Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #2)(30)

“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.”

Hunter accidentally sent his knife skidding, the silverware clanking.

“That’s great news,” Cooper said enthusiastically. “I’ve really missed seeing you.”

“I’ve missed seeing you, too.” She watched as Hunter picked up his knife and gripped it, his knuckles white. “It’s weird being away from everyone,” she added to defuse the statement and make it friendly instead of romantic.

“When you come back, I . . . I think I’d like for us to have a nice talk.”

Her mouth went dry and Gretchen panicked. “Oh, Coop. I just . . . I don’t know. Can’t we just let things go as they do?” Her gaze slid back to Hunter, who was still staring at the painting. “Can I call you back some other time? Now’s really not great.”

“Oh, of course. I just . . . you know. Wanted to tell you that I missed you. That’s all.” His sad puppy voice grated on her nerves.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” she said, and hung up. Picking up her napkin, she folded it in her lap again. “Sorry about that.”

“Boyfriend?” he asked, and the word was almost a growl.

Gretchen’s eyes widened. That was . . . interesting. It was almost a reaction. Should she push harder or lay off? She decided to push a little harder. “A male friend. He misses me.”

“Then perhaps it’s a good thing that you’re finishing early,” he said abruptly. He stood, tossing his napkin to the table. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer.”

“Oh, but—”

Hunter turned and stalked out.

Gretchen sighed heavily. Good Lord, but the man was prickly. She sat at the table a moment longer, toying with the casserole on her plate. She didn’t want to leave things like that. Didn’t want Hunter spending the evening all annoyed and frustrated. She’d had her share of frustrated evenings herself lately.

Tossing her napkin down on the table next to his, she stood up and pocketed her phone, determined to find Hunter and talk to him.

She headed to his wing of the house first, but all the doors were shut, and no one responded to her knocking. He was either not there, or simply not answering. Before she’d give up, she’d try one more place.

Hugging her sweater close, Gretchen headed down the long walk to the greenhouse. There was a light inside, and one of the doors was eased open just a crack. Curious and a bit nosy despite herself, she moved forward and peered through the crack.

He was across the room, standing near one of the beams that kept the arched roof of the greenhouse aloft. Hunter’s back was to her, one hand clenched above his head and resting on the beam, the other against his side. His entire form seemed curiously tense, his head bent forward as if he were struggling with something.

She bit her lip. Damn. Surely he wasn’t that upset over a phone call? Hell, that would be uncomfortable in the extreme. What did she do now? Gretchen stepped inside, just as he tilted his head back, and she caught sight of his face, which was full of tension. The hand at his side jerked a bit more.

And she realized he was masturbating.

Gretchen froze for a moment, shocked. He’d retreated out of anger—or jealousy—and she’d expected to see him seething as he pruned his roses. She’d expected to argue with him, cajole him to see her side, and maybe they’d walk away on better terms.

She’d never imagined that she’d catch him pleasuring himself.

It shocked her senses as much as it aroused her. She felt herself grow slick with excitement, and she barely resisted the urge to stroke herself between her own legs in response to his movements. She moved forward, her steps quiet as she carefully shut the greenhouse door behind her and approached him. He hadn’t noticed her yet. His shoulders seemed to be aching with tension and need, his entire form tense.

She moved forward and lightly touched his shoulder, heat coursing through her.

He jerked around, startled. Hunter’s eyes were wide, his pupils dilated with need, the scars on his face flaring white against the red of his cheeks. His hand was still curled around his cock, and he stood there for a moment, as if too shocked to move.

And then he began to pull away from her.

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

Her fingers curled in his jacket and she held him there. He seemed frozen in place, like a wild animal caught by the barest of tethers. One wrong move and he’d snap, retreating. She didn’t want that. She wanted to touch him.

Her hand slid down to cover his, where he grasped his cock. “Is this for me?”

His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.

“I think it is,” she said softly. “May I touch you?” She knelt before him, not caring that she was kneeling in the slightly damp, slightly muddy path in the center of the greenhouse. All she knew was that she wanted to touch him—to pleasure him. To give him something that would blow his mind.