It was late. It took forever for Stephanie to get the last of the arrangements finished up at the reception. Yet she needed to get out of there to go see how Roark was doing.
Something was wrong. She felt it when they were dancing.
Hell, she felt it when they were standing at the bar, talking to Bruce.
Mental note—make sure to have Bruce do more photo work. He turned out well. She never would have thought a book cover photographer would take such great shots.
Wait, she wasn’t supposed to know that, was she? Bruce had sworn her to secrecy. Roark and Jason would destroy him if they found out he made smutty covers for some romance publisher.
Though with the crap they give Roark about the perfume business, maybe she ought to let it slip?
Ahh, to play with the boys. Even the caterer—Jason—made a mean barbecue. For a private investigator, the guy sure could cook.
It made her wonder what other secrets Roark was hiding from her.
He had to be seeing someone… That was the only explanation she could come up with for his strange behavior tonight.
She rocked her head back and forth, loosening the muscles in her neck just before getting out of the car. Her heels clicked on Roark’s driveway as she walked up. There weren’t many lights on, but she knew he was home—she could see the television flickering in the front window.
And from the flicker level, he was watching something with lots of explosions.
She knocked twice, and when he didn’t come right to the door, she pulled out her key and slipped it in the lock. She always felt strange about going into Roark’s like this. It was something people who dated would do.
That was one thing she and Roark never did.
Had she thought about it? Sure, when she was in high school and he was on the wrestling team. Especially right after he’d finish a match, when he was all hot and sweaty—sexy as sin. She wanted to run up and kiss him then.
Of course, so did about half the girls in their school. In fact, she hadn’t thought about kissing him since that time, so many million—okay twelve—years ago.
Except today.
Why was kissing Roark so much on her mind today? She pushed the thought away and stepped through the door.
“Roark?” she said as she yanked her key out of the lock.
Sure enough, Roark was half-asleep on the couch. He jerked when she said his name, almost rolling himself onto the floor.
“Huh, what?” He righted himself and glanced at her, blinking twice. “You’re here… I…” He shook his head, scooped the designer beer bottle off the floor and took a swig of it.
“Yeah,” she said, coming in and sitting down next to him. “I always come over after work.” She kicked off her heels, and rubbed her foot.
He shook his head again and ran his fingers through his hair. “Dream. Must have been a dream.”
“What were you dreaming about?”
“You.”
Stephanie grinned. “Well, I hope it was a good dream.”
Roark scooted away from her, pulled a pillow from behind him and stuck it in his lap. “It…it was a stupid dream.” He blinked a couple of times, rubbed his eyes, then smiled. “So, how did it go?”
She relaxed, glad to see the Roark she knew looking back at her. Not the one who’d been so tense at the wedding. “It went well, I thought. Everyone loved the perfume you came up with, by the way. The bride wants to know if she can get a quart of the stuff.”
“A quart?”
“That’s what she said. I told her it would be pretty pricey, so she amended it to sixteen ounces. With the addendum that you save the recipe if she wants more of it later.”
Roark smirked. “I always save my formulas.”
She patted his leg. “I know you do.”
His muscles clenched under her and she pulled back, deciding she needed a drink. Whether he admitted it or not, a girl was on his mind. She’d seen this pattern in him before. Stephanie was a touchy-feely person—always had been. Most of the time it didn’t bother Roark. Didn’t mean anything. She was just that way.
But only when Roark had a girl on his mind did he start getting tense if she touched him.
“Got any normal beer?” she asked, heading to the kitchen.
She just crossed the threshold when he answered her. “Think there’s some Coors Light in the fridge.”
She opened it, and sure enough, the brown bottles with the silver labels shined in comparison to all the designer beers he bought for himself. She rolled her eyes at the takeout containers stuffed in the fridge as she grabbed a bottle.
“You know, you should probably have your buddy give you some cooking pointers. It can’t be good for anyone to eat that much takeout,” she said, coming back in the living room.
“I should,” he replied.
Sitting next to him, she took a sip of her beer and let out a sigh.
“So, spill. We’re here. In private. Tell me what’s up with you.” She tucked her leg underneath her and pulled her skirt to keep from revealing anything as she turned to face him.
He still clutched the pillow. “Steph, what do you think of me?”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“What do you think of me?”
“You’re my best friend. I think all kinds of awesomeness about you.” She glanced around the house, taking in the details she’d seen a million times like it was the first time. The unadorned walls, the basic furniture—items that really weren’t horribly homey—but in her mind, even in their simplicity and basic function, it all screamed Roark. “I think you need to hire a decorator, but other than that, I think you’re a great guy.” She smiled as she met his gaze again.
And the smile fell off her face.
Because something deep and strong brewed in his eyes, and it gave her a shiver.
“No! Nononononono!” Christy said, surging forward. “Don’t you dare, Roark Turner! Don’t you dare spill your feelings to her right now!” She screamed at her charge. If he professed some weird love for her right now, that girl would bolt out the door, throw the key in the bushes, and never talk to him again.
Christy had to make this quick—something to jar him before he made a horrible mess of things.
Searching the room, she looked for something—anything.
Perfect.
She waved her wand and blue magic dust came out the tip.