“Correct.”
She smiled at him and straightened. “I thought you were ordering flowers to send to me. You grow all of them?”
The wariness in his gaze reduced a little, and he gave her a quick nod. “Gardening is my hobby. I enjoy roses the most.” He gestured at the greenhouse, thick with flowers. “This is where I come to get away from things.”
That could have been accusatory, but she chose to ignore it. “It’s marvelous,” she said, moving past him and strolling down one of the aisles to look at the neatly lined-up rows of roses. “You’re really good at this—the roses look better than anything I’ve ever gotten from a florist.” She leaned down to sniff one that had an open yellow bloom the size of her hand. “Do you do anything with them?”
“Do?”
“Yes. Do you sell them to a local florist or something? You have so many.”
He walked behind her a few steps, his gaze on her instead of the roses. “I . . . sometimes I have Eldon show them. And sometimes I cross them, to try and see if I can create a new variety. But I mostly like growing them.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. “I would have never pictured a big, strong guy like you as a gardener.”
He blushed, his gaze skidding away from her again, a sure sign that he was embarrassed. “I enjoy plants,” he said simply. “They are far easier to understand than people.”
“Most people are assholes,” she said bluntly. “I think that’s why I prefer writing. Or baking.”
His mouth twitched and, for a hopeful moment, she thought he might smile, but it was quickly contained again. “Did you come out here to discuss the merits of books versus roses?”
“Actually, no.” She straightened and turned to face him. “I wanted to come out here and ask you if you were going to come to dinner tonight.”
“I . . .” His voice died and his gaze slid away again. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, come on,” she said softly. “I can tell you all about my day. It’s been most interesting.” Her voice had taken on a soft, almost sexy purr.
The effect on Hunter was startling. His gaze flew back to her, his eyes wide, one eyebrow lifting as if to voice the question that he wouldn’t.
She took a step closer to him, gratified when he didn’t back away. “You know all those letters I’ve been transcribing? It seems that my two historical figures had a rather torrid love affair.”
He said nothing. His was attention was frozen on her face, and she saw that strange mixture of fear and longing flicker through his eyes again.
Feeling bolder, Gretchen slid a bit closer to him, her voice husky. “What’s even better is that they describe, in rather blatant, sexual detail, what they want to do to each other. Isn’t that . . . interesting?”
Hunter’s lips parted, and Gretchen thought for a moment that he might break the distance between them and drag her against him in a wild kiss. Her pulse fluttered with excitement at the thought, and she found she desperately wanted Hunter to kiss her. Tongue the hell out of her mouth and toss her down into the dirt and claim her. She wanted to see that reserve of his shatter.
“What do you think?” she prompted.
“I . . .”
“Yes?”
He bolted away, turning his back to her. As she stood there, all soft and full of need for him, he stormed across the room and began to jerk on a pair of ugly, thick gardening gloves. “I’d like for you to leave.”
Disappointment crushed her fledgling desire. She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at his retreat. “So I take it dinner’s off?”
“I . . . no. I will think about it.” But he wouldn’t look over at her.
“Suit yourself,” she said softly. “I’m off to go read more letters. I hope to see you tonight.” She sauntered out of the greenhouse before he could say anything else.
He was an utterly frustrating and confusing man. She knew he wanted her. She’d seen the desire in his eyes. The need. He wasn’t married or dating anyone. She wasn’t either.
So why was he fighting this so very hard? It didn’t make sense.
Was it possible he just didn’t like her? That was depressing to think about. Gretchen sighed and returned to the library, discouraged and unhappy.
She worked quietly for hours, cataloging letters and reading through them. Engrossed in her project, she didn’t notice that someone had entered the room until the door clicked shut again. Her head lifted, and her gaze settled on a tray that had been left on a table across the room.
It was a vase filled with roses. Every single one she’d casually touched this morning while in his greenhouse had been cut and placed in a gorgeous crystal vase. Unable to help herself, Gretchen moved to the roses and leaned over to take in their scent.
A note was on the table.
I will be there.
Gretchen smiled to herself. Maybe Hunter was interested after all.
***
“It sounds like he likes you,” Audrey told her over the phone. “But it sounds like he’s shy.”
“You think so?” Gretchen dragged one of her T-shirts out of the closet and winced at how ratty it looked. Why hadn’t she brought more dresses? “He’s just so hard to predict. I can’t forget how he freaked out when I asked him about his face.”
“Maybe he’s just a loner. I mean, he’s friends with Logan and his buddies, but out of all of them, he’s the most remote. Doesn’t attend any parties they give or anything.”
“He’s definitely a loner,” Gretchen agreed. “But there’s something so incredibly . . . remote about him. Most loners seem happy to be by themselves. He just seems a bit lost.”
“Yeah, Logan says that he’s not the friendliest guy, but he’s very true once he lets someone in. He’s always very polite to me, though.”
She’d forgotten the fact that Audrey’s boss was friends with Hunter. “I didn’t think he ever left this house.” She thought of what he’d told her—the kidnapping. His utter loneliness. The way that the staff kept to assigned wings so as not to “bother” him.
Gretchen had never met someone quite so alone as him. It made him strangely vulnerable despite his icy demeanor, and it fascinated her as much as it made her want to touch him. Show him that he wasn’t alone and unlovable.
“Of course he leaves his house, Gretch. He has a billion-dollar real estate empire.”
“Yeah, but does he have to do anything for that other than just, I don’t know, own property?”
Audrey giggled. “You really have no idea how billionaires work, do you?”
“I don’t want to know, honestly. All that money just seems like a lot of hassle.” She pulled a plain black sweater out of the closet and held it against her. A bit worn, but it’d have to do. “So did Logan tell you about his past? The thing with the scars and the kidnapping?”
“Nope. No one talks about it, apparently. No one except you.”
“Yeah, me and my big mouth.” She tossed the sweater down on the bed, and it landed on a curled-up Igor, who meowed in resentment. “I guess I shouldn’t have asked. But I was curious.”
“Well, leave your curiosity at the door. From what I can remember from meeting him, he doesn’t like it if people so much as look at him the wrong way.”
“Jeez, Audrey, exactly how many times have you met this guy?”
“A handful of times. Like I said, he’s one of Logan’s closest friends.”
“And you never thought to give your sister the cliff notes rundown on the man?”
“Well gee, Gretchen, I didn’t think you’d want to bang the guy.”
She sighed deeply. “Is it weird that I’m finding the scars sexy?”
“Yes,” Audrey said flatly. “They’re not cute scars, Gretch. They’re disfiguring.”
“Yeah, but they have a story. He has a story. I like that about him. I just
can’t figure him out.”
“Have you considered that he might be a virgin?”
“What? He’s not a virgin.”
“Why does that seem so crazy?” Audrey snorted. “You said he blushes, right? And doesn’t look you in the eye? And that he was scarred at an early age?”
“Yes, but—”
“You think he’s going to get a lot of ladies with a playbook like that?”
“But he has to be close to thirty, if not already thirty. I can’t believe he’d still be a virgin. Can’t you hire hookers for that sort of thing?”
“Gross, Gretchen. That’s just gross.”
“I know, but we were both thinking it.” Gretchen stared into her reflection in the mirror, considering. Was the reason why Hunter kept shying away from any sort of flirtiness that she tossed his way because he didn’t know how? Because he was a virgin?
That seemed weird, and yet . . . the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He’d been kidnapped when he was ten. Something like that would probably leave him with trust issues and emotional scars, not to mention the physical scars. He’d freaked out when she’d seen him naked. And he’d freaked out again when she’d come close to kissing him. He’d also froze like a deer in headlights when she’d flirted with him.
And he’d stared at her note like it was the thing he wanted most in the world. “You might be on to something, Audrey.”
“Of course I am,” her sister said smugly. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“You mean, hold him down and take his virginity?”
“No! Yuck! Gretchen, that’s a visual I did not want.”
“You brought it up. What do you mean, what am I going to do about it?”
“I mean that the man’s skittish as hell. If he’s a virgin, you’re going to have a hell of a time getting him to come on to you.”
“So I’ll come on to him.”
“But you said he retreats every time you try to get intimate. Perhaps he doesn’t want you to come on to him. Maybe he wants to be the aggressor and you’re not giving him a chance? Is there a way you can level the playing field?”
Gretchen thought for a moment and became a little depressed. The playing field hadn’t been level since she’d seen him naked that very first day. There was no way to recover from that. “I’m not sure.”
“He might be off balance and afraid to make a move if he thinks you’re sexually experienced and he’s not. Can you pretend to be a virgin?” Audrey sounded amused at the thought.
“Har de har. I just need to think about it.”
“About pretending to be a virgin?”
“No. About leveling the playing field.” And somehow getting Hunter to forget that she’d seen him in the natural state.
“Good luck, whatever you do.”
Gretchen hung up the phone and chewed on her lip. She looked into the mirror and played with her wet hair, still dripping from the shower. Dress sexy? Nah. She didn’t have the right equipment. It was like Audrey said: Hunter would be off balance around her and continue to be off balance unless she did something to “level the playing field” as her sister had claimed. So that was what she needed to do—get them on equal ground. Somehow. She’d seen him naked, though.
An impulsive idea flashed through her mind and she immediately shut it down, hugging her robe closed. He’d run for sure if she did that.
There was a knock at her door.
Gretchen adjusted the belt on her robe and went to the door, but didn’t open it. “Who is it?”
“I . . . me. Hunter. Buchanan.”
As if there would be a dozen other Hunters at her door. Biting back her smile, Gretchen opened the door and glanced out at him. “Hi there.”
He was dressed in a black suit, a black shirt underneath, and a dark gray tie. His hair was impeccably smoothed into a part and he carried sunglasses in his hand. Behind him, a large man easily seven feet tall stood behind him, dressed in equally dark clothing and wearing his sunglasses. Gretchen had never seen him, and alarm immediately rose. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Hunter said. He glanced backward at the man behind him and gave a brief nod. “Leave us.”
The man nodded and headed down the hall, his back to them. Gretchen peered out the door, watching him. Then she looked at Hunter. “Who’s that?” she whispered.
“My bodyguard.”
“I see. So you’re ditching me tonight?”
Two spots of color flushed in his pale cheeks. “That’s not what I . . . that is, I—”
“I guessed it as soon as I saw the suit. Though I admit, you do clean up nice. I’m a little sad the suit isn’t for me.” Not that she’d ever seen him wear anything but suits, but her flirty words seemed to be working. He was definitely blushing.
His gaze moved, darting about the room, looking anywhere but at her. “I came to give you my apologies. I can’t make it to dinner tonight. A business meeting was scheduled and I find that I cannot move it.”
“No worries.” Gretchen twirled one of the ends of her robe. “Thanks for letting me know, though.”
He shifted on his feet, and then tugged at his collar, seemingly more uncomfortable by the moment. “I would, however, like if we were to meet for dinner tomorrow night instead.”
“Tomorrow’s fine.”
“Good.” His voice was curt. “Very good. Good. That’s . . .”
“Good?” she offered. He was adorable.
He gave her another scathing look, but Gretchen only smiled. She was starting to realize his defense mechanisms. God, why had she not seen this before? Suddenly it was so obvious . . . and so sexy that she drove him so crazy.
She took a step forward, wanting to tease him a little. “May I?” She gestured at his tie.
He looked down at it, frowning.
“It’s crooked,” she lied, moving forward and pretending to adjust the tie. It was more or less an excuse to move into his arms and see how he’d react.
He stiffened, but didn’t move away.
She took that as an encouraging sign and continued to adjust his tie. Then she smoothed a hand down the front of it, noting the hard muscle underneath. “All better.”
Hunter’s attention was definitely on her now, and she noticed the look in his eyes was hungry. It emboldened her and made her think of her outrageous idea from earlier.
“Hunter?”
“Hmm?” He seemed distracted, almost dazed.
She reached for the loose collar of her robe and pulled it open. Stepping back, she flashed him her breasts.
He stared, frozen in place.
“Now we’re even,” she told him lightly. “The field is leveled. Enjoy your meeting tonight.”
And she closed her robe and sauntered back into her room, grinning the entire time.
Chapter 6
One week later
The trouble with a flirt battle was that both parties had to actively participate. Both parties had to know how to actually flirt.
And Gretchen had been flirting her head off, but she was getting nowhere fast.
It wasn’t that Hunter wasn’t interested. If anything, he seemed more interested than ever. But when she teased, he froze up. When she coyly suggested things, he shut down.
When she’d made him dinner, he’d stared at her in silence, and her attempts at conversation had fallen completely flat. Her pleasure at showing him her cooking had been deflated by the fact that he’d looked as if he’d wanted to escape the room.
And yet . . . she continued to get roses every day. Delicate, scented blooms that were thoughtfully selected for her, along with a note inviting her to dinner. She’d declined it once or twice, just to see how he’d react.
He hadn’t reacted at all. And that had been even more frustrating.
; She’d tried being sexy. In fact, she’d offered to help him in the greenhouse one day and had unbuttoned her shirt, declaring herself overheated and exposing a lot of skin. All she’d gotten was an abrupt suggestion that she take a shower and him turning away.
Not exactly the reaction she’d wanted. She was utterly mystified. How could she break through to him? She supposed she could state it baldly. I’d really like it if you and I did a little mutual exploring. I’ll even go first.
But she was enjoying the challenge. And screaming out that she desired him seemed almost like a cop out. Plus, he’d probably run for the hills.
Virgins were so much trouble.
The letters weren’t helping things, either. Now that things had escalated between Lula and Benedict, they weren’t holding back at all. Letter after letter went into great detail of what Lula would do to Benedict with her mouth, and how she’d please him. He’d write pages back to her, describing how he’d like to lay her down under the trees, spread her petals wide, and lick her nectar clean. By the time she finished a day of the letters, Gretchen was squirming and overheated, her imagination on fire. She kept picturing Hunter as Benedict, and herself as Lula. Each graphic description left her breathing hard and her panties wet.
There had to be a way to get through to Hunter.
***
It was during one of their frequent dinners that Gretchen found a chink in Hunter’s icy armor.
Her phone rang while they were in the midst of a quiet conversation. Surprised, Gretchen picked up her phone and gave an apologetic look to Hunter. “I should take this.”
She rarely got calls out of the blue, so any sort of call concerned her. Especially if it was coming from Cooper’s Cuppa.
“Hello?”
“Gretch? It’s me.”
She glanced down the table at Hunter, who seemed to be staring at a painting on the wall and trying very hard not to listen in on her phone conversation. “Hey Coop. What’s up?”
“I was calling to, well, check on you. See how you’re doing.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said brightly. “The project’s coming along really well. I might even finish early.”
Beauty and the Billionaire (BILLIONAIRE BOYS CLUB NOVEL) Page 9
