Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #2)(18)

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 nak*d. 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 n**ples 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?

She’d think he was crazy if he did. Well, more than she already thought.

There was no good answer to this. He thought for a long moment, touching a petal of a blooming Blue Girl. The rose was lovely, the color a cross between pewter and baby blue. He wondered if her eyes were the same color. They’d been pale, making her entire face seem almost too pale in color, and overly round. But he liked that about her. It made her seem less . . . perfect.

With careful fingers, he cut the blue rose and trimmed the thorns off the stem. He’d have to apologize. He wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but perhaps a rose would say more than he could.

***

When Gretchen showered and dressed, she headed for the library. No sense in avoiding it for any longer—she had to start on the project. Her spirits were a bit low after that morning’s encounter, but at least she’d tried. Now when they avoided each other, she’d know it was because he wanted it that way, not because he was embarrassed.