.
Jace took time to admire their assembled artistry, then he presented her with them. ‘For you.’ He observed a gamut of emotions chase across her expressive features, and saw her struggle with each and every one of them.
‘Excuse me?’
‘The roses are for you. I suggest you read the card.’
Rebekah read the words with a sense of mounting disbelief. ‘Dinner tonight. Seven.’
‘I’ll collect you.’
‘You don’t know where I live.’ What was she saying? She had no intention of sharing dinner with him.
‘Ana will give me the address.’
‘No.’
One eyebrow slanted in mocking humour. ‘No, Ana won’t give me the address?’
‘No, I won’t accept your invitation.’ The thought of spending time with him wasn’t a good idea.
‘I promise not to bite.’
‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’ She held out the magnificent sheaf of roses. ‘Please take these. I can’t accept them.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ His New York-accented drawl held humour, and something else she couldn’t define.
Ana? Where was her sister when she needed her?
It took only a glance to determine Ana was still on the phone. ‘I don’t date.’
The stark admission appeared to have no effect at all. ‘Seven, Rebekah.’ He turned and walked from the shop, and her reiterated no fell on deaf ears.
She swore, and followed it with a husky litany that damned the male species in general and one of them in particular.
‘Oh, my,’ Ana declared as she replaced the receiver. ‘What did he do? Issue an indecent proposal?’
‘He asked me out.’ Rebekah’s voice came out as an impassioned hiss.
‘And that’s the extent of his crime?’
Rebekah tossed the bouquet of roses onto the work table. ‘I’m not going.’
‘Of course not.’
‘How dare he come in here and order roses…?’ She could hardly contain her anger. ‘Three dozen of them.’ Her eyes flashed blue fire. ‘Then give them to me?’
Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘Very bad taste.’
Rebekah’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not accepting them.’ She pushed the bouquet into her sister’s hands. ‘You take them home.’
‘Why not you?’ Ana queried reasonably.
‘I’ll return them to stock.’ She spared them a glance, and her artist’s eye admired the blooms’ beauty. Just for a moment she felt a twinge of remorse.
No man had gifted her anything in a while. And never flowers.
‘Who does Jace Dimitriades think he is?’ It was a question that required no answer, and she banked down a further tirade as a customer entered the boutique.
Rebekah was glad of the interruption, although she seethed in silence for the rest of the day. A number of scenarios as to how she’d deal with him crossed her mind. Some of which, should she put them into effect, would be sure to get her arrested for causing grievous bodily harm.
‘Do you have a number where I can contact him?’
It was late afternoon, and Ana was about to leave.
‘Jace?’
‘Of course, Jace.’
Ana’s features assumed a thoughtful expression.
‘It’s been two years since your divorce. Don’t you think it’s time you emerged into the real world again?’
‘You’re advocating I have an affair?’
‘Who are you afraid of?’ Ana queried gently. ‘Jace or yourself?’ She walked to the door, paused and turned to give her sister a warm smile. ‘Think about it.’
Rebekah opened her mouth, then closed it again.
As
