Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(82)

“I think I just managed to kick Peabody out.” Disgusted, Eve shot to her feet again. “She comes in with an LC. Oh, he’s basically okay, but he’s a goddamn whore, a great looking, slick, amusing one.”

“It disturbs you,” Mira suggested, “that you like him on one level and despise him for what he does for a living.”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Peabody. He says he wants a real relationship, and she’s got stars in her eyes over him and she’s majorly pissed at me because I said something about it.”

“Life’s messy, Eve, and I’m afraid you’ve gone and carved yourself out a life, with all the conflicts and problems and hurt feelings that entails. If she’s angry with you, it’s because there’s no one she admires or respects more.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Being loved is a heavy responsibility. You’ll mend your fences with her, because she matters to you.”

“I’m getting damn crowded with people who matter.”

The house screen across the room blinked on. Summerset’s pinched face filled it. “Lieutenant, your guests are inquiring about you.”

“Fuck off.” She smiled thinly as Mira swallowed a laugh. “At least that’s one person I don’t have to worry about mattering. But I shouldn’t have busted up your evening.”

“You haven’t. I enjoy talking with you.”

“Well…” Eve started to stick her hands in her pockets, remembered she didn’t have any, and sighed. “Would you mind hanging out here for a minute? There’s something I want to get from my office.”

“All right. May I look through the books?”

“Sure, help yourself.” Not wanting to take the time to go out and down the stairs, Eve slipped into the elevator. She was back in less than three minutes, but Mira was already cozied into a chair with a book.

“Jane Eyre.” She sighed as she set it aside. “I haven’t read it since I was a girl. It’s so wrenchingly romantic.”

“You can borrow it if you want. Roarke wouldn’t mind.”

“I have my own copy. I just haven’t taken the time. But thank you.”

“I wanted to give you this. It’s a couple of days early, but… I might not see you.” Feeling ridiculously awkward, she held out the elegantly wrapped box.

“Oh, how sweet of you.” With obvious delight, Mira clasped the box in her hands. “May I open it now?”

“Sure, that’s the deal, right?” She shifted her feet, then rolled her eyes as Mira delicately untied the fussy bow and painstakingly unfolded the corners on the paper.

“Drives my family crazy, too,” she said with a laugh. “I just can’t bear to rip in; then I save the paper and ribbon like a pack rat. I have a closet full of it which I constantly forget to reuse. But…” She trailed off as she opened the lid and found the bottle of scent inside. “Why, it’s lovely, Eve. It has my name etched on it.”

“It’s this personalized sort of fragrance. You give the guy physical and personality traits, then he creates an individual fragrance.”

“Charlotte,” Mira murmured. “I wasn’t sure you knew my first name.”

“I guess I heard it somewhere.”

Mira blinked at sentimental tears. “It’s wonderfully thoughtful.” She set the bottle down and turned to draw Eve into a hug. “Thank you.”

Swamped with warmth, and embarrassment, Eve let herself be held. “I’m glad you like it. I’m pretty new at this kind of thing.”

“You did very well.” She drew back, but caught Eve’s face in her hands. “I’m so fond of you. Now I need the powder room because another of my Christmas traditions is to weep a little over my gifts. I know where it is,” she added, patting Eve’s cheeks lightly. “You go dance with your husband and drink a little too much champagne. The world outside will still be there tomorrow.”

“I need to stop him.”

“And you will. But tonight, you need your life. Go find Roarke and take it.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Eve did what the doctor ordered. It wasn’t such a bad deal, she decided, getting a little light-headed, swaying in Roarke’s arms to some sort of dreamy music in a room filled with color and scent and light.

“I can live with it,” she murmured.

“Hmm?”

She smiled as his lips skimmed her ear. “I can live with it,” she repeated, drawing back enough to look at his face. “All the Roarke stuff.”

“Well.” His hands stroked up her back, then down again. “That’s good to know.”

“You got a whole bunch of stuff, Roarke.”

“I do, indeed, have a whole bunch of stuff.” And a wife, he thought with an amused glint in his eyes, who was heading toward drunk.

“Sometimes it’s spooky. But not now. Now it’s pretty nice.” Sighing, she rubbed her cheek against his. “What kind of music is this?”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s sexy.”

“Twentieth century, primarily the nineteen forties. It was called Big Band. That’s a hologram of Tommy Dorsey’s band doing this little number. ‘Moonlight Serenade.’ “