Festive in Death (In Death #39)(21)

His stone-gray eyebrows winged up. “I can’t be bought. However,” he said as the cat padded over to sniff at bags and tissue. “I could be persuaded.”

“What do you want?”

“You’re hosting a party night after next.”

“I know that. Of course I know that.” Night after next took it down to one day, didn’t it? She didn’t want to think about it.

“Preparations for welcoming two hundred and fifty-six people into your home begin at eight A.M.”

She thought: Two hundred and fifty-six people? Jesus Christ. Why? But she said, “Okay.”

“Participate.”

“But what if . . .” She looked down at the pile of bags, at the ass-end of the cat as he tried to burrow into one. Surrendered. “Done.”

She shed her coat, tossed it over the newel post—a small defiance.

There was no shame in retreat, Eve told herself as she bolted up the stairs. There would be other battles, other wars. She aimed straight for the bedroom, and on a moan flung herself on the glorious blue lake of the bed.

Ten minutes, she vowed. She’d take ten minutes to recover from shopping trauma and Summerset negotiations. Then she’d go to her office, set up her board there. Clear her head and start working on who killed Trey Ziegler.

Asshole or not, he deserved the best she had.

Ten minutes, she thought again, and dropped into sleep like an anchor into the sea.

She drifted out again. There was a weight on her ass she recognized as the cat. Fingers twined with hers—Roarke’s.

She opened her eyes, looked into the impossible blue of his.

The bedroom tree twinkled. He’d lit the fire, so the flames simmered low and red. All things being equal, she’d have curled up against him and gone right under again.

But all things were rarely equal for a cop.

“I shopped,” she said.

“Dear God! Are you all right? Should I call for the MTs?”

“Smart-ass. I hooked the kid—you remember the kid. Tiko.”

“Ah, yeah, the young entrepreneur. I remember, fondly, the pie his grandmother baked us.”

“He’s got two other kids working for him for the holidays. Expanded his stock, too. He dragged me over to this place I busted. New tenants. They sort of look like they could be related to Peabody. Free-Agey. And then . . . it was like I’d walked through some portal into an alternate universe.”

“The alternate universe of a retail establishment, without crime.”

“That,” she agreed. “So there was all this stuff, and somebody was like this would be good for this person, and I’m okay fine. Then it’s this would be good for that other person, and fine. Jesus, okay, fine. But it kept going and going. And the kid started hauling in stuff from his stall, saying you put this scarf or whatever with that thing, and this thing with the other. I just kept saying okay, fine, okay, because I wanted it to be over.

“I might have post-traumatic stress.”

He kissed her lightly. “Poor baby.”

“You don’t mean that. You think it’s funny. You think it’s funny because you’d have actually enjoyed all of it. But it gets worse.”

“How is that possible?”

“I was weakened by the experience. I made a bargain with Summerset.”

He pressed lips to her brow as if checking for fever. “It may be too late for the MTs.”

“Ha ha. Now because he’s going to wrap all that stuff, I have to participate in preparations for the party. Why are there two hundred and fifty-six people coming?”

“I believe it’ll be closer to two-seventy, and we welcome your participation. You’re a boss, remember? You’ll assign, delegate, decide, order. You might even enjoy it, a little.”

“I don’t think so, but a deal’s a deal.” She shifted a little, studied him. She thought of her reaction that morning when he’d walked out of her office unexpectedly.

So perfect, so pretty. All hers.

“You’re not wearing your suit.” She ran a hand down the cloud softness of his stone-gray tee.

“I’ve been home a bit longer than you. Actually got a quick swim in.”

“Huh. That doesn’t seem fair. You get a refreshing swim, relaxing clothes, and I get murder and shopping mayhem. Plus I’m still wearing my boots.”

“It doesn’t seem just, does it? Let’s see what I can do to even it all out.”

He levered up, lifted one of her legs, worked off the boot. Repeated the process. “Better?”

“It’s a start.”

“We might both be more relaxed if you weren’t armed.” He released her weapon harness, peeled it off. Laid it on the floor with her boots. “Now?”

“Murder and mayhem,” she reminded him. “You had money and meetings.”

“Quite a bit of both, actually.” He straddled her, drew off the navy V-neck she’d pulled on in the middle of the night. “How would you feel about owning a little town in Tuscany?”

“A town? Come on.”

“A village, actually, and quite charming.” Smiling down at her he unhooked her belt. “An old ramshackle villa that could be a showpiece with the right touches. Lovely views, narrow cobbled streets, the remains of a medieval wall.”