Irish Rose by Nora Roberts Page B

of parrots. Paradise, she thought, smiling as she walked farther.
    With his eyes half-closed and his body just beginning to relax, Burke watched her. She didn't look sultry like the room, but fresh, untouched. The sun was all over her hair, drawing out the fire, licking at the layers of light. She'd pulled it back in a band as he'd seen her wear it in Ireland. And he could remember very well, too well, what it felt like to run his fingers through its mass.
    He saw her reach for a flower as if her fingers itched to pick it, then draw back her hand and bury her face in the blooms instead. Her laugh was quiet, delighted, and he knew she thought herself alone.
    So the Irish rose had a weakness for flowers, he thought, then watched her shake her head and look wonderingly, longingly around. And for money. At the latter, he shrugged his shoulders. It was difficult for someone in his position to blame her.
    He could blame her, however, for the fact that his body was no longer even close to relaxing.
    "Want a swim, Irish?"
    At the sound of his voice, she whirled around. She'd forgotten about the hum. She saw its source now, and Burke in the middle of it. Another pool—no, not a pool, she corrected. She wasn't a complete dunderhead. She'd seen pictures of spas with their jets and bubbles and steamy water. And she couldn't help, for just a moment, wondering what it felt like to lower one's body into it.
    "Want to join me?"
    Because he grinned when he said it, Erin merely shrugged. "Thank you, but I'll be leaving for home in a few minutes. I've finished for the day and brought you your first report."
    He nodded, but merely gestured to a white wicker chair beside the spa. "Have a seat."
    Biting off a sigh, Erin did as he asked. "You may be a man of leisure yourself, but I've things to do."
    Burke stretched his arms along the edge of the spa.
    He didn't mention that he'd been up and at the stables since dawn, or that he'd strained every muscle in his body overseeing the mating between a stud and a particularly high-strung mare. "You've still got a few minutes on the clock, Irish. So how are my finances?"
    "You're a rich man, Mr. Logan, though how that might be with the mess your books were in amazes me. I've done a bit of studying and come up with a new system." The truth was she'd spent two nights burning the midnight oil with books on accounting. "If you like, I'll wait until you've finished and go over it with you."
    "It'll keep."
    "Suit yourself. By the end of next week I should have everything running smoothly enough."
    "That's good to know. Why don't you tell me how?"
    He stretched his shoulders. Erin watched the muscles ripple along the damp skin, then deliberately shifted her gaze above his head. This was no place for her to be, she told herself. Especially when her mind was wandering away from accounting. "It's all in this report, if you'd care to pull yourself out of the tub there and have a look at it."
    "Have it your way." Burke pushed the button that shut off the jets, then stood. Erin's limbs went weak as she saw he wore no more than he'd been born with. She was grateful color didn't rise to her cheeks, though she couldn't prevent some from leaving.
    Burke took a towel and swung it easily over his hips as he stepped from the spa.
    "You've no shame, Burke Logan."
    "None at all."
    "Well, if you'd meant to shock me, I'll have to disappoint you. I've four brothers, if you'll remember, and…" She glanced over again, prepared to look at him without interest. It was then she noticed the darkening bruise just under his left ribs. "You've hurt yourself." She was up immediately and laying gentle fingers on it. "Oh, it's a nasty one." Without thinking, she took her fingers up over his ribs, carefully checking. "You didn't break anything."
    "Not so far," he murmured. He was standing very still, the amusement he'd felt completely wiped out. Her fingers felt so cool, so tender on his skin. She touched him as if she cared. That was