Chapter 9

“You’re never going to believe this.” Kat’s voice bubbled with excitement. “It’s wicked amazing.”

Gretchen cradled the phone to her ear and continued typing, logging her current letter. The month was creeping past entirely too fast and she was barely halfway through the enormous trunk of letters. She kept getting distracted by Hunter, though who could blame her? A sexy, delicious man who constantly wanted sex and gave her great orgasms? Every job should come with such distractions.

Still, she was behind in her work and it wasn’t going to get done unless she threw every free minute into it. “My landlord called you?”

“No. Though I did drop off that check. He was kind of pissy about it.”

“We got the payment in for the contract?”

“Better.”

“What’s better than getting paid?”

“You know Astronaut Bill number forty-two? Astronaut Bill and the Tragedy of Europa IV?”

“That was the one with the rampant disease, right? Yeah, I hated that book.” Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “The cover sucked and they made me write in a plotline where Bill cheats on Uranea because he thought she was dead and they needed sex in at least three chapters.”

“It hit the New York Times Best Seller list.”

Gretchen dropped the phone in shock. She stared at her computer screen for a moment, then scrambled to pick up the phone, where she could hear her agent laughing with glee. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking! You hit number thirty-four. That’s the extended New York Times list, which isn’t as great as the main list, but whatever.”

“But . . . but . . . how?” Gretchen spluttered, thinking. “The majority of the sales are through truck stops and subscriptions. I sell hardly anything through retail outlets.”

“Well, you sold a shit-ton last week,” Kat said gleefully. “The team over at Incomparable Books is absolutely thrilled and they want you to do more Bill books. As many as you can work into your schedule this year. They don’t even care that you’re late on this other one. Isn’t that awesome? Steady work!”

“Great,” Gretchen echoed, suddenly feeling a little queasy.

“Sales is trying to figure out what the spike in sales came from, but they’re super pleased. They say that if sales keep going the way they are, they might even add your name as a byline at some point.” Kat sounded impressed. “Just think. You could write under your own name.”

“Great,” Gretchen said again.

“So how many Bill books do you think you can fit into your schedule this year? I told them you write fast. At least four, I think. What do you think?”

Four more Bill books, as fast as she could crank them out? Her stomach churned. “I’m not sure. Let me look at my calendar and I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Will do,” Kat chirped into the phone. “By the way, I was going to send you flowers but I wasn’t sure if it would be apropos since you’re guesting over there. But I totally thought of flowers for you. I even bought some shoes in your honor.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Gretchen said wryly, laughing. “Call you back soon.”

When she hung up the phone, she stared at her surroundings, uncomprehending. Then, the reality of it hit her and she burst into tears.

She felt . . . trapped. God, what was wrong with her? This should have made her happy. Before today, Incomparable Books had been on the verge of booting her from their stable of ghostwriters. She couldn’t hit a deadline and her books weren’t what the fans seemed to want. They wanted Bill having all kinds of sexist, ridiculous adventures and Gretchen had a hard time writing that. But with the success of this book, it meant steady paychecks. It meant success.

It meant she was locked into that misogynistic asshole Bill for the rest of the year, and possibly several years into the future. And she should have been thrilled.

But instead, she just wept.

It was there that Hunter found her, still on the couch and crying her eyes out. “Gretchen?”

She turned to glance at the doorway and absently dashed a bit of wetness from her cheek. “Hey.” Damn it. Her nose sounded stuffy.

His eyes narrowed and he strode toward her, his fingers moving to lift her chin and tilt her face to him. “You’re upset.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I don’t like seeing you upset. Tell me what it is that’s bothering you.”

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 nipples through her clothing, and she felt him hardening against her buttocks. “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.

For some reason, that sent a stab of unhappiness through her. She turned her face slightly, offering her lips for a kiss. She wanted to be taken hard and rough by him to forget all about her troubles.

But the kiss he pressed on her lips was light, soft, and tender, the barest brush of his mouth across hers. “I love you, Gretchen. Don’t be sad.”

He loved her? All breath escaped her lungs. She stared up at him in surprise. “Hunter, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” His hands continued to caress her, moving all over her body, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “I’ve never met anyone like you. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never feel as deeply for anyone as I feel for you right now. You bring light and sunshine to my life. I’m not telling you that I love you to make you unhappy. I’m telling you thank you. Thank you for coming into my life.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped when he pressed a finger to her lips.

“Don’t say anything, Gretchen,” he murmured. “I’m a practical man. I never thought to have a woman in my life, ever. I thought my face would turn off any woman worth having. I never thought I would be lucky enough to meet someone like you. I have no illusions as to what this means to you, but for me, it is the world.”

She smiled softly at him and snuggled closer. “Sounds like fate’s brought us together.”

“Yes,” he said, and his voice was curiously dry. “Fate.”

***

I love you most ardently, my dearest. It’s becoming impossible for me to spend even a day without you. This is interminable, these endless partings between us. I ache to be with you. My love grows every moment of every hour, much like my passion for you. I—

Gretchen put the letter aside with a sigh. For some reason, reading the endless declarings of adoration and oversexed adulations of Lula and Ben were bothering her today. Maybe she’d woken up in a bad mood. She thought of the way that Hunter had woken her up that morning—with a kiss and his hand between her legs. Nah, that hadn’t been it.

Maybe it was the rapidly mounting piles of work and her ever-approaching deadlines.

Or maybe it was because she felt like a jerk.

Lula and Ben were clearly in love. Wildly, passionately in love. Every day they wrote letters to the other, going on and on about how much they loved each other and wanted to be together. And last night, Hunter had declared his love for her.

And she’d sat there and stammered like an idiot.

It wasn’t surprising that this had happened. They were spending a lot of time together. Pretty much every moment that one of them wasn’t working, in fact. They were having an intense sexual relationship. And on top of that, she was Hunter’s one and only sexual relationship. Of course her lovely, scarred virgin had fallen in love with her. The question was, why did that make her feel like an ass?

He’d told her that she didn’t need to declare love for him.

She’d only known him for three weeks.

He was a man with Issues with a capital I.

And yet . . . he was really wonderful for her. He looked at her as if she were the smartest, funniest, sexiest woman he’d ever met. He listened to everything she said, laughed at all her jokes, and blushed when she deliberately tried to make him blush. Sex with Hunter was some of the best she’d ever had—and what he lacked in experience, he was more than making up for in enthusiasm and intensity. He always made sure that she came. He was rich, handsome, and devoted.

So what was her problem?

Gretchen fiddled with the letter, thinking. Her gaze moved to the rose on her desk—a Papa Meilland. She recognized the dark, velvety petals and her body flushed, remembering yesterday in the greenhouse.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t fall in love with Hunter. She could very well see herself falling for him.

So what was the problem, exactly? Nothing, except that now she felt like her love had a deadline. Hunter had declared and she had to make a decision. A declaration wasn’t something you could leave hanging for months on end.

And Gretchen sucked at deadlines. They made her anxious and unhappy, as evidenced by her up-and-down publishing career. There was just something about other people’s expectations that made her freeze in place, unable to function.

And that wasn’t fair to Hunter.

Ergo, she was a jerk.

She put aside the letter, then studied her manuscript file of notes. Just from her transcripts, she had almost forty thousand words and two hundred letters between the two lovebirds. Really, that was more than enough for her to build her story around. Her editor didn’t need every letter transcribed, after all; no one would read an eight-hundred-page epistolary novel. They’d faint if she turned that in.

To be honest, Gretchen had the work she needed. She could go home early instead of staying at Buchanan Manor for another week, get a week’s start on her deadlines, and get that final chapter of Astronaut Bill and Uranea turned in.

But that idea didn’t appeal much at all, and this time it wasn’t just because of the sexist space adventurer. She wanted to stay another week and spend it in Hunter’s arms.

“Hell, Igor. Now I’ve gone all moony, haven’t I?” She reached over and idly scratched the cat’s belly. Igor was curled up next to her laptop, his skinny frame pulled into a tight ball. He always wedged himself carefully against the left side of her laptop, where the fan blew warm air. She didn’t mind it, though because she had company while she worked. “You just tell me if I’m being ridiculous, cat,” she told him with another pat.

And since she was going to stay another week despite everything, she might as well continue reading letters and looking for super-juicy ones. She pulled out the next and began to scan it, almost bored by the endless florid sexual details of Ben and Lula’s encounters.

Your games grow more and more scandalous, and more and more exciting, my beloved. Last Sunday’s interlude still swirls in my mind. I’ve played Blind Man’s Bluff many times before, but this was the first time I’ve played and made love.

Gretchen raised her eyebrows, a bit more interested. Sex in the middle of a parlor game? Kinky. This one was definite fodder for the book.

I was so surprised that you showed me the hidden passage in the library, darling. As many times as we’ve made love there, I pause and wonder if someone has perhaps spied on us. Surely not. How many could know about the secret panel you showed me? I wouldn’t mind going back to that room by myself, but I don’t remember which brick it was that you touched to make the room come alive. Do tell me, darling.

A secret passage? Gretchen’s sense of adventure got the better of her and she reached for the next letter, excited to find out more. She skimmed Ben’s bolder, slightly crabbed handwriting until she came to the answer.

It’s the brick to the right of the mantel, my love. If you look closely, you can see my initials carved into the caulk.

Okay, this she had to see for herself. Putting the letter aside, Gretchen got up and scanned the library for a fireplace. There were two of them, one at each end of the long room. She headed to the closest one and scanned the bricks, running her fingers along the grout, looking for imperfections. Nothing. She moved to the other fireplace, but it was nothing but smooth marble.

Huh. Gretchen paused, thinking. This was a large house and it was bound to have multiple libraries. Perhaps this was the wrong one? With the letter in hand, she gave Igor a quick pat on the head and headed out. She had no idea where another library was, but Hunter would know. Brightening, she headed for his office, smiling to herself. Now was she excited at the prospect of the fireplace door and having an excuse to interrupt Hunter. Did it even matter? She loved interrupting Hunter. This was just a delicious opportunity that had presented itself.

Gretchen headed to his office and knocked lightly on his door.

“Enter.”

She peeked inside and smiled at the sight of him. Even though no one was in the house but her and Hunter and Eldon, and Hunter worked alone, he was still dressed in one of his suits. Today’s was a dark brown jacket and a lighter brown tie to match. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running a hand through it. His brows were furrowed but his expression eased when she entered.

“Finished working?” Hunter stood to greet her. “It’s early.”

“Just momentarily distracted,” Gretchen told him, sauntering over to give him a kiss in greeting. She lightly brushed her lips across his and smoothed a stray cowlick of his hair. “Am I bothering you?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her against him. “But I don’t mind it.”

She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing with pleasure when his hands caressed her ass. “You’re going to make me forget my mission.”

“Mission?”

“Mmmhmm.” She lightly traced a finger along his jaw, admiring the strong lines of his face that were marred by scars. “I’m looking for a secret passage.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s mentioned in the letters,” she told him, dragging her fingers along his shoulder even as she slipped out of his arms. She seemed to recall seeing a second library off his bedroom wing. “Where are the other libraries in the house?”

Hunter seemed to stiffen. “There’s no secret passage.”

“There is,” she insisted, pulling the letter out and pointing at it. “I swear I’m not lying. They go on and on about it in the letters. I thought it would be terrific to see. We could take pictures of it and add some excitement and reality to the book.”

His mouth thinned. “There’s no secret passage.”

“Of course there is. Just look at this.”

He wouldn’t look at the letter. Puzzled, Gretchen pushed it in front of his face. He pushed it aside again and gave her an annoyed look.

“Wow, what’s crawled into your panties?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed his face. “I’m just tired.”

“Then will you quit acting like I’m bothering you?” She held the letter out to him again, her expression daring him to take it. “I don’t know what the big deal is.”

His expression was immediately contrite. He pulled her into his arms, rubbing his hands on her back. “You never bother me,” he said huskily. “My day is better every time I see your face.”

She leaned in and gave him a light kiss, brushing her fingers over his scarred cheek. “Then help me find this secret passage.”

He took the letter from her and scanned it. “The house underwent many renovations over the last fifty years. The main library was destroyed. If there was a secret room, it’s there no longer.” He folded the letter carefully and held it back out to her, his face impassive. “I’m sorry. I know it’s disappointing.”

“Oh.” Gretchen couldn’t quite hide her regret. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to see it. I’m sorry to have bothered you, then.”

As she turned away, he grasped her arm, forcing her to turn back around. “Gretchen, you are never a bother. I’m just distracted.”

“By what?”

“Work . . . and you.”

She gave a mock-hurt sniff. “Well, if I’m bothering you, I’ll just go.”

He snagged her around the waist as she turned to leave. “No you don’t. Now that you have my attention, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” His hands went to her shirt and began to tug it upward. “I can’t help myself. You look ravishing.”

She snorted. “I’m wearing a T-shirt and yoga pants.”

“You always do.”

“Now is that some slight upon my wardrobe choices?”

“No, that’s me telling you that I find you impossible to resist every time I see you.” There was the slightest hint of color to his face, and each word was said precisely, as if flirting came hard won to him.

But he was doing it for her.

She found that enchanting. Her heart melted into a little puddle of goo and she smiled at him, her hand going to his tie. She put the letter down on a nearby table and moved into his arms. “So there’s no more secret passage?”

“Nope.”

“Then it seems like I came in here for nothing,” she said lightly.

“Not for nothing,” he murmured. “I think I have something to show you.”

“Oh?”

“In my room. Perhaps you’d like to search it for secret passages.”

“What are the odds of me finding one in there?”

“Slim,” he said, and one side of his mouth tilted into a smile. “But there’s always that chance.”

“Sounds like my kind of party.” She turned and tugged on his tie, dragging him toward the door.

***

Later, when Gretchen was curled in his bed, sleeping and sated, Hunter got up and went back to his office, shrugging on a robe over his naked body.

He picked up the letter she’d discarded and studied it. A secret room. Damn it. When he’d had Eldon purchase the trunk of letters, he’d had them tested for authenticity. They’d been carbon dated and he’d been assured the dates were real and that the letters not a hoax. He’d never imagined that he was purchasing Victorian porn. Even worse, he’d never considered that they’d point to architectural oddities that would mark the location.

If Gretchen pushed about the secret room or if she found more compelling evidence about the house in the letters, she’d piece together that the letters weren’t about Buchanan Manor at all. They were a fraud.

Just like he was. He’d orchestrated all of this to bring her to him, never imagining such happiness. He’d simply wanted to experience being around her bright personality for a time.

Except he’d fallen for her. Hard. And he wasn’t going to lose her to a stupid mention of a secret room in a few letters.

He resisted the urge to crumple the letter into a ball and instead set it down carefully and rang for Eldon.

Eldon arrived a few minutes later, in his own pajamas and robe. His hair was slightly mussed as if he’d just come from sleep, but the look on his face was carefully neutral. “You called for me, Mr. Buchanan?”

Hunter gestured at the letter on the table. “You didn’t read these before purchasing them, did you.”

Eldon’s face remained impassive. “I did not. I procured them as you wished, but my instructions never included reading the letters myself.”

“They mention a secret room.” Hunter tossed the letter toward Eldon, his temper getting the better of him. “Gretchen came here looking for it.”

Eldon neatly plucked the fluttering letter out of midair and began to read. His mouth thinned with displeasure as he did. “This letter is quite vulgar.”

Hunter snorted, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced. “They’re all quite vulgar, or didn’t you know that?” At Eldon’s silence, he shook his head. “This is supposed to be a very innocent batch of letters, Eldon. From Buchanan Manor. Not some other nameless house with secret doors and libraries. If she finds out this is a fraud, she’ll leave.” Sudden panic seized him and he clenched his teeth. “I don’t want her leaving here. Leaving me.”

“She’s not a dog,” Eldon said in a dry voice. “She’s allowed to leave your property on her own wishes.”

He gave Eldon a cold look. “You know what I mean. I want her here for as long as possible.”

Eldon’s long face studied him. He sighed, his expression softening just a touch. “You do realize she’s almost done with the project, Buchanan?”

Hunter’s pacing increased. “I thought she was here for a full month. How long has it been?”

“A little over three weeks. And she’s nearly done with the trunk. She’ll be leaving very soon.”

His hand raked through his hair rapidly, his thoughts furious. No. Not when everything was going so well. Not yet. “I . . .” Words failed him. He turned to Eldon. “Fix this.”

Eldon held up the letter, unperturbed by Hunter’s bad mood. “Fix this? Or fix the part about her leaving?”

“Yes. To both.”

“Very well. Shall I shackle her left leg or right?”

Hunter glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

“What do you suggest I do to prevent her from leaving?”

Hunter’s mouth settled into a grim line. “I don’t know. Just think of something. She needs to stay longer. I’m not ready for her to leave my side. Not yet.”

“I see.” Eldon ran a finger down the crease of the letter. “I shall see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said quietly. “Do this for me and I’ll see that you’re well compensated.”

“You always do,” Eldon said, and turned to leave. He paused and turned around again, his gaze searching Hunter’s face. “You seem troubled, Mr. Buchanan. Would you like to . . . talk?” The question fell flat at the end.

Hunter’s mouth twisted into the grimace that passed for his smile. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I’m not, actually.” He gestured at the letter in Eldon’s hands. “But I will be once you fix that.” He was struck by the sudden overwhelming urge to hold Gretchen in his arms. “I’m heading back to bed, Eldon. Get some sleep.”

“Of course,” Eldon said drily.

The two men parted, and Hunter slipped back into his dark bedroom, then moved into the bed next to Gretchen. She gave a small sigh and shifted in the bed, automatically moving a bit closer to him. His arms went around her and he pulled her tight against his chest, but he was unable to sleep.

Gretchen . . . leaving soon? Leaving him? Even though he’d declared love for her and they made passionate love every chance they had? Even though they enjoyed the endless hours spent together, and she made every day worth living, every hour of work sweeter because he knew she was waiting for him?

Not if he could stop it. She would be at his side for as long as he could make it happen. He didn’t care how or why.

He just knew he needed her.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 473