After Her Flower Petals: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy (The Svensson Brothers Book 7)

by Alina Jacobs

  “And you are a saint for doing it,” Bettina said, fawning over him.

  “You didn’t forget; you just didn’t want to show up,” I retorted.

  “Meg,” he said, clicking his tongue, “you know I care deeply about composting in Harrogate.” Hunter settled the seniors into the comfortable chairs in the sitting room near the front foyer of his house.

  “Don’t you have an office?” I asked irritably.

  “Let’s not be so formal,” he said, gray eyes leveling at me.

  It was too intense. I usually tried to avoid his gaze, but it was look at his eyes or look at—the rest of him, which was on display. I swallowed, my eyes inadvertently flicking down to his bare torso then back up to that gaze that was promising something more exciting than a compost meeting.

  “We have a number of maps and studies to go over,” I said, trying to ignore how his broad, muscular shoulders tapered down over the hard pecs that I used to run my nails down, making him shiver, to the washboard abs. My eyes flicked down again.

  “Yes, I’ve reviewed those.” He shrugged slightly, and my brain hijacked the moment to sneak another glance. The loose exercise shorts, low on his hips, were barely enough to cover the parts that were revealed by the skintight Under Armour training pants that accentuated every muscle in his thighs.

  And those thighs feel rock-hard when wrapped around you…

  “Coffee? Tea?” he offered. He gave me one more knowing glance. “Dottie, you take your tea with lemon and sugar?”

  “If you’re serving it, I’ll take it any way you want!” she said, practically drooling.

  “This is an official city meeting,” I reminded them. “Can we please keep some level of decorum?”

  “It’s a small town, Meg,” Hunter said in that deliciously deep voice that never failed to convince me to make a terrible life choice.

  He turned to head back to the kitchen and, I hoped, put on a shirt. My sleep-deprived, overworked brain chose to ogle him as he sauntered toward the kitchen. I was so used to seeing him in a formal suit that witnessing him in a state of undress, the way his muscular back tapered to his hips—and remembering those hips against mine—was starting to unravel me…

  Terrible decision! I reminded myself.

  “Can’t you hurry up?” I snapped, hoping I didn’t sound thirsty and sex starved.

  Hunter looked over his shoulder at me.

  God, how had I forgotten how sexy his back was, too, with all those plates of muscle?

  Hunter smirked. “You know I like to take things slow.”

  The seniors erupted in cackles and fanned themselves.

  I pursed my lips, sat on the sofa, and shuffled through the papers. I refused to look up as Hunter set down the tray of coffee and tea and an excessive number of fixings, including decorated sugar cubes, pieces of fruit, and flavored creams that people could put in their drinks.

  The only problem with not looking up at him was that now I was staring at his crotch as he handed out cups and saucers.

  “He’s so refined!” Edith said appreciatively, taking a cup and saucer. “You always hear stories about these hot young billionaires who wear sweatpants and eat ramen and serve you Cheetos and Red Bull if you visit their homes. But this is an honest-to-goodness British tea set.”

  “He is wearing improper clothes, though,” I pointed out.

  Hunter flexed slightly as he poured Dottie a cup of tea.

  “And still no shirt.”

  Dottie giggled. “Drinks and a show! This is the most excitement we’ve had at a committee meeting since Art brought that pigeon he’d found and thought was a parrot!”

  Hunter picked up his coffee cup then sprawled on the sofa across from me, the washboard abs flexing slightly as he breathed in and out while he flipped through the plan that Dottie had written. Hunter had his legs half-spread casually, one bare foot resting on the edge of the sofa.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to put on a shirt?” I asked Hunter for the second time. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “I think it’s kind of warm in here,” he said mildly.

  “It’s boiling hot in here,” Bettina said, flapping her blouse.

  “Know what’s also hot?” I asked as Hunter stared at me over the edge of his cup.

  “A compost pile. Did you know it can get up to a hundred and fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit?”

  “I just want it because I’m tired of paying so much for garbage pickup at Girl Meets Fig,” Edith said. “If I can just chuck all the food waste into the compost bin, then I don’t have to pay that much for trash pickup.”

  I paused a minute while Hunter snorted into his coffee.

  “Mrs. Roberts, you can’t just throw trash into the compost pile. It has to be leaves and vegetables, maybe eggshells, not whatever is left of people’s steaks and fish bones.”

  “She’s right, Edith,” Bettina scolded. “That’s why we need some goats out there!”

  “You have a goat, don’t you, Hunter?”

  “I don’t think we need goats running around Harrogate,” he said with a grimace. “My brother adopted one for his girlfriend, and it’s been a nightmare. It’s a billy goat and very territorial.”

  “But Sadie feeds it garbage,” Edith protested.

  “I have no knowledge of what Sadie does with that goat.”

  “Goat herding could be part of the job training program,” Bettina insisted. “I was out with Ernest—”

  “You were with Ernest last night?” Dottie asked in shock. “But I told you I wanted him!”

  “The compost pile…”

  The elderly women ignored me and glared at each other.

  “Why don’t we table the discussion?” Hunter suggested, standing up in one fluid motion.

  The women continued to argue while I automatically picked up several of the cups to help Hunter clear up the tea service.

  “It’s like this every week,” I said once we were out of earshot in the kitchen. “The meeting is derailed. Nothing is decided.” I set down the cups on the kitchen counter.

  Hunter ran a hand over his jaw, one hip against the large kitchen island. His abs flexed.

  “Why can’t you put on a shirt?” I huffed. “And why can’t you show up at city hall for a meeting?”

  Hunter just grinned down at me. “Please, Meg. You organized this specifically to catch me alone.”

  “I never!” I turned up my nose, trying not to look at him.

  He pushed off the counter, then in one step, he was in front of me. Was he going to kiss me?

  You’ve had a hard week, I reminded myself. Might be nice.

  “I have another meeting,” I croaked.

  “I wasn’t suggesting we do anything,” Hunter said in a low voice.

  “Then why are you standing so close to me?” The heat radiated off his bare skin. The familiar sharp, clean masculine scent wafted off him. I wanted to bury my face in his chest.

  Hunter reached out and tilted my chin up. His eyes were a warm gray. “Do you need anything, Meg?” Soft smile. “Besides the usual? I’ll give you anything. You know that. I’m always here for you.”

  My life was so shitty. I just wanted to fall into his arms and let him save me.

  Instead, I backed away. “I’m fine. I’ll see you at the Harrogate Foundation meeting tomorrow morning. Don’t be late again.”

  “Why? Because you’ll show up at my house, hoping to get a glimpse of me half-dressed?” Hunter said, eyes half-lidded.

  I squawked, “No!”

  “It’s fine to have needs, Meg,” he said, a smile playing around his mouth. “And,” he added, one hand resting on my hip, “if you do decide you need help with, you know, you clearly know where to find me.”

  “I can get myself off just fine without your help,” I said hotly.

  32

  Hunter

  The thought of Meg getting herself off was an ice pick to my brain. How did she do it? Did she do it in her bed? In the shower? In her office? D
id she think of me, of all the times we had been together?

  I had wanted to kiss her in the kitchen, run my hand up her body, bend her over the counter, and fuck her. Now she was gone.

  I had spent the rest of the day spinning over in my mind how to win Meg back. However, I had reached the same conclusion that I had all the other times I had picked through scenarios. I had originally believed, after she had screamed at me all those years ago and told me to get off her porch, that eventually Meg would come around, that being in close proximity to me would wear her down. She would get over her anger, and we would be back together.

  But Meg had been stubborn—was stubborn—and now I was staring down the barrel of a reality I did not want to be in, one in which Meg wasn’t mine, in which we didn’t get married and have kids and build a life together. The idea was devastating.

  “Is this what you do all day?” Greg asked from the doorway of the clubroom. “Sit around in the dark and drink?”

  “At least he took a shower,” Mace said, turning on the lights, setting his bag down on one of the antique leather chairs, and pouring himself a drink.

  “Don’t ever let me hear you complain about having to make all these sacrifices watching the kids,” Greg said, “since you don’t even take care of them.”

  “I corralled them after school, fed them, helped them with their homework,” I listed off.

  “What did you do with the other eight hours of your day?” Garrett asked. “Beside trying to weasel out of going to the compost committee meeting.”

  “Are we really going to have a whole pack of goats eating garbage in the middle of the town square?” Weston asked me.

  “Good news sure travels fast.” I drained the rest of my glass.

  “I thought you hated goats.” Parker wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s your fault,” I snarled. “You brought that goat back from Ernest’s farm, and now Sadie is feeding it garbage, and the whole town thinks they should just ditch the waste disposal service and let goats free roam. It’s insanity!”

  “And we’re all shocked why Leif is still at large, still manipulating and using women, and still has our sisters trapped,” Crawford interjected, striding into the clubroom and setting down his motorcycle helmet. “You all are pathetic.”

  “Hunter’s not pathetic,” Weston said, defending me. “He’s lovesick. This is the most time he’s spent with Meg in forever, and it’s making him mopey.”

  “I’m not mopey,” I snapped.

  He stared at me, the scar across his eye prominent. “You two should just fight it out in a ring, medieval style.”

  “I’m not going to get in a physical fight with Meg,” I said in horror. “What is wrong with you?”

  “He’s an animal,” Greg said, glaring at Crawford. “All that time in the Special Forces rotted his brain.”

  “It’s not like a boxing ring.” Crawford smirked. “The man is in a three-foot hole with one hand tied behind his back, and the woman swings at him with a bag full of charcoal.”

  “That sound horrific,” Mace said.

  “Yeah, Meg would totally brain him to death.” Crawford grinned, sharp-toothed, and grabbed one of the bottles of expensive whiskey, twisting the cap off with his teeth and taking a swig.

  “I do have other things to do today,” Greg said, grabbing the bottle from Crawford and wiping off the rim with a napkin.

  “Right, like losing yet another development,” Garrett cut in.

  Crawford barked out a laugh.

  “Shut up,” Greg hissed at Garrett.

  “So, is this going to be another meeting where everyone has some top secret for-sure plan that’s going to finally end with Dad in prison?” Parker asked. “But then nothing ever gets done?”

  “No,” Crawford sneered, sprawling on one of the chairs. “Because I’m here now, and this is the meeting where I give all of you an ultimatum that your plans better come to fruition within the next two weeks, or I’m calling up all of my people at my security firm, and we’re going to go clear out some roach nests.”

  “I have carefully laid plans,” Garrett said in shock. “You can’t just come in here and stomp all over that.”

  Crawford worked his jaw then spat, “Two weeks. Put up or shut up.”

  “What plan did you honestly have, Garrett?” Mace demanded. “You’ve been saying for years that you have something in the works.”

  Garrett smiled at him. “As it so happens, I just had the last bit of evidence come in from my secret weapon. It should be enough to get an FBI agent interested, I would think.”

  “What did you do, send a robot out to Wyoming?” Crawford cut in. “How do you know our father didn’t see right through your plan?”

  “Because I know his greatest weakness,” Garrett said triumphantly.

  We all looked at him.

  “It’s obvious. He likes women, specifically tall blond-haired ones. I just had to find the right candidate, send her to Wyoming, and out she comes with evidence.”

  “That’s not enough to secure a warrant,” I countered, my mind spinning. “You and Blade are going after data or hard drives, and no prosecutor will be able to send him to jail for that, let alone convince a judge to grant them a warrant to retrieve whatever information you find.”

  “We just need enough to helpfully point the FBI in the right direction. But first, I need to analyze whatever data your spy brought back, Garrett,” Blade said excitedly.

  “We can use that algorithm we were developing for the defense department on it,” he told Weston. “I just need a bit of time to analyze it.”

  “You have two weeks,” Crawford repeated.

  “Did your spy say anything about our sisters?” Mace asked.

  “She said she saw two small ones, but by my calculations, there should have been more.”

  “I’ll take whoever I can get,” Crawford muttered.

  Greg was looking between all of us. “Who was she?” he asked suddenly.

  Garrett blinked at him.

  “Who is your spy?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “I swear to God, Garrett,” Greg, said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I liked to give my half brother a hard time, but there was a reason Crawford had stayed away from Manhattan. Greg was mean on a good day. And when he felt you had crossed him, he could be downright evil.

  “It was Belle, wasn’t it.” His voice was perfectly steady and dead quiet. It was unnerving.

  “That’s not—”

  “Wasn’t it.”

  “I didn’t blackmail her or anything,” Garrett said loftily. “I simply proposed, and she accepted.”

  “Stay away from her,” Greg said. His eyes were flecks of flint. I glanced warily between him and Garrett.

  “You don’t control her, and in fact, you acted like an asshole to her.” Garrett stared down Greg. “Whereas I respect her.”

  “You could have gotten her killed!” Greg finally shouted.

  “For someone who claims to care about Belle Frost, you certainly don’t seem to know her well,” Garret shot back.

  “I know her better than you.”

  “All you lovesick little puppies are wasting my time,” Crawford said, grabbing his helmet and slinging his bag around his shoulders. “Two weeks. Clock is ticking. Then I’m cleaning out that rats’ nest no matter where you are in your plans.”

  33

  Meghan

  I was on autopilot dealing with the list of mayoral duties plus worrying about the campaign and, more importantly, my finances. My paycheck for being deputy mayor had cleared, and it immediately left my account again to pay bills and the rent.

  Also, I hadn’t taken everything I’d needed out of the house and didn’t have many clothes with me. Instead of a relaxing evening, I had spent all night at the coin-operated washer and dryer in the basement of the apartment building.

  At least it was better than thinking about Hunter—how delicious he had looked shirtless
, his hair slightly messy, sprawled on the couch.

  I woke up with a start the next morning after dreaming about straddling him on that couch, guiding him into me. I pulled the covers up over my head. I had, more times than I cared to admit, gotten myself off thinking about Hunter.

  “Not today,” I told myself. “Today, you will focus on work.”

  I had back-to-back meetings, starting with the Harrogate Foundation, which was headed by Edna and Mace Svensson’s girlfriend, Josie, both sharp, intelligent women. I needed to be alert.

  At least Hunter wasn’t going to show up. He clearly thought all these meetings with the townspeople were beneath him. But that would be a blessing in disguise today because I could still feel the phantom touch of his hands on me.

  I slipped on my no-nonsense pumps and a skirt suit I had bought at Ann Taylor back when I lived in Manhattan. I had bought it at the height of my stressful job at Harrington Thurlow law firm when I had stress eaten my way into two dress sizes up and needed an emergency outfit. After moving to Harrogate, I had always intended to lose the weight, but that had never happened. In fact, the skirt was a bit snug.

  Sex is great exercise. Bet Hunter could give you a workout. Actually, you know he can.

  I slapped that thought down. I usually tried to avoid Hunter as much as possible. Usually, it worked. But with the campaign, I had been seeing more of him than usual.

  And you like it.

  And I don’t!

  Hunter was distracting. He was also waiting in one of the small meeting rooms for the Harrogate Foundation meeting.

  I blew out an annoyed breath.

  “Meg,” Hunter drawled. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. Or,” he said, his voice lowering, “did you want me to be half-undressed? That can be arranged, you know.” He stood up. Gosh, why was he so unfairly tall?

  “No, leave your clothes on, please,” I said.

  He chuckled and walked closer to me. I gulped. Was he going to kiss me? Hunter’s eyes flicked from my forehead to my mouth then back up to my eyes.

  “Like what you see?” he purred.

  “We’re both candidates, and for the time being, we’re working together,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like a horny teenager.