Luring a Lady by Nora Roberts

beside the bed and took Mrs. Wolburg’s outstretched hand.
    â€œMy Harry used to say I’d rather read than eat.” The thin, bony fingers squeezed Sydney’s. “That’s a beautiful plant.”
    â€œI noticed you have several in your apartment.” She smiled, feeling slightly more relaxed as the conversation in the room picked up again to flow around them. “And the last time I was here the room looked like a florist’s shop.” She glanced around at the banks of cut flowers in vases, pots, baskets, even in a ceramic shoe. “So I settled on an African violet.”
    â€œI do have a weakness for flowers and growing things. Set it right there on the dresser, will you, dear? Between the roses and the carnations.”
    â€œShe’s getting spoiled.” As Sydney moved to comply, the visiting daughter winked at her brother. “Flowers, presents, pampering. We’ll be lucky to ever get home-baked cookies again.”
    â€œOh, I might have a batch or two left in me.” Mrs. Wolburg preened in her new crocheted bed jacket. “Mik tells me I’m getting a brand-new oven. Eye level, so I won’t have to bend and stoop.”
    â€œSo I think I should get the first batch,” Mikhail said as he sniffed the roses. “The chocolate chip.”
    â€œPlease.” Keely pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m dieting. I’m getting murdered next week, and I have to look my best.” She noted Sydney’s stunned expression and grinned. “Death Stalk,” she explained. “My first TV movie. I’m the third victim of the maniacal psychopath. I get strangled in this really terrific negligee.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have left your windows unlocked,” Mrs. Wolburg told her, and Keely grinned again.
    â€œWell, that’s show biz.”
    Sydney waited until a break in the conversation, then made her excuses. Mikhail gave her a ten-second lead before he slipped a yellow rose out of a vase. “See you later, beautiful.” He kissed Mrs. Wolburg on the cheek and left her chuckling.
    In a few long strides, he caught up with Sydney at the elevators. “Hey. You look like you could use this.” He offered the flower.
    â€œIt couldn’t hurt.” After sniffing the bloom, she worked up a smile. “Thanks.”
    â€œYou want to tell me why you’re upset?”
    â€œI’m not upset.” She jabbed the down button again.
    â€œNever argue with an artist about your feelings.” Insistently he tipped back her chin with one finger. “I see fatigue and distress, worry and annoyance.”
    The ding of the elevator relieved her, though she knew he would step inside the crowded car with her. She frowned a little when she found herself pressed between Mikhail and a large woman carrying a suitcase-sized purse. Someone on the elevator had used an excess of expensive perfume. Fleetingly Sydney wondered if that shouldn’t be as illegal as smoking in a closed car.
    â€œAny Gypsies in your family?” she asked Mikhail on impulse.
    â€œNaturally.”
    â€œI’d rather you use a crystal ball to figure out the future than analyze my feelings at the moment.”
    â€œWe’ll see what we can do.”
    The car stopped on each floor. People shuffled off or squeezed in. By the time they reached the lobby, Sydney was hard up against Mikhail’s side, with his arm casually around her waist. He didn’t bother to remove it after they’d stepped off. She didn’t bother to mention it.
    â€œThe work’s going well,” he told her.
    â€œGood.” She didn’t care to think how much longer she’d be directly involved with the project.
    â€œThe electrical inspection is done. Plumbing will perhaps take another week.” He studied her abstracted expression. “And we have decided to make the new roof out of blue cheese.”
    â€œHmm.” She stepped