Free Bed of Roses by Nora Roberts

influence with your wine and staircase massages. I have to get back up, relieve Laurel on patrol.” She reached back, patted his hand before she rose. “Cake cutting in thirty.”
    He got to his feet as she started up. “What kind of cake?”
    She stopped, turned, and ended up on level with him. Her eyes, those deep velvet eyes, looked sleepy to match her voice. “She’s calling it her Parisian Spring. It’s this gorgeous pale lavender blue covered with white roses, sprigs of lilac, with this soft milk chocolate ribboning and—”
    “I was more about what’s inside.”
    “Oh, it’s her genoise with Italian meringue buttercream. You don’t want to miss it.”
    “It may beat out the crème brûlée.” She smelled like flowers. He couldn’t say which ones. She was a mysterious and lush bouquet. Her eyes were dark and soft and deep, and her mouth . . . Wouldn’t it taste every bit as rich as Laurel’s cake?
    The hell with it.
    “Okay, this is probably out of line, so apologies in advance.”
    He took her shoulders again, eased her to him. Those dark, soft, deep eyes widened in surprise an instant before his lips took hers.
    She didn’t jerk away, or laugh it off as a joke. Instead she made the same sort of sound she had when he’d rubbed her neck—just a little breathier.
    Her hands clamped on his hips, and those luscious lips of hers parted.
    Like her scent, her flavor was mysterious and essentially female. Dark and warm and sensual. When her hands moved up his back, he took more. Just a little more.
    Then he changed angles, took more still, and pleasure hummed in her throat.
    He thought of just snatching her up, carrying her off to whatever dark room he could find to finish what a moment of impulse had begun.
    The beeper at her waist sounded, and both of them jolted. She made a strangled sound, then managed, “Oh. Well.” In a jerky move she unclipped the beeper, stared at it. “Parker. Um. I have to go. I have to . . . go,” she said, then turned and bolted up the stairs.
    Alone, he lowered to the stairs again and finished off his neglected wine in two long gulps. He decided he’d skip the rest of the reception, and take a long walk outside instead.
     
     
     
    E MMA COULD ONLY BE GRATEFUL WORK KEPT HER TOO BUSY TO actually think. She helped clean up an incident involving the ring bearer and chocolate éclairs, delivered the tossing bouquet, rearranged the decor on the cake table to ease the serving, then began the stripping down of the Grand Hall.
    She readied centerpieces and other arrangements for transport and supervised the loading of them for the proper recipients.
    When the bubbles were blown and the last dance finished, she began the same process on the patios and terraces.
    She didn’t see a trace of Jack.
    “Everything okay?” Laurel asked her.
    “What? Yes. Sure. Everything went great. I’m just tired.”
    “Right there with you. At least tomorrow’s event will be a breeze after today. Have you seen Jack?”
    “What?” She jumped like a thief at the shrill of an alarm. “Why?”
    “I lost track of him. I planned to bribe him with pastries to help with the breakdown. I guess he skipped.”
    “I guess. I wasn’t paying attention.”
    Liar, liar . Why was she lying to her friend? It couldn’t be a good sign.
    “Parker and Mac are seeing off the stragglers,” Laurel commented. “They’ll do the security check. Do you want me to help you cart these to your place?”
    “No, I’ve got it.” Emma loaded the last of the leftovers she’d put back in the cooler. She’d donate the bulk to the local hospital, take the rest apart and make smaller arrangements to put around her place, and her friends’.
    She closed the cargo doors. “See you in the morning.”
    She drove the van home, reversed the process and carried flowers and garlands into her cooler.
    No matter how firmly she ordered her mind to stay calm and blank, it just kept opening up to one single thought.
    Jack kissed