There had been a time he would have simply arranged his schedule and done so. But in the past year it had become increasingly less appealing to leave home, even for the short term.
He had, he thought with some amusement at himself, become rooted.
He stopped by Eve’s office on the way to his own, was mildly surprised not to find her there, neck deep in her current case. Curiosity had him setting his own work aside and moving to the house scanner.
“Where is Eve?”
Eve is currently in Lounging Room Four, third level, south wing.
“What the hell is she doing in there?”
Would you like to engage monitor?
“No, I’ll go see for myself.”
He’d never known her to loiter in that area of the house. The fact was, he’d never known her to lounge unless he nagged, seduced, or conned her into it.
It occurred to him it might be pleasant to have their meal there, relax together with a bottle of wine, and shake their respective days from their minds.
He’d have to talk her into it.
Thinking this, he walked into the room. If she’d been looking in his direction, she would have caught one of the rare moments when her husband was completely flabbergasted.
The room was lit with dozens of white candles, and the fragrance of them waltzed with the tender perfume of dozens of silver roses. Crystal glinted, silver gleamed, and the romance of harp strings wept in the air.
In the midst of it, Eve stood in an alarm-red dress that left her arms and shoulders bare as it skimmed down her long, slim body like an avid lover’s hungry hands.
Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with concentration, as she twisted the wire on a bottle of champagne.
“Excuse me.” He saw her lovely shoulders jerk, her only sign of surprise. “I’m looking for my wife.”
Her stomach jittered a little, but she turned, smiled. He had a face made for candlelight, she thought. For slow and simmering fires. Looking at it never failed to start one in her blood. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Glancing around the room, he walked toward her. “What’s all this?”
“Dinner.”
“Dinner,” he repeated, and his eyes narrowed. “What have you done? You’re not hurt?”
“No. I’m fine.” Still smiling, she popped the cork, relieved when champagne didn’t come spraying out.
He frowned as she poured champagne into crystal flutes. “All right, what do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I know a setup when I see one. What do you want?”
Her smile wavered. It took a great deal of effort to keep it from turning into a snarl. Sticking to the steps she’d carefully outlined, she handed him his wine, gently tapped her glass to his. “What, I can’t put together a nice dinner without ulterior motives?”
He thought about it. “No.”
She set the bottle on the table with an ominous crack. “Look, it’s dinner, okay? You don’t want to eat, fine.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to eat.” She was wearing perfume, he noted. And lip dye. She’d fussed with her eyes. He reached out to toy with the tear-shaped diamond pendant he’d given her. “What are you up to, Eve?”
That tore it. “Nothing. Forget it. I don’t know what came over me. Obviously, I lost my mind for a minute. No, for two sweaty, stupid hours. That’s what it took to put this fiasco together. I’m going to work.”
He caught her arm before she could march past him and wasn’t the least surprised to see the quick flare of violence in her eyes. But he was surprised to see hurt.