No Flowers Required (9 page)

“Don’t say it.” She held up a hand. If he’d come to her for flowers, she’d help him find a small, affordable bouquet even if she had to throw something together on the fly. She glanced at the lemon tree and rabbit’s tail. Though cost didn’t seem to be a huge factor for him. “You have your plants. What type of flowers were you looking for?”

“She likes roses.”

All she heard was she.
She
who? But her professional smile never faltered. “What sort of relationship is it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Different colors of roses signify different things.” To help distract herself, she strode to the glass-fronted cool case that held an impressive rainbow of roses. She had a fondness for them too, though her preference ran to the rarer—and therefore more expensive—varieties.

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow ring winked in the sunlight as he gave her his full attention. “Like what?”

“Well, red typically means love.” He better not pick red, unless he wanted to endanger certain vital parts of his manhood. “White stands for purity of intention. Coral can mean desire, and purple…“ She fell silent.

“What about purple?”

She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes hard on the display so she couldn’t see him out of the corner of her vision. “Purple means love at first sight.”

He didn’t reply for so long that she chanced a glance his way, only to discover he was smiling. “Purple’s your favorite color. You must have a romantic soul.”

The sound she made in her throat embarrassed her, but not as much as the flush creeping across her cheeks yet again. “This was just some poetic type’s idea of how to sell flowers.” She hurriedly stepped behind the counter. “It’s not reality.”

“Who’s to say what is reality?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not one of those types, are you?”

Dillon prowled to the counter and leaned in, just close enough that she could smell the foresty scent of his aftershave. Or his soap.

An unexpected image of him rubbing a mint-green bar over the hard planes of his body formed in her head and her mouth went dry. Damn. It looked as though she’d be spending some quality time with madame butterfly tonight, since her rooftop sex-o-rama hadn’t taken the edge off. Or maybe it had honed a whole new one.

“What sort of type would that be, Lex?”

She jolted from his usage of her nickname. “Call me Alexa.”

“Why? Too personal?” His smile spread as he traveled his gaze down her form. “When we’ve already gotten so personal already…”

“Shh.” She cast a quick look over her shoulder and sent up a prayer that Travis hadn’t abandoned his post in the back office.

“Afraid your friend will hear?”

“Employee.”

“He doesn’t look at you like you’re his boss.” Considering, he scratched his smooth jaw. “Then again, maybe I’d be similarly starry-eyed if any of my bosses had looked like you when I was in college and full of—”

“Let’s just stop right there.” She didn’t want to think of Travis as full of anything. The boy was barely twenty, for God’s sake.

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a chuckle. “So about those flowers.”

“In a hurry to get back to work?” she asked pleasantly.
In a hurry to buy roses for your anonymous
she?

“Not in a hurry, but yeah, I’ve got some stuff going this afternoon beyond your bathroom work. I figured I’d ask since I know you have privacy issues and all.”

“I do not have ‘privacy issues.’ I just wondered if you were as conscientious and all-knowing with everyone.”

“I make it a point to know as much as possible,” he said, tone sober.

“Ass,” she muttered, tossing a pen at him.

He laughed and stuck the pen in the breast pocket of his denim work shirt. A work shirt he’d just rolled up even farther, revealing his sinewy forearms and dusting of light brown hair. Not that she’d noticed. “I’ll be out of your place by the time you get home.”

“Do you know what time that is too?”

His lips quirked. “The sign says you close at five. I took an educated guess.”

“Hmph.” She fiddled with her three-part forms. “You said bathroom work, which sounds like more than fixing the sink. What else do you need to do?”

“Just some patch-up plaster work. I apologize for the state of the apartment. I should’ve been more thorough before it was rented out.”

“Well, it’s not like you own the place.” She laughed off his concern. “You just do what you’re told, right?”

“Most of the time.” He reached out and danced his fingertips over the back of her hand so fast that she didn’t have time to prepare for the move. As if she could. Heat slammed into her and she opened her mouth to draw in air. Or gasp. “I wouldn’t mind taking orders from you,” he added in a placid tone that warred with the suggestiveness of his molten gaze.

“Which roses did you want?” she asked a little breathlessly.

He pursed his bitable mouth while he considered. “Think we’ll go with red.”

Frowning, she noted the appropriate box. Red. Of course. “A dozen?”

“Let’s go with two. Hell, make it three, with lots of the green stuff.” He jerked his chin at the arrangement of stuffed bears climbing up the potted vine behind her. “Stick in a few balloons and one of those teddy bears, would you?”

Chapter Five

Alexa’s surprised expression clued him in to his mistake.

Shit. Three dozen roses wouldn’t be cheap. It hadn’t occurred to him to worry about price. Why should he? He could’ve bought out the whole shop—hell, bought the store itself—though that would’ve been a little ridiculous considering he already owned half of the building. Technically.

Dillon glanced around the store. A place that meant so much to her belonged partially to him. He couldn’t decide if that made him feel good. Right now it was just weird.

“Three? Are you sure? And the bears are thirty dollars.”

“Maybe we’ll skip the bear,” he said in an undertone, feeling foolish.

Dammit, he’d wanted the bear. His gram would’ve loved it. But a thirty-dollar bear and three dozen roses would be a prime invitation for Alexa to indulge her suspicious nature. Life had gotten so much harder since the invention of the internet.

It was probably a miracle she hadn’t done some checking up on him already, in light of her stalking concerns. Though those probably weren’t too serious if she’d reacted to him the way she had when he’d stroked her hand. The jolt that went through her still thrummed through him, as well.

Touching Alexa was way too enticing. Because if he wasn’t careful, touching would lead to holding, and holding would lead to kissing, then he’d be pulling her back in his arms again. Maybe bending her over this counter and—

“Okay. No bear. Would you like to select a card?” She spun the card carousel. “They’re free,” she added.

“Oh, what a relief.”

Jeez, even pretending to have a strict budget was depressing. His mood had plummeted in the last two minutes and all he’d lost was a bit more of his integrity.

Yet more proof he needed to come clean.

Great sex or not, bottom line, he never should’ve slept with her. Even if she’d said she didn’t care who he was, she hadn’t realized what she was saying. It wasn’t right to not come clean, and he’d also likely screwed up whatever slim chance existed that she might want to see him outside of bed. Or hell, even inside of bed again.

He wasn’t his brother, dammit. The idea of evicting a longtime small-business owner to take an offer from someone who wanted to put in a fro-yo place didn’t get him all atwitter. At least he’d discovered that Cory wasn’t completely a heartless ass when it came to Alexa’s situation. But the conversation with his sibling hadn’t given him a solution, assuming he considered Alexa’s financial difficulties his dilemma to solve.

Did he?

What he wanted, more than anything, was to be there when she figured out how to make her store a success. She had a great shop and obviously she possessed a lot of talent. Her heart showed up in her eyes whenever she spoke about the place. All she needed was a little time, a little luck, and a little help. Something he could give her—but only if he didn’t come clean just yet. If he did, she’d paint him with the same brush as his brother and discount everything he said. Worse, she might assume he was trying to sabotage the store.

He couldn’t let her risk her business that way, not when he was certain she could—
they
could—make it work. And if her success goaded Cory, so much the better. His brother claimed he enjoyed competition, didn’t he?

After the store was on its feet again, he’d tell her the truth. Maybe she’d even be grateful he’d fought his own instincts to reveal all to help her. Yeah, so maybe not, but at least she’d have her store, whole and strong and in the black.

And he would have her, if only for a short time. Perhaps he’d even rediscover his own love for business by working on something that wasn’t Value Hardware. Something smaller, and more personal.

She looked up at him with her glossy blue eyes and his stomach flipped over. Whether his plan was good or not, it didn’t even feel like he had a choice in the matter anymore. He was pretty damn invested, both with Alexa and with her store. Bystanders didn’t suffer a spike in blood pressure the way he just had simply from a look.

“Did you want a card? You’re not looking at them.” Her cross expression shouldn’t have made him hard. Nor should’ve her disturbingly erotic fragrance, especially in light of where he was. Floral scents surrounded him, yet he could pick out Alexa’s unique perfume without hesitation.

Man, he was in trouble.

“I’m looking at you.” How could he look anywhere else?

He expected her to sneer at his cocky declaration, and she did just as he’d hoped. “Think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Mr. James?”

“Just stating the facts, ma’am.”

Her pupils dilated, leaving just a fiery ring of blue to highlight the dark. “You never said who the flowers were for. A crush, perhaps?”

He fought not to grin at her obvious irritation.
Jealous much?
“As a rule, Ms. Conroy, I don’t get crushes. When I want someone, I go after them. At all costs.” She didn’t need to know how long it had been since he’d felt that way. It was both humbling and a little disturbing. “Even when I know I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe that’s part of the appeal.”

Holding her gaze, he ran his tongue along his lower lip. She mirrored the gesture, though he was sure it was unconscious. “I’m a contrary bastard. Knowing someone wants to put me off only makes me want them more.”

“So it’s just the thrill of the chase to you.”

As her hand strayed to that damn necklace, he let his stare sear her flesh. The subtle tightening of her top across her breasts proved the look worked. A little too well, since his jeans had gone tight too. Painfully so.

“A chase is only as good as the prize.” He cocked his head as her breath quickened. “I like to work for it.”

Lust flared in her eyes before her veil of curly lashes swept down to hide his view. “Dillon, we agreed it would only be one night. You know this can’t happen again.”

Keep trying to convince yourself, darlin’.

“It already is.” As Travis ambled into the shop, Dillon slipped back and flashed her a smile. “I’ll take the bear. I think my grandmother will like it.”

…

Alexa came home that night to a perfectly functioning sink and a clutch of pink-and-white mountain laurel in a mason jar on the windowsill, but no sign of Dillon. She didn’t even notice the flowers at first in her haste to search for signs he’d been there. He’d left nothing behind, not even a stray boot print.

But he had left her the laurel.

She couldn’t help sighing at the sight of it, limply leaning against the glass rim. Simple or not, the gesture was sweet. So sweet that she refilled the water glass and added half an aspirin in the futile hope of staving off the flowers’ demise a little longer.

They were obviously handpicked, which made them even more precious to her. Imagining Dillon’s big hands picking through them, searching for just the right blooms…

She sighed again. God, the man must be a frigging expert archer, because he’d just nailed her square in the heart.

The next night when she returned home to the smell of fresh paint, she found another bunch of laurel, this time with a note.

Sorry I didn’t ask before stopping in, but there are some things that need taking care of around here. If you want a rundown of what, or if you’d like to yell at me for invading your privacy—and insulting your sense of aesthetics with my pathetic flowers—my number is 201-8801. D.

The smile came before she could stop it. Holding the note to her chest, she followed the paint scent to the bathroom. He’d painted two walls a cheery lake blue. Patches of white decorated the third wall as if he’d done some prep work to finish tomorrow.

She could smell him, a hint of his pine aftershave and soap. If she drew deeply, maybe the slight tang of his sweat, layering lightly over the rest. It had been a hot day, and the small window he’d forgotten to shut didn’t offer much breeze. The inadequate AC would suck this summer, though oddly enough it seemed to be working better now.

Her smile widened. But she had new flowers.

Not giving herself time to squelch the impulse, she ripped off a piece of the notepaper he’d found on her end table and scrawled a quick reply.

I like the color you picked for the bathroom. It reminds me of Gillie Lake on a clear day. And the flowers are so pretty. Thank you. You’re welcome to do whatever you’d like to the apartment, without my permission. A.

The next night she returned home to a fully painted bathroom, a half-moon daisy rug in front of the sink—an exact match to the watering can she’d laughed at him for toting around—and a new mason jar of flowers on the windowsill. She blushed as she took in the bluish-purple blossoms. Forget-me-nots. Too bad he didn’t realize how truly fitting they were.

Best of all, there was another note. Grinning, she snatched it up.

I’m glad you liked the paint. You don’t have to keep the rug I bought, but when I saw that daisy at the thrift shop today, it reminded me of you. Everything seems to lately. D.

Her belly fluttered just imagining him in her apartment, filling it with his scent while she worked downstairs in her shop. While she stared out the window in the hopes of glimpsing him on his way into the building and fought the persistent daydreams about him her brain insisted on conjuring up with disturbing regularity. Of him making her feel alive in a place that didn’t seem nearly so depressing when he was at her side.

His hard, muscled body knew just how to move against hers to wipe away everything but him. She had no worries, nothing to fear when she and Dillon were together. It was just them. God, all that heat and passion and need—

“Stop,” she whispered, shutting her eyes.

She’d said she wanted one night. How could she change her mind so easily? She didn’t know him well, but they probably couldn’t be more different.

But she knew one sure way they were compatible, no questions asked.

She pulled off another piece of notepaper.

Thank you. The rug made me smile, just like the flowers. I like that you’re thinking of me. I’m thinking of…well, nothing that has to do with you and flowers, but maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing your snake. A.

The next evening, Alexa came home to a gray and dreary apartment. The drizzly weather definitely hadn’t helped her mood. She’d had a blah day with not one, but two snarly customers, and only one of them had purchased an arrangement.

She sighed and set aside her purse on the table inside the door. Only one bright spot cheered up her gloom—maybe Dillon had left her another present. Or better yet, perhaps she would find him stretched out naked on her air bed, ready to do her bidding.

A girl could hope.

But alas, there was no Dillon in her apartment. And no flowers. Tonight a plastic snake peeked out of the jar on her windowsill.

Laughter spilled out of her as she grabbed the note he’d left behind.

When you said snake, I got confused. If this isn’t what you had in mind, call me. I’m all done working on your apartment. Let me know if you need anything else. D.

She added the note to her secret stash at the bottom of her kitchen drawer and filled up the forget-me-nots’ jar of water, along with adding a new crushed half-aspirin. She did the same with the jars of mountain laurel on her small kitchen table. The makeshift vases were in a triangle, the drooping flowers making a sad sort of statement. But she refused to throw them out.

How long had it been since a man had brought her flowers? Or a cheerful daisy rug she couldn’t help grinning down at as she brushed her teeth? Never, that’s when.

He’d fixed her sink, and freshened up her bathroom, and touched up the paint along the living room baseboards. Even better, she realized as she stowed her raincoat in the empty closet by the front door, he’d given that a thorough paint-and-clean job as well.

Dillon James had figured out the way to her heart, and it was pathetically simple. Though she’d spent the last year denying she needed anyone but herself, right now, she just wanted someone to take care of her.

At work, she was in charge, and she had to be strong. She couldn’t let anyone see her break, though sometimes she found herself fighting tears as she put together arrangements she knew she’d have to take to the hospital and local cemetery before the week was through. Not that she didn’t like doing her part to cheer up others. But the flowers she replaced on graves every week weren’t all that was dying. Her mentor’s beloved business was, as well.

She wanted to call Dillon so badly that her fingers twitched, but she couldn’t offer much to anyone right now. An uncomplicated relationship she could handle. Something with a definite beginning and end. The possibility of seeing Dillon any time she was at home or work made this potentially a lot more messy. She couldn’t handle any more potential messes, not when the sense of impending failure consumed her night and day.

No matter what she did—whether it was starting new advertising campaigns or arranging huge, showy bouquets of blooms in the front windows of Divine—the customers just weren’t interested. She hadn’t given up. Not even close. But tonight the breakwall around her emotions felt on the verge of collapse.

It wasn’t as if the news was all bad. She schmoozed every customer she managed to lure into the store, offering them amazing service and a plethora of complimentary add-ons. Her special attention to every person who entered her shop would hopefully bear fruit in the form of repeat business in the years to come. Especially once she started that e-mail newsletter list she couldn’t deny was a damn good idea.

But in the meantime, she was floundering.

“Not me,” she murmured, staring into the nearly empty closet she still hadn’t closed. She’d yet to unpack most of her suitcases. “The store. Not one and the same.” Even if they felt damn close.

When her stomach started to growl, she got up with the intention of scrounging for dinner. On her way to the kitchen she grabbed the pile of mail she’d brought up with her from the store. Today it contained mostly magazines and the occasional bill, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Until she reached the legal-sized envelope from Santangelo, LLC she knew was yet another overdue rent notice. Soon they’d stop saying “if you don’t, we will” and just set a date for her to have to get the hell out of the store.