She shook her head. It wasn’t something Hunter would understand. “I’m fine. Really.”
He looked as if he didn’t believe her. “Is it something I can fix?”
A wry smile touched her mouth and she stood, moving into his arms. She sighed with pleasure when he wrapped her in his embrace, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “I’m not entirely sure I understand why I’m upset, myself. So no, I can’t ask you to help me fix it.”
“A distraction, then?” Hunter murmured.
“Hmmm,” she said, chuckling. “Now that has merit. What did you have in mind? What do you do to relax?”
“I don’t know if you want to do what I do. I usually exercise or work in my greenhouse.”
She made a face. “Yeah, that doesn’t exactly sound like fun to me. Sorry.”
“I think you’re not giving it a fair chance. Come on.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the library door.
Gretchen hesitated for a moment, then let him lead. She should have been working, but working was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. It was part of the reason she was so unhappy.
They headed into the greenhouse, and Gretchen was immediately hit by the humidity and the perfume of the flowers. While it had its charm, she didn’t share the fascination with plants that Hunter did. They were pretty, they were fragrant, but that was about it.
He took her hand and led her through the rows of green bushes. A hint of satisfaction was stamped across his proud features as they moved through the gardens.
“Are we here to pick me another rose?”
“Better.”
“Two roses? You rebel, you.”
“Better,” he said again. “Which roses are your favorites?”
She ran her fingers along his sleeve. “The ones you give me.”
“Do you like a particular color? Scent?”
She thought for a moment. “I liked the blue one you gave me the first day.”
“What else?”
Gretchen thought for a moment. They were always lovely, which was why she was having a difficult time deciding. It was obvious that whatever this was, it meant something to him. He practically vibrated with enthusiasm. “Which one is your favorite?”
“For you?” He led her past a row of bright yellow blooms and knelt in front of a rosebush covered with red blooms. “This one. Papa Meilland. It makes me think of you every time I see it.”
The flower’s odd name meant nothing to her, but she knelt next to him, curious. “Why?”
“The petals are like velvet, the color a deep red like your hair, and no other rose that I own smells sweeter.”
She smiled at him. “All very good reasons.”
“It’s also one of the more difficult ones to grow.”
She snorted. “You calling me difficult?”
“It’s a fragile flower. It looks beautiful and hardy, but even the smallest of ailments can bring it down. It reminds me that some things require a bit more thought and care.” He smiled over at her, another one of his rare yet charming smiles. “It’s a challenge, but there is no rose sweeter when it blossoms.”
“That’s beautiful, Hunter. Who knew you would get so poetic over flowers?”
“Not the roses,” he said, giving her an intense look that made her toes curl a little.
“So what did you want to show me?”
“One of my passions is the hybridization of roses.”
“Wow. Sounds . . . um, boring. I think.”
He ignored her lack of enthusiasm, still stroking the soft petals of the red Papa Meilland rose in a way that made her panties damp. “I wanted to choose something you’d like. I’d like to create you a rose.”
Now he had her interest. “Create me a rose?”
He got up and gestured at a nearby stone bench. She followed him and was surprised when he sat in the center of it, leaving no room for her to sit. At her raised eyebrow, he gestured at his knee.
Ah, he liked it when she sat in his lap, did he? Gretchen smiled and gave an exaggerated wiggle as she slid into his embrace, her ass nestling against him.
“Hybridization,” he said, brushing her hair off her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her through the fabric of her T-shirt. “Is how all the different varieties of hybrid tea roses are created. They’ve been bred and crossbred with each other for the best qualities—long stems, bright colors, lovely scents. I’d like to see if I can cross a rose just for you.”
“I’m always game for a present,” Gretchen teased. “So when do I get to see my rose?”
He chuckled, and she warmed. Was it her imagination or did he seem more quick to laugh and smile now? “These things take time. It’s a slow process of pollination and experimentation. I’ll have to take one of the Blue Girl roses—that’s the one you liked—that’s budding and force it open—”
“Pollination, experimentation, and forcing petals? Sounds kinky.”
To her surprise, he reached across her front and lightly tweaked her nipple to shush her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. “You do that to prepare it for pollination from the other rose. They’re covered to prevent them from being pollinated from another rose.”
“Rose condoms. Gotcha.”
He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe. His fingers continued to tease her ni**les through her clothing, and she felt him hardening against her bu**ocks. “Do you always interrupt?”
“Yes. But don’t let that stop you.”
“I won’t. Do you want to hear more?”
“Absolutely,” she breathed. “This is as dirty as those letters I’ve been reading.”
He chuckled again, which never failed to cause her to squirm with pleasure. “We want the Papa Meilland to bloom and mature. Once it has, we take the pollen from the Papa Meilland and transfer it to the Blue Girl. We let the Blue Girl go to seed, collect those, and plant them to see what we’ve created.”
“Hmm,” she said, her voice breathy with distraction from his touch. “This isn’t a fast hobby, is it.”
“I’m a patient man.”
“You think long term, don’t you?” If what he was saying was true, it’d definitely be months—maybe even years—before her rose ever came to fruition. Would they even know each other by then? She’d be long gone.