Rose leaned her chin on a pair of upturned palms, just watching him. “I can’t imagine the fun in business. Accounting, I get. It’s good, solid numbers. Logic. Business…humans…games…worse, games without set rules.”
“You learn the rules on the way through the game,” he countered, leaning back and enjoying the intelligence he saw gleaming in the pale amber eyes. “And sometimes, you make changes that set peoples heads to spinning.”
“Doesn’t it get tiring? Maybe…no, annoying…it’s got to be rather like chess,” she said thoughtfully, her hands out and eyes seeing an invisible chess set laid out before her. “You can easily see the pieces through to the logical and probable conclusions, given each move. So you, as a business man, you know where it begins and given the possible moves, you know how it will end. The problem with the moves, though,” she slowed thoughtfully. “Is the emotional background given the humans also playing. Good mood, bad mood. But you have to make the plays in the middle to get there,” she looked up from the table, blinking at the handsome grin on his face. Understanding dawned on her face. “You like the game.”
“I revel in the game, Rose. And you’re right, it is a great deal like a chess match,” he nodded at the waiter that appeared with the slightly chilled bottle of red wine, tasting and sighing before offering his glass to be filled. “Wine?”
“Thank you…” Rose took a slow taste, smiling at the sweetness inside with a tart bite. “So it really isn’t so stressful to play the game.”
“It sometimes takes a little longer than I’d like,” he admitted with a dismissing shrug. “But in the end, we acquire what we need for the manufacturing we’re relocating to the area. Rebuilding an American community.”
“You’ll be moving here? Where do you live now? California?” She recalled, having given up on trying to disguise her interest. He wasn’t hiding his, she realized with a special tingle racing along her spine.
“Southern California for the most part,” Ryan said with a nod, dark eyes forcing hers to his for a long minute. “Would it please you to know I’m relocated to this area, Rose?”
“It sounds a little high school, but yes…yes, it does,” she answered without hesitation.
“The house has already sold and the things I wanted kept are in transit,” he told her, their conversation halted while the food was laid before them. He grinned at the fingernails lifting slivers of onion from her salad and setting them aside. “It’s arrogant of me, but tell me there’s no one of import in your life but me, Rose.”
“I suppose asking the why isn’t always easy…you have to wonder when you meet someone…the why part, I mean…” She took a bite of salad, staring at the design on the plate before her.
“The why isn’t important now…that comes out with time, I think,” he reached across the table and tilted her chin up. “I’ve enjoyed our day a great deal. This move…the relocation…just another step toward a long term goal for me. Then I was running this morning…” His lips tilted in a smile. “And some how fell head first into a pair of caramel eyes and a beautiful bow of lips that were meant to be kissed…and often. It was like being kicked breathless and solidly in the gut…”
Rose closed one eye, laughing at the expression crossing his face.
“The words were really nice up to that point, Ryan,” she said softly.
“I keep telling myself I’m not in high school and should have better control,” he said with a soft laugh.
“I’ve been living in this area a little over a year. I left Boston to come here. I have friends, some in high spots with the reclamation and knew I’d be able to get one in the accounting department of one or the other places,” Rose stared at his hands for a long minute as she ate. No signs of a ring at all.
“But you’ve never eaten here before? No dates?”
“No interest. I love my job. I love numbers. I work out, play in the arcade and have a few hobbies at home. I have male friends who accept that’s all I feel,” she lifted her gaze to his. “I didn’t just leave Boston, Ryan, I ran. As far and as fast as I could. I’ve been working for the health center a little over four months and it’s so nice and so peaceful.”
“Then that’s how it shall remain,” he promised her, peering over the wine glass. “Racquetball tomorrow after work?”
“A chance to redeem myself? Absolutely,” she told him, launching herself into questions about what type of business was being relocated.
“That is a positively decadent expression,” he said forty-five minutes later as she tasted the thick chocolate pile on the plate between them. The smile remained in his eyes when she scooped up more of the deep chocolate mixture and held it out to him. “Alright…agreed…”
“Amazing,” she breathed and took another bite. “It’s barely eight.”
“Interested in visiting the casino?” Ryan asked as he settled the bill while she took the final bite of chocolate.
“The casino?” Her nose wrinkled at the thought, standing up and taking his hand. “Not really. No interest. I can play blackjack well enough…it’s numbers…”
“People gamble for lots of other reasons, Rose,” he tucked her palm in his and strolled slowly toward the exit. “Many find it relaxing. Some, a game.”
“I’m allergic to money. It’s nothing but trouble.”
“Hmm…do tell…”
“I was thinking of the arcade…or a walk through the enclosed gardens,” she suggested.
“Someplace quiet to simply sit and talk,” he agreed with a nod. “The gardens.”
“It’s behind the pool area. You’ll have to bring trunks tomorrow,” she suggested, deciding she liked the way he wrapped her palm around his arm and walked with his other hand stroking gently over her fingers. “After an hour on the court, sinking into the hot tub is the best feeling ever.”
“So tell me why you dislike money?”
“I don’t, I suppose. It has its purpose.” She laughed dryly. “It’s what makes the world go round, right?”
“None of this would exist without it,” he said softly, content to amble along the carefully constructed paths through the scented conservatory.
“I know…in the right hands, it’s a wonderful tool. I don’t see the point of the hoarding, though…the constant drive to amass more and more and more,” Rose exhaled deeply. “People…work hard for so many different reasons.”
“Hoarding?” Ryan repeat the word slowly.
“A person…business, sports, politics…whatever…you make money. Unless you’re extremely careless, you buy things and go places and do stuff…but in the end, you have a coffin and you inside it and that’s all there is. No money stops that. When you have so much money that it just…just sits someplace…just builds more baby money…what’s the point? And yet, there’s no gene inside them that says to share,” Rose shook her head. “I’m not explaining my thoughts right. Don’t mind me.”
“Perhaps you’ve got money and greed mixed up, Rose,” he said quietly.
“I think maybe I’ll be quiet now as to not embarrass myself further,” she replied with a wince. “None of this would be possible without money and people who cared and were willing to share. I know that. And I don’t believe someone who works hard should give away all their earnings, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. Four million to make a thirty minute TV comedy? Thirty million for a few seasons of baseball or football? Why did we, as a society, conclude that people are of value based on what they do? Or can’t do…”
“I don’t disagree with you at all, Rose. Maybe that’s one of the chief reasons the company is relocating the manufacturing plants here in the first place. Building a community, once again,” Ryan said carefully, stopping them beside a wide stone bench and sinking down. He straddled it and pulled her to sit in between, her back against him and his arms around her from behind. She pulled her feet to rest on the bench and relaxed, her arms over his and head back.
“Sometimes…” She began quietly, trying not to
think of the warm breath whispering against her throat. “I just want a quiet little place. A peaceful little world where people stopped being mean to one another,” she sighed thickly. “Sorry…guess you could say I have issues.”
Rose wasn’t sure how she cuddled back a little closer, feeling his laughter run through them both.
“I’m surprised you’re not a social worker or something more…involved,” he commented cautiously, not loosening his hold on her.
“Oh, god, I’d be in debt to my ears on contempt of court charges,” she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I thought about it a long, long time ago. I don’t think I could have handled the…the sadness…over and over and never feeling like there was an end.”
“No…I think you would have weathered it, but the cost would have been in more than mere money for you,” he remarked, his lips trailing over the expanse of skin, from her shoulder cap to the hollow between her throat and shoulder. He liked the sweet shiver and the softer sigh that broke from her lips.
“Have I mentioned that you have very nice words? And that touch of Ireland makes them roll very sweetly off your tongue,” Rose sat up and turned to face him, sitting like he was on the bench. “I have a six o’clock wake up.”
“Hmm…funny that…so do I. But I’ll be doing laps in the morning around the track,” he took her hand in his, brought them together and carried them both to his lips. “So perhaps it’s time for good night.”
“I think so…I’m a little grateful for being unable to breathe this morning,” she met the smile with one of her own before she leaned in, brushing her mouth over his lightly. “Good night, Ryan Flannary.”
“Tomorrow night…five at the court, Rose,” he watched her back up, nodding once before she vanished around a corner. He sat quietly in the tranquil conservatory, glancing now and then into the glass ceiling and the multitude of stars breaking onto the velvet midnight sky. He pushed himself to his feet and wandered slowly toward the hotel.
How do you reconcile emotions? If you were handed a pill and told this woman would be the most appealing, utterly fascinating woman you’ll ever meet, he could rationalize it in his mind. It would make a strange kind of sense. How does it simply come out of no where and grab you so hard you can’t, no, you don’t want to think of anything but the way she laughs or sighs or smells.
He tossed his shirt toward the chair and opened the lap top, filling a large bottle with water and ice before sitting down to see what had been happening during his evening off. He opened the photo he’d snapped before joining her in the lobby and set his desktop, the freshly scrubbed, bright eyed smile following into his dreams much later in the night.
Chapter Three
Ryan met the woman running around the track on her first lap, his pace set to match hers and their eyes meeting.
“Rose told me you were a friend of hers, Ryan Flannary,” he said, offering a greeting smile.
“Daphne Paddington…hmm…Mircea…newly married…names…we spoke last night. Rose and I, that is,” Daphne told him, laughing at his surprise. “We’re friends, Ryan, not so surprising. You’ve thrown my friend for a loop.”
“I can only confess that the sensation is mutual,” he admitted honestly.
“She’s a little confused at the whole breathing and talking and running thing, too,” Daphne chuckled softly.
“Which is odd, considering I’ve played racquetball with her and seen her throw herself into rowing,” he commented easily.
“As for the loop thing…” she sighed, ponytail shaking when her head did. “I’m inclined to believe it’s in the water…I’ve no explanation for it, but I’ve been told not to try and explain it in terms of logic.”
“I’ve a sister who swears when you least expect it, you’re on the ground looking up,” Ryan replied with a soft chuckle.
“I think it’s part of our…self-preservation…to be naturally wary,” she said. “I work with children all day and sometimes wish for a little bit of their trust.”
“Between business and world events, it is drained from you, isn’t it?”
“She said your company was relocating to the area.”
“I’m working out the property deals now. They’re coming together nicely, though. Long time owners who happen to be grateful to be rid of the weight of them.” Ryan weighed his next question cautiously. “Can you tell me why she left Boston? It seemed to bother her…”
Daphne tipped her head back, inhaling slowly.
“Please, I don’t want you to betray a confidence.”
“Friends talk, Ryan. Even while running,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure she’ll get around to it, in time. Her mother died when she was three or four. Her father never remarried and threw himself into his work, the business had been in the family for…phew…a long time. Rose was turned over to her grandmother. A very fun, real world lady,” she recalled fondly. “She died a little over a year ago. It was one of the factors behind Rose leaving the east. I met Rose in school in England…and again in France a few years later. Her grandmother took her from country to country, making certain she knew what people lived like, making sure she understood a work ethic but also her duties to those without. The schools we attended were good, solid schools. And all girl academies. She settled in Boston with her grandmother when she was twenty-four, just out of college and slipping into a job she enjoyed.”
“At the family company?” Ryan guessed quietly, listening carefully to the inflection in her tones and the words she chose.
“A lot of things mess with a girl’s head. I was lucky and had cousins and smarter parents. Rose didn’t have anyone to…to explain the fine points of being the owner’s daughter.” Daphne pulled a bottle of water from the band at her back and drank deeply. “I remember her calls and our talks…she seemed wary, but content. Then she over heard him talking to some of his buddies…explaining how he was going to have it on easy street by snagging the boss’s daughter. He was descriptive and cruel about her naiveté…it stayed with her for a long, long time. Needless to say, she broke off the engagement, quite publicly, and threw herself into a lot of things, the least of which was working out. Shortly before her grandmother died, that same guy was promoted to vice president, one of his departments was accounting and he worked hard to get back in her good graces, let’s say.”
“And her father during all this?” Ryan heard the tense line in his voice, felt the pounding of his heart and knew it had nothing to do with their run.
“Blind…to be fair, Rose didn’t tell him anything. Us girls want to handle our own problems,” she said with a crooked grin.
“She wouldn’t pack up and bolt just because he was making a pass at her,” he said carefully.
“No…she wouldn’t…and you might have some notion that going to all girls schools makes you less…street smart…believe me when I tell you, girls can be quite inventive when necessary,” Daphne told him carefully. “She set him up…maneuvered him into a scene where his wife caught them. He didn’t take it lying down and caught her at home one night a couple weeks later. She lived on the top floor of a quiet brownstone overlooking the bay. He didn’t know I was visiting. I was running late and…he’d struck her a few times, her clothes were torn and he probably would have raped her while she was half conscious but for a carefully placed vase of flowers against the back of his head. Charges were filed…photos taken and she turned in her resignation and came out west, taking temp jobs until the resort and health center were up and running. I don’t know what happened to him, I don’t think she cares much. She never had to return for a trial as he pleaded out.”
“You’re a good friend,” Ryan told her when he could trust his voice.
“When I talked to her last night she was…happy…so I thank you for that. Now after meeting you, I see the same happiness there and that is nice. And for keeping me out of the racquetball court,” Daphne shuddered and glanced down at her watch. “Gotta dash…take care, Ryan.”
He ra
n another two laps without letting himself think and twice his normal pace, dropping his head at the entrance to the gym and closing his eyes. It hadn’t helped. He still wanted to pound on something.
Rose was standing outside the gym entrance shortly before five when she frowned, watching the long strides of the very handsome man in a dark, three piece suit coming toward her. She slid one palm into the pocket of her jeans, the bulky sweater she wore and sneakers definitely making her feel seriously under-dressed. Her pack was slung over her shoulder as she took a few steps toward him.
“Ryan, you’re not looking chipper,” she said quietly, standing near the wall to allow people to pass them. “What’s wrong?”
“Rose,” he watched her eyes widen when he framed her face and kissed her softly before she could move away. “I am sorry, but I have to bow out of our game this evening and ask a favor of you.”
Rose knew her lips were tingling. His hands were warm against her face and she could smell a sweet, dark cologne that suited him. She could see the ends of the leather strand he used to tie his hair back and smiled.
“Of course. What can I do to help?”
“Let’s head toward the main area,” he gently took her elbow, walking with her along the corridor. “An important business associate was to be here in three days. He’s arriving…” He tipped his wrist up. “In thirty minutes or so, with his wife. Would you join me for dinner and cocktails? And possibly show his wife around while we hammer out this contract?”
“Ryan, I’m not dressed for something like…my apartment…” Rose winced at the jeans and t-shirt she wore.
“I can take care of that, my sweet Rose, not to worry,” he carried the palm he held to his lips. “I made arrangements in the hope I could convince you to come to my aid.”
“Arrangements?”
Ryan heard the slightest hint of panic in her voice and chuckled.
“You aren’t being sacrificed to the gods, Rose. Just primped, pampered and outfitted,” he guided her along the wide and very exclusive collection of shops for the tourists to browse through.
WindSwept Narrows: #15 Rose Maddock Page 2
