A Matter of Choice by Nora Roberts Page B

hesitated. Her temper hadn't run its course, but there was something very appealing about the way he smiled at her. It was friendly and a shade admiring. She had the quick notion that it was the first absolutely sincere smile he'd given her. And it was more important than her anger.
    "Maybe," she said, not willing to be too forgiving too quickly.
    "State your terms."
    After a moment's consideration she placed her hands on her hips. "Take back the snotty little twit."
    The gleam of pure humor in his eyes pleased her. "For the simple-minded, egotistical ass."
    Bargaining was her biggest vice. Jessica curled her fingers and contemplated her nails'. "Just the simple-minded. The rest stands."
    He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. "You're a tough lady."
    "You got it."
    When he held out his hand, they shook solemnly. "One more thing." Since they'd dealt with the anger, Slade wanted to deal with the hurt. "I didn't change my mind."
    She didn't speak. After a moment he slipped an arm around her shoulders and began to lead her back toward the beach steps. Without too much effort, he blocked out the nagging voice that told him he was making a mistake.
    "Slade."
    He glanced down at her as they skirted the small grove at the top of the steps. "What?"
    "Michael's coming to dinner tonight."
    "Okay, I'll stay out of the way."
    "No." She spoke too quickly, then bit her lip. "No, actually, I was wondering if you could..."
    "Play chaperone?" he finished shortly. "Careful, Jess, you're coming close to being a twit again."
    Refusing to be angry, she stopped in the center of the lawn and turned to him. "Slade, everything you said on the beach is true. I'd said the same to myself. But I love Michael--almost the same way I love David."
    When he only frowned at her, she sighed. "What I have to do tonight hurts. I'd just like some moral support. It would be a little easier if you were there during dinner. Afterward I'll handle it."
    Reluctant and resigned, Slade let out a long breath. "Just through dinner. And you're going to owe me one."
    Hours later Jessica paced the parlor. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor, fell silent over the Persian carpet, then clicked again. She was grateful that David had a date. It would have been impossible to have hidden her mood from him, and just as impossible to have confided in him. The business relationship was bound to be strained now between her and Michael. Jessica didn't want to add more problems. Perhaps Michael would even decide to resign. She hated the thought of it.
    Oh, it would always be possible to replace a buyer, she thought, but they'd been so close, such a good team. Shutting her eyes, she cursed herself. She couldn't help thinking of Michael in conjunction with the shop. It had always been that way. Maybe if they had known each other before the partnership, like she and David, her feelings would be different. Jessica clasped her hands together again. No, there simply wasn't that... spark. If there had been, the shop would never have interfered.
    She'd felt the spark once or twice in her life--that quick jolt that says maybe, just maybe. There'd been no spark with Slade, she mused.
    There'd been an eruption. Annoyed, Jessica shook her head. She shouldn't be thinking of Slade now, or of the two turbulent times she'd been in his arms. It was only right that she concentrate on Michael, on how to say no without hurting him.
    Before coming into the room, Slade stopped to watch her. Always moving, he thought, but this time there were nerves beneath the energy. She was wearing a very simple, very sophisticated black dress with her hair caught in a braid over one shoulder. Looking at her, Slade had a moment's sympathy for Michael. It wouldn't be easy to love a woman like that and lose. Unless Michael was a total fool, one glance at her face was going to give him her answer. She'd never have to open her mouth.
    "He's going to survive, Jess." When she whirled, Slade strode over to the