He turned around even as she was considering his nicely formed behind, and her face flushed bright red. She was forever going to be caught leering at him, wasn’t she?
Mr. Buchanan stared at her for a long moment, frozen. Then color began to dot his cheeks. It made the scars on his face stand out even more, like jagged talons of white cutting across his tanned skin.
He also looked like he was torn between running for cover or choking her with the length of rope he held.
“Hi there.” She tried to keep her tone cheerful and nonchalant. “I thought I’d come out and say hi.”
His eyes narrowed warily, and she was reminded for a moment of a wounded animal. That piercing gaze moved up and down her form, noting her pajamas. “Are you drunk?” he asked abruptly.
“No,” she said, drawing out that one syllable. Okay, so the pajamas weren’t making the best first—um, second—impression. “I’m friendly. I saw you out here and wanted to talk.”
His face darkened into a scowl, the scars at the corner of his mouth twisting his entire face into an ugly grimace. He turned away. “I have nothing to say to you.”
So this wasn’t going well. When he began to stalk away at a pace more rapid than she could sustain in her oversized borrowed boots, she panicked. “Your penis!” she called out. “I saw it!”
He stopped in his tracks and turned to give her an incredulous look.
She stomped after him, nearly losing her balance in a snowdrift. “It’s true,” she said, struggling to stand upright. “I was snooping and I saw you naked. All of you. Really naked. That’s why you won’t talk to me, isn’t it?” When he began to scowl again, she continued. “I mean, you can sit here and pretend you don’t want to talk to me, but we both know it’s totally awkward because I saw your dick before I saw your face.”
His scowl seemed to turn even blacker, making the scars livid on his face.
Oh shit, his scars. He thought she was insulting his face.“I, uh, didn’t mean it like that. Damn, I’m much better at banter when it’s on the page.” Gretchen trailed after him when he began to walk away again. “Can we try this again?” She assumed a cheerful expression and made her voice two octaves higher. “Hi there! I’m Gretchen, and I’m working on ghostwriting the project in your library. I’m only going to be here for a month, but I hope we can be friends.”
And she thrust her hand out.
He stopped, stared down at her hand for a moment, and then looked back at her. “I trust you’ll stay out of my way for the next month, then.”
Ouch. She couldn’t help the flinch that crossed her face. “I guess I will.”
He gave a curt nod. “See that you do. I’m a very busy man.” Winding the length of rope around his arm, he continued back toward the house.
Gretchen watched him leave, frustrated and a little embarrassed at herself. Not exactly a smooth conversationalist there, Gretch. Did you hope to wow him with your witty “Your penis, I saw it!” Did you really think that would break the ice?
“Seems to work for Astronaut Bill and Uranea,” she muttered to herself. Then, shivering and rubbing her arms, she headed back to the manor house.
So much for apologizing to the owner of the place.
***
Hunter ripped his snow boots off and tossed them down in the mudroom, discarding his gardening gloves and the rope he’d brought inside. She was heading for the mudroom, too, and he needed to get out of there. Tearing down the hall, he headed for the one place he could truly relax and think—his greenhouse.
God, he’d f**ked it all up again.
He headed down the covered garden path that led to the side of the manor house and his private greenhouse. He walked in and the humidity hit him, as well as the perfume of the roses. Immediately, his pounding heart began to calm. He moved to his table of tools and picked up his favorite pruning shears and then moved to inspect his roses. As he knelt and began to prune away the dead leaves, his thoughts whirled with the bizarre, abrupt encounter.
She’d come out to talk to him.
Him. She’d wanted to talk to him. Part of Hunter had been thrilled at the thought, but the larger part of him—the scarred, wounded part—had lashed out. She’d seen him naked. Commented on his face. Pointed out quite bluntly that she’d seen his cock.
It had almost seemed like she’d wanted to break the ice and was having a hard time spitting it out.
And what had he done? He’d snapped at her and tried to chase her off. To her credit, she hadn’t been deterred until he’d more or less told her to stay out of his way for the entire month.
Hunter gritted his teeth, viciously snapping a browned leaf off a wilting Gemini tea rose.
He didn’t want her to avoid him. He wanted to see her. Watch her work. Talk to her. Have her turn that odd sense of humor on him. And instead, he’d driven her away.
Fuck. Why did he always freeze up around women? Hell, around people in general. Eldon was the only one who didn’t make him stiffen with alarm. And she’d been so lovely and . . . odd. He thought back to the sight of her, standing in his snowy garden in Eldon’s borrowed boots and ratty flannel pajamas that outlined the hard tips of her ni**les when the breeze had blown her shirt a certain way.
That had made him panic as much as anything, even as it made him hard with need. Hunter groaned and pressed a hand to his cock, willing his erection to go away. He’d give in to the need later, in the privacy of his room. He’d dream about that spill of messy red hair, her pale skin, and the way her mouth made a perfect little bow when she was startled. And then he’d dream of that bow of a mouth descending on his cock, licking the head—
. . . we both know it’s totally awkward because I saw your dick ever before I saw your face.
Yeah, that f**king killed his boner.
Hunter shook his head to clear his thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate on the maintenance of his roses. Some people read or painted to calm their minds but Hunter liked tending to his roses. He grew all varieties, but his favorites were the showy hybrid tea roses that were so delicate in their constitution and yet so incredibly beautiful and fragrant when coaxed into blooming. He ran his fingers over a velvety petal of a Cajun Moon, his exterior calm despite his roiling thoughts.
He’d more or less demanded that she leave him alone.
He didn’t want that. How could he fix it? Demand that Eldon prepare a candlelight dinner and then insist that she show up? Act as if he said nothing to her at all? Better yet, act as if they’d never even met and start fresh?