No Flowers Required

by Cari Quinn

  She didn’t know what to say to that. Worse, she wasn’t sure if she hurt more for herself or for Dillon at that moment, if Cory was telling the truth. “You can tell him I don’t need his money. I want that credit on my account returned.”

  “How about mine?”

  Alexa glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He didn’t pay your bill. He doesn’t even know it has been paid.”

  “Then who—” She broke off when Cory shot to his feet, as quick as a rattlesnake. “Oh, hell no.”

  “We’ve had an excellent quarter.” He dipped his hands into his pockets, a mercurial smile flitting over his face. “It was either pay off your back bill or expand the store’s gardening section. Your choice.”

  Before she could rail at him, he strolled away. Whistling.

  The bastard. That family seemed to make them in pairs.

  To avoid further bloodshed, she remained seated through the dancing portion of the gala. Luckily one of the wives returned sans husband to keep her company. They people-watched for over an hour. The nicest part was that Ruth never asked her if she was dating anyone. It helped her pretend she was single and unencumbered.

  The single bit was true at least.

  Eventually the auction got under way. She watched as a parade of high-end electronics and vacation packages to various tropical islands got offered up for bid. Everything went for staggeringly high amounts. Then the last item was put up, a simple watercolor painting of a purple rose, its petals so velvety and lush she would’ve sworn the flower was real. The simple wooden frame surrounded what looked like a burlap canvas.

  Under the table, she gripped her hands together.

  “This one is called Love at First Sight,” the emcee read from his card. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? So, who’s going to start the bidding?” he asked in his booming voice, his smile bright enough to scare the sun.

  The irony of that particular rose being featured in this particular auction wasn’t lost on her, but she refused to look Dillon’s way to see if he was staring.

  Watercolors. Not often anymore. Don’t have the time.

  Had he really done this painting for her? And what did it mean exactly, other than it being the rose he knew she loved the most?

  She rubbed her forehead. Cripes, she was going to have an aneurysm if she didn’t stop with the questions.

  “Three hundred?” She glanced at Ruth as she bid three-fifty, and a sudden panic seized her. That was her painting. If someone had snatched it up at a flea market and slapped a hefty price tag on it, the joke would be on her but she didn’t care.

  Alexa lifted her paddle. “Four hundred,” she called, shocked she sounded so calm. Her heart sped up while she waited for the auctioneer to acknowledge her winning bid, but before he could, another bid came from the table in front she’d steadfastly avoided looking at all night.

  “Five hundred.” Dillon’s even tone made her sit up straighter. Why had he done the painting for her if he just wanted to snatch it back? Had their fight made him rescind the gesture? Or change his mind?

  Whatever. She was getting that painting. It was hers, and suddenly it seemed vital she win it.

  “Six,” she called back.

  “Seven,” Dillon immediately countered, earning a growl from her that made her tablemates glance at her in dismay.

  Fine, if he wanted to play that way, she was game. So what if he took baths in beaucoup bucks. She had credit cards. Okay, she had one credit card left. With a low limit. “Nine,” she yelled, louder than was necessary.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dillon’s parents looking in her direction. And Cory, that jerk, was grinning.

  “Two thousand,” Dillon shot back.

  She tossed her purse on the table. Oh hell no. She was going to hang the painting above the prep table in her store and he was not taking it from her. With all the embarrassment and frustration—and yes, pain—Dillon had caused her, she wasn’t letting go that easily.

  One thing he’d taught her—if nothing else—was to fight.

  “Five thousand.” She slapped down her paddle when a wave of conversation rolled through the crowd.

  “Ten thousand,” Dillon returned, rising.

  Slowly he crossed the room and it took everything inside her not to wilt against her chair. He’d loosened his bow tie, shrugged off the jacket. With his strong jaw, his sexy glower, and the stubbled growth of beard, she was practically toast. Add in his untucked white dress shirt open at the neck to reveal his sun-warmed skin—skin she’d kissed and licked and bitten—and yeah, she was so done for.

  The last of the fight drained out of her. She’d battled her ass off for that painting, for her store, because he’d been there. Pushing her. Showing her everything she could have if she didn’t give up.

  God, he’d wanted her to fight all along.

  When she descended back to reality and realized he was at her side, she opened her mouth. She intended to tell him to go to hell. What came out was a soft, croaked, “Why?” As if she were on the verge of tears.

  Worse, as if they were already tracking down her cheeks. Again.

  Now he would know how much she cared, if he didn’t already.

  “Can we call the bidding at ten thousand?” the auctioneer asked, waiting for Alexa’s argument.

  She gave none. She’d lost anyway, hadn’t she? The guy had more money than God apparently, so why waste everyone’s time on pissing matches?

  “Sold to Mr. James for ten thousand dollars. The charity appreciates your generous donation—twice over in this case.”

  “Princess?”

  She braced at the nickname. Soft fingertips skimmed her jaw and she glanced up, hating that she was still crying. Two crying jags a year were usually her limit, and she’d hit more than that within the past twenty-four hours. Not good.

  Before she could speak—though she had no clue what to say—he crouched at her side, his fingers exerting a tender pressure as he turned her face to his. “You asked me why. Let me explain. No more lies. Just the truth.”

  “What is there to—”

  She jolted as he fisted his hands in her hair, wrecking her careful updo, and dragged her toward him, nearly upending her chair in the process. Her gasp at the pull of gravity that slammed her into his chest turned into a moan when he swept his tongue between her lips and simply took what she’d been trying so hard to lock away.

  The familiarity almost broke her. His touch, his smell, the way his nose bumped hers in his urgency to seize her mouth. He took possession of her with confidence, the kind she’d found so sexy once upon a time. If she’d only tasted his skill in the kiss, she would’ve shoved him back and told him to go to hell. But she could sense the desperation in each conquering stroke of his tongue and every strangled groan trapped in his throat.

  His teeth scraped her lower lip as he drew back, his eyes steady on hers. Wildly blue and hot with need, those eyes made her want to believe. “I love you, Alexa. You were the only thing worth risking you for. If taking back what I did means I couldn’t be there to watch you succeed, I wouldn’t do it.”

  Her head pounded, making his words rattle around like pinballs. She simply couldn’t process what he’d said, not after he’d already shaken her down to her toes with that scorcher of a kiss. Her lips were still tingling. Everything was still tingling.

  The sound of clapping made her glance around the banquet hall. Everyone seemed to be grinning at her and Dillon. She, the woman who was so aware of how she was behaving at all times, hadn’t even noticed that they’d created a spectacle.

  “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

  His demand might’ve rankled, had she not been breathing hard and close to seeing spots. The heavy weight of everyone’s gazes burned her skin, as if every guest had a personal stake in her reply. It was all too much. “You stole my painting,” she blurted out.

  “No, I didn’t,” he said, his voice low. Rough. “I painted it for you. I
t’s yours.”

  “You misrepresented yourself to me. You’re one of them.”

  His grimace helped mitigate the sting in her eyes. A little. But a woman in a teal pantsuit walked over before he could respond, a brown-paper-wrapped package in her hands. “Here you go, Dill. Thanks.” She cast a quick glance at Alexa. “Lucky lady,” she said with a smile before walking away.

  He set the package in her lap as the auction resumed behind them. “They aren’t so bad, I swear. My stepfather likes that you don’t back down.” His warm breath against her ear elicited a shiver she was powerless to stop. “He’s impressed by how you marched in here and gave me hell. Said I deserved it and more for what I did.”

  It would be so easy—too easy—to let herself be swept along by that kiss and how much she already missed him. His grand gesture and attentive expression didn’t hurt, either. It was as if he really cared, as if he hadn’t just played her because he could.

  As if he loved her.

  “Come with me,” he said, dragging his thumb over her lip. Then he added that magical word. “Please.”

  His nearness had a disturbing way of making her want to lean into him, to let him caress her hair and take care of her as he had so many times already. “Where?”

  He rose and extended his hand only long enough to help her up. The hope in his eyes, the soft vulnerability of it, prompted her to stand as well. “I have something to show you.”

  She followed him outside to the parking lot, her throat oddly tight. She’d grown used to him grabbing her hand when they walked together. For him not to felt weird. And awful. “Can you just leave? It’s your benefit. They gave you a fancy award.”

  “We’re leaving. I’ll make my apologies later.” He gestured to his bike, hulking in the darkness. “Are you okay to ride in that?”

  She looked at her gown. The appropriate answer was “hell no” but she didn’t want to be appropriate tonight. She was too pissed off, too raw, too desperate for him to have any sort of explanation that made sense. “Yeah.” She held the picture under one arm and hiked up her dress. “I can do it.”

  “Christ, you’re hot,” he muttered, sounding somewhat dismayed by the fact. Then he marched over to his bike and held out his spare helmet. Before she tried to fumble it on, he set it on her head and did the strap up himself. Which was when she realized that shit, she was actually going to have to ride his bike.

  Wind. Fast speeds. Certain death. Did she really feel like playing the odds tonight?

  “We could take my car instead.”

  He frowned. “You are worried about the dress.”

  “I’m worried about me.” She tossed a glance at his bike. “That thing’s huge.”

  Lots of other guys would’ve winked and made some sort of joke. Dillon only nodded. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” He tipped up her chin and stared down at her, his features silvered in the moonlight. “You’re important to me, Alexa. I know you don’t believe that yet, but I hope you will eventually.”

  She didn’t reply, just followed his instructions to get on behind him. Her arms locked around his muscular torso and she pressed close when he kicked the bike into gear, both out of sheer terror and to protect her painting. She would’ve shelled out five grand for it, she’d be damned if it got crushed or broken.

  Not that she cared about the painter. Or the reason he’d chosen that subject. Not at all.

  Wind whipped through her hair as the bike leaned and lurched through the ride. After a couple minutes, she finally stopped clutching his abdomen quite so tightly and pried open her eyes. It was such a gorgeous night, hot and breezy, with the scent of impending fall in the air. And she was holding on to a sexy-as-hell guy who made her feel safe, just as he’d sworn he would.

  She wished they weren’t fighting so she could just savor every moment of this. Dillon and the night and the bike rumbling between her thighs.

  Too soon, they were pulling up outside her building. He stopped the bike and took off his helmet before looking back at her, a smile playing around his mouth. “You laughed.”

  A bit dazed, she removed her own helmet. Once he’d gotten off, he lifted her to the ground, something she might’ve balked at had her legs not been the consistency of gummy candy. “Did I? It was probably from terror.”

  “Even so. It only lasted a second but I heard it. I love it when you laugh.” He brushed her hair out of her face and took her helmet, setting both aside before grabbing her hand. The rightness of the gesture registered first, drowning out her complaints.

  He’d lied and misled her. And right now, he looked down at her as if he was counting the stars reflected in her eyes.

  “Come on,” he murmured, leading her around the back of the building. Once inside, he tugged her up the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, though she knew the moment they passed her floor.

  Where it had all begun for them.

  They emerged on the roof, and the questions in her throat turned into a sigh. The entire area was ringed in white lights, and between the small spotlights were purple roses, their velvety petals illuminated in the darkness. With green plants blanketing every available surface except the pathway she and Dillon stood on, she felt as if she’d stepped into a walled jungle covered by a canopy of moonlight.

  Her attention landed on the solar panels she must’ve missed before and everything he’d said to her last night clicked into place. “This is yours. You not only came up with the concept, it’s your building.”

  He slipped his hands in his pockets and managed to look simultaneously stoic and sheepish. “Technically my parents own it.”

  “You really believe in this stuff,” she said, releasing her hair from its clip. Her head still ached, but it was getting better. “Green roofs, and doing better for the environment. It’s not just about saving cash.”

  “No.”

  “And you designed all this. This gorgeous area, it’s all you?”

  “I don’t know that it’s gorgeous, but yeah. All me. Who would I ask for help? Cory’d laugh at me if I showed him this. He’d tell me to stop screwing with flowers and do some real work.”

  It wasn’t even what he said so much as the way he said it, with his jaw tight and his gaze on the skyline. As if he had no clue of the functional beauty he’d created.

  “I like it when you screw with flowers,” she said quietly. She tucked the small painting under her arm and stepped closer to lay a hand on his chest.

  He glanced at her, his wariness evident in every line of his face. “You could do so much more with this than I ever could. I was serious about the houses. If you’d be willing to lend some of your expertise, we could make them even better for the people who move in. Both environmentally and—Christ, what’s the word I want?”

  “Artistically?” she guessed.

  “Yeah.” He heaved out a breath. “When you get so close to me, it’s like all the wires cross in my head.”

  “Only there?”

  “No. Fuck no.” His grimace proved just how true that was. “But I can’t start talking about my dick when you already think I am one.”

  She didn’t laugh, but she wanted to. Instead she tilted her head and removed her hand. It was far too easy to touch him, and they had to talk. “Why didn’t you tell me who you really are?”

  “I did,” he said, hissing out a breath when she rolled her eyes. “Okay, I didn’t tell you the whole story. I should’ve said Cory was my brother. Who my parents were. It had never even occurred to me to hide it until you thought I was the handyman. Then I couldn’t help going along, to see what would happen. I’m used to women wanting me for my money, so you not thinking I had any and still flirting with me was a novelty.”

  “The panty flingers,” she said under her breath.

  His brows knitted. “Huh?”

  “Go on.”

  He eyed her, but continued. “I liked that you were seeing me, not my connection to Value Hardware. Even so, I wouldn’t hav
e kept the lie going beyond that afternoon in the bathroom, when you were hostile about the store.” He blew out a breath. “Then there was the roof, and after that you started ranting about Value Hardware—”

  “I did not rant.”

  “What would you call it?”

  Ranting. “Expressing a strong, well-validated opinion.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Fine. But your well-validated opinion made me shut my mouth, because I, well…”

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I wanted you.” He stared out into the darkness. She didn’t know if he was studying the high-rises or the dark hills—or even the star-studded sky—but from the clench of his fist at his side, he wasn’t moved by the scenery. “I wasn’t trying to save the world or even your business. I barely even knew Divine Flowers existed. But I knew you had the prettiest, saddest blue eyes I’d ever seen.”

  She turned her head and there was the daisy watering can. The memories it brought back made her smile—and want to cry.

  “I tried to tell you that first night on the roof. Not hard,” he admitted. “But I tried. Then you kissed me, and you could’ve threatened me with water torture and I wouldn’t have done a thing to end it. I’m not proud of that, but it’s the sterling truth. I would’ve said I could shoot rainbows out of my ass to keep your mouth on mine.”

  She could feel herself weakening, turning to Alexa-shaped mush. If he was just spouting lines, she had to give him credit. “And after that?”

  “I fell in love with your business. As soon as I walked in your store, I saw the possibilities. And I saw how happy it made you. I wanted you to succeed. Dammit, I wanted to help you, and I knew you’d never hear me out if you knew I was Cory’s brother. It was selfish, and it was stupid, but I told myself that the end result was more important than ethics. Which is bullshit.”

  “Not entirely,” she said when he walked over to the concrete railing. But he didn’t seem to hear her, and she couldn’t speak over the ball that formed in her throat at the sight of him outlined in white light.

  “I never meant to hurt you. I wish that I hadn’t. But I can’t take it back, and honestly, as bad as it feels to know you probably hate me, I wouldn’t go back. Yeah, it was fun pretending to be someone else for a while. Someone with fewer responsibilities, who could fish or paint or whatever the hell he wanted with his free time.”