A robe waited. Since Roarke seemed to delight in buying her robes, she couldn’t be sure if she’d worn this one before. She just wrapped on the silky and rich purple, then went out to explore her closet.
The positive wobbled, nearly dropped with a thud when she faced the dense forest of The Closet.
She could swear the clothes had multiplied overnight, and didn’t put that mystery out of Roarke’s reach.
Then positive occurred to her. If she actually spent some time choosing, matching or whatever, it put off the paperwork a little longer. Procrastination, sure. But positive procrastination.
Somehow.
And she wouldn’t take the easy way with black. Bracing herself, she turned a circle; she faced the line of gray pants that ranged from the palest pearl to the deepest charcoal. Since charcoal came close to her default of black, she grabbed a pair in that shade.
Handily, they had some leather piping in navy, and navy belt loops. So she turned to the line of navy jackets, let out anAha!when she spotted one in leather.
Shirts. Could she go with white? Was that right? How was she supposed to know? How did people just know this shit? And why did white have so many variations anyway?
Since summer kept its sweaty grip on September, she pulled out a sleeveless white shirt, started to turn toward the dizzying wall of boots.
She didn’t yelp, but came damn close when she saw Roarke leaning against the closet door.
“Jesus! Why can’t you make some noise?”
“Habit. You did get up early.”
“I said I would. If I grab an hour before shift, I can knock out the damn paperwork.” Then she let out a long breath. “Paperwork’s necessary. It’spart of the job. It keeps things organized and efficient. I’m approaching it with a positive attitude.”
“Well now, that’s interesting.”
Ireland whispered through his voice like a warm breeze.
Eve studied him a moment, that glorious face, the impossibly blue eyes, the perfectly carved mouth, the black silk of his hair.
A definite positive.
And he smiled at her in a way that still brought a quick flutter to her heart.
He’d also chosen gray, more slate than charcoal, in his perfect and elegant suit, and paired it with a shirt in that pearly gray, a tie in what she thought was, maybe, maroon with subtle gray diagonal stripes.
“How did you pick that outfit?” She gestured at him. “I mean, do you wake up in the morning—or basically in the middle of the night for you—and think: Ah well, today’s the day for the slate-gray suit, I’m thinking, and won’t it look grand with the pearl-gray shirt and the maroon tie then.”
“Your Irish accent needs some work, darling, but thanks for trying.”
He moved into the closet, kissed her.
Another positive.
“The clothes are image, and image is part of the job. You’ve gone classic, with a bit of an edge with the leather. Finish it out with the navy leather boots there and the same with the belt.”
“Which navy leather boots?” Frustration smothered the positive. When she reached for a pair, he just shook his head.
“Not those, no. They’re too heavy for the outfit.” He chose a pair himself. “These. More streamlined, as you are, darling Eve.”
“Ha. Fine. And that’s enough positive procrastination.”
“Then I’ll see to our early breakfast.”
She took another breath, said, “Thanks.”
“Just how long do you think your positive attitude will last?”
