by Natasha Deen
The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. He sat across from me, on the edge of the square, wood coffee table. “Your nana?”
“Yes. I don’t understand why they don’t get along. Usually, she can charm the pollen off a honeybee—” The warmth of his smile made my skin sizzle.
Leaning in, he rested his muscular forearms on his knees and said, “Honeybees?”
Shoot. Baxter genetics had reasserted themselves. Nana figured our tendency to reference wildlife was a nod to our passionate, sensual natures. I figured it was the result of too many of our ancestral cousins marrying each other. I leaned back, needing to catch air away from his heady, masculine scent. “I’m sorry—” I put a hand to my jaw to cover the blush heating its way from my neck to my cheeks. “I tend to go overly-Southern when in moments of stress.”
His mouth pursed into the most kissable shape. The movement pulled my gaze, and I forgot how to breathe. Sunlight streamed through the window in long, angular shafts and lit the blue-black waves of his hair.
“Stressed? I hope I haven’t done anything to make you feel uncomfortable—”
“No.” I waved away his words. “I only meant my constant fence-mending between these two. Why they can’t get along is beyond me.”
He ran his hand through his hair and looked down. Harry patted his chest, and smiled sheepishly. “I apologize. I’m not really dressed for entertaining. I’ll find Grandpa for you.”
“Don’t go on my account.” Really, don’t.
“It’s fine—I have to finish off the lawn and I need a shower.”
Lord. The sudden vision of him, hot water cascading over his skin, sending rivulets careening over the bumps and angles of his hard body, sent my temperature into the hundreds.
When he stood, his lips quirked as though he’d seen my naughty thoughts. Turning with fluid grace, he moved down the hallway and left me alone with my soapy fantasies. Lucky for me, unlucky for the daydream, he returned a few seconds later, his gaze focused downward.
Three lines wrinkled his forehead and his eyebrows were drawn together. He looked up at me, his mouth pulled to the side. “I can’t find him.”
Squinting, he scanned the hardwood floors, fireplace, and couches, as though he expected his grandfather to materialize from the air, or appear from behind the piano.
“I’d mentioned needing more potting soil…”
“Maybe he went to get it?”
His eyes narrowed further, until his pupils were a glint of cobalt surrounded by black lashes, and he cocked his head. “I doubt it—he can’t drive anymore.” Harry strode to the window, his steps confident, and looked out. “He’s got an awful habit of disappearing for walks. He always comes back, but it’s darn disconcerting.”
His jeans molded to every heart-breaking step and I could only nod. Empathy made me stand and go to him. “I know. Nana does it all the time, too. She’s got a cell phone, but sometimes she’s harder to find than a—” I stopped myself before I introduced more wildlife into our conversation.
The left side of his lips lifted, as he asked, “Than a what?”
My lips worked up and down as my fevered brain yanked itself from the animal-reference-track. “Harder to find than a grown person ought to be.” At my answer, his smile took on a sexy edge and my already high temperature rose another ten degrees, but he didn’t press the matter. I certainly wouldn’t have minded if he’d pressed his sexy body against mine, though. Visions of him all hot and sweaty made me say, “You said you needed to finish the lawn? If you don’t mind some company, why don’t I come out and wait for Mr. Garret outside. Perhaps I can lend some assistance.”
His gaze ran the length of my form, subtle and quick.
The look had enough heat to make the space between my toes perspire.
“You won’t be too warm outside?”
Like I was any cooler in here. “I’ll be fine.”
“Then I’d love your company. But don’t you worry about helping.” He led me down the ceramic-tiled hallway, through the spacious kitchen, and out the back door.
“So, you said you needed to get cleaned up,” I said as he moved to a flowerbed bursting with a gorgeous array of roses and ivy. Honeybees did a lazy dance from one red petal to the other. I kicked off my shoes and moved towards the luxurious aroma of earth, flowers, and sun. The grass, deep, thick and velvet soft, absorbed my steps. I gathered my skirt around me in preparation for sitting on the lawn.
Harry stretched out his hand to help me.
Lord, I love a man who can read my mind. I slid my fingers over his, reveling in the tingles he set off on my skin, loving the way he made my stomach squiggle. As lady-like as possible, I sank to the ground, and resisted the urge to pull him down with me. “Were you and your family heading out for the day?” There I went, questions in mind, hacksaw in hand. I inwardly grimaced, let go of his hand, and beamed upward.
“No.” He knelt. The muscles of his back and shoulders rippled.
Under the golden sun, his olive skin shone with a satin finish and I wanted to run my fingers over every smooth inch of him.
“Grandpa doesn’t like the afternoon heat.”
“No, I meant your other family.” The playful smile he tossed from over his shoulder left no doubt he knew where I and my hacksaw were headed.
“It’s just me and Grandpa. I’m not married.” He paused and the teasing quirk of his lips thickened into a devilish grin. “I’m not even seeing anyone.”
The words sent my stomach on the up-down tilt-a-whirl of delight, and I pressed my lips together to squelch my instinctive urge to squeal. Leaning over a white rose, I ran my fingers over its velvet softness, and hoped he didn’t see the deep red blush of embarrassment rocketing up my cheeks. I’m terrible at flirting. “Those are some lovely flowers.”
He smiled, pleased and proud. “Thanks. I created the hybrid myself.”
Bless me, Father, the man had a stunning ability to mix genetics. Our children would be gorgeous and I would enjoy every moment it took to make them. “Goodness. You’re quite talented. Gardening must be your passion.”
“One of them.”
“One? What are the others?” The question was innocent, but the look he gave me was anything but pure.
“Well,” he said slowly, “spending time with angels is fast becoming a new passion of mine.”
Lord. My heart was going to crash right out of my chest and do the samba right there on the lawn. Sexy, charming, what else did a girl need? “Harry, are you flirting?” An old saw as far as coy lines went, but I’d seen Nana use it on the butcher at the local Shop N’ Save every week, and she always got free meat.
A grin lit up the angular lines of his face.
My pulse jerked and I noticed the dimple in his right cheek for the first time.
“I’m certainly trying.”
So I wouldn’t swoon, I took a breath. “You’re quite accomplished at it, too.” I nodded towards the garden. “Just like your landscaping abilities.”
Internal shadows chased the sun from his face. “Thanks.”
Silence hung thick and heavy between us. I asked, “Harry? Have I said something to upset you?”
He shook his head. The sun came into his face once more, warming away the tight line of his mouth and lifting his sensual lips upward. “Just thinking of my old job.”
I waited. The summer air rippled along my skin, made the multi-colored flower petals shiver, and sent a delicate bouquet of rose-scented aromas past my skin.
“The work was fantastic, at first. Working as a scientist I helped to clean up oil spills and environmental disasters.” He pressed his lips together. “Paid well enough, but after a while…it wears on the soul. Stepping in during a disaster is fine, but what I really wanted was to prevent them in the first place.”
His eyes moved from left to right, skimmed over the red, violet, and white array of roses, lilacs, and daisies. “Gardening seemed a good second career—I still work with the earth, but in a dif
ferent way. This is the best of all worlds. I get to be outside, using environmentally friendly products—”
“But you still think of your old work. The stuff you could and should be doing?”
His shoulders rose and fell. “Something like that.”
I reached out and clasped his strong hand. Feminine senses made me aware of his long fingers, the way the veins stood out in soft relief against his skin, and the hard calluses that spoke of a life of physical labor. “Preventative caretaking is good too.”
His grip tightened, and he gave me a sheepish laugh that made the sides of his eyes crinkle.
“After you’ve seen too many animals coated in oil, too many oceans on fire, and too many plastic bags floating in the rivers, it’s hard to be casual about the earth.”
I leaned closer. “I think you’re magnificent.” The world froze as his eyes grew bright.
“You think so, huh?”
“Oh!” I really said that? “Well, yes. Your love of the earth, I mean. Very magnificent.” I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let me go. Then I wondered if I’d inadvertently hurt his feelings by not confirming his magnificence. So, I tried to think of a compliment that wouldn’t get me in trouble. “You’re very…conscientious.”
Oh, Lord. Take me now. Conscientious? My skin sizzled then froze with embarrassment. Why didn’t I just tell him he had nice grammar? My gaze flitted from the lawn to the flowers—everywhere but his eyes—until there was nothing to do but make eye-contact. I looked him dead-center, even though my chest burned and my breath came in shallow pants. “It’s next to Godliness, you know.”
“I thought that was cleanliness.”
“You’re also that.” I winced. If I survived this meeting, I intended to go straight out and buy The Idiot’s Guide to Flirting: How to be Witty Even if You’re Not.”
“You know—”
His words were measured. My stomach cramped with tension. This was usually where my inept flirtations bounced me into the dirt.
The pad of his thumb ran a gauntlet along my palm and fingers that made my nerve-endings shriek in delight. The tension in my middle changed—from anxiety, it shifted to excitement.
“There’s another good thing about being a gardener.”
His mouth did that sexy hitch that drove me wild. “What’s that?” I gasped the question.
“I meet all types of interesting people.” His gaze dropped to my hand then came back up, rested for a moment on my mouth, before connecting with my eyes. “I find you very interesting.”
“Uh—”
“Wildly fascinating.”
I might combust right there. Go up in flames and all the rescue crew would find among the charred ashes would be a goofy grin. “You’re fascinating, too.” Was it me, or was I slurring the words? I gave myself an internal shake. This wouldn’t do. I had to maintain some semblance of control. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sure your grandfather is right proud of anything you do.”
Mention of Mr. Garret made him laugh. It was a rumbling, deeply pleasing sound that vibrated his chest and made my toes tingle.
“Yes, well, proud of everything except my ability to get married.”
With a head shake, I groaned. “We should start a support group. Nana’s always nagging me about the same thing.”
His eyes went wide, his jaw slackened. “I have a hard time believing there aren’t a whole lot of men lining up for you.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but meeting people’s been real hard. We just moved here from Georgia.” I paused. Usually, I don’t talk about my grandfather, but being around Harry was like pulling on my old pair of jeans: comfortable and easy. “Granddaddy died near on two years ago, and Nana’s pain made staying impossible. We decided on Florida, but—” I stopped and thought about her feud with Mr. Garret. “I’m wondering if we made the right decision. She’s become right cranky with your poor grandfather.”
Harry snorted and took a trowel to the flower bed. “Don’t give him too much sympathy. That man can be a real pain in the a—” He stopped and tossed me a casual smile. “He can be a real pain.”
“Why do you think they can’t get on?”
“They’re probably too alike to know what to do with each other.”
There’s a reason I hadn’t considered. I laughed. “Well, Nana’s certainly met her match with him.”
The click of the back door opening made me turn my head.
Mr. Garret stepped outside. His face lit with pleasure as he saw me. “Angel.” With steps slowed by age and arthritis, he came into the garden and gave me a sweet smile.
I stood and held out my hands. “Mr. Garret.”
“Shush, now. You know it’s Harrison to you.”
His large, soft hands enveloped mine. I wondered again why he and Nana couldn’t get along. He was everything Nana would have wanted—debonair, worldly, charming as all get out. Harrison may have been eighty-five, but he had a glint in his eyes most twenty-year old men couldn’t match.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a scuffle this morning.”
His lined face scrunched together. “Aw, your grandmother just doesn’t know what she wants.” Cocking his head to the side, he shot his grandson a hard look. “And I don’t know why my grandson’s keeping you in this hot sun when there’s air conditioning on inside.”
I stepped forward, putting myself in between the two men. “I volunteered to keep him company while I waited for you.”
“Did you, now?” He exchanged looks with Harry.
Not a word was spoken, but in Nana, I’d seen the same tilt of the head, the outward jut of the jaw, and I could interpret that expression with my eyes closed.
His hand rested on my shoulder. Look at this eligible, single person. Why can’t you marry and settle down? Then I could have great-grandbabies and go to meet my maker in peace.
Harry, like every child harassed by his elders, feigned a look of complete incomprehension. His eyes went blank with innocence and he blinked with the guileless conviction of a monk.
Mr. Garret shook his head. “Why don’t you come inside, Angel, and we’ll talk.”
I gripped my shoes so I didn’t toss them aside, grab his grandson’s face, and plant a kiss on his delectable lips that would be felt around the world. “Thank you,” I breathed and followed the older man into the house. He led me to one of his leather couches in the family room that sat opposite the kitchen—a seat I’d grown to know too well over the past few months. The same one I always sat in when I came to broker peace. “I expect you know why I’m here.”
“Aw, shucks.”
My lips twitched. Like my Nana, he really knew how to swear.
“Your grandmother’s got her britches in a knot over nothing.”
“She says you uprooted her azaleas.”
His white eyebrows rose to the widow’s peak of his equally white hair. “I’d never do such a thing. I took care of some weeds.”
I sighed. This is what usually happened. She said one thing, he said another, and somewhere in the middle was the truth. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation to all of this. I don’t suppose you would happen to have the flowers, would you?” I didn’t know if they could be saved, but if that were the case, then Nana wouldn’t be out money. Plus, if I did this right, I could get some gardening tips from Harry. The kind shared over wine, mussels in garlic sauce, and soft jazz music.
I turned my attention to Mr. Garret and to resolving this issue, once and for all.
Chapter Three
For the next ten minutes, I tried to negotiate a truce, but my Jimmy Carter skills must have melted in the Miami heat. Mr. Garret didn’t budge. The more I tried to mend fences, the more he took a sledgehammer to all my ideas.
He didn’t want to go through me to talk to Nana—they were, he said, grown folk who didn’t need a translator.
I covered my snort of disbelief with a passable coughing fit. The thought of my hiring Harry
to tend Nana’s garden went over like wood rot. Harry was his grandson and, as such, should do any gardening work for free.
I hid my smile and wondered how Harry would feel knowing his granddaddy was willing to rent him out as slave labor. Then I caught my breath at the vision of Harry shackled to my bed, my willing and agile prisoner of love.
Of course, the idea of my paying for a fence just about gave Mr. Garret the vapors. God forbid I bear the brunt of paying for the materials and labor.
No, he would cover half the cost and Nana could pay the other half. If only she would settle her feathers, they’d get everything sorted.
I was taking a breath to try another attempt at reasoning with him—I’m a hopeless optimist—when I heard the creak of floorboards.
Harry came around the corner, a tray of drinks in hand.
He’d showered and shaved. If he’d looked delicious when he was working, all cleaned up the man whet my appetite for a hunk feast. He wore dark-washed jeans and his storm-grey shirt darkened the color of his eyes. His damp hair clung with a lover’s devotion to his forehead and neck.
“Ice tea and a cease-fire, anyone?”
I smiled. My constricted lungs relaxed and I took a relieved breath. “Yes, to both, thank you.” I helped him set the tray on the glass table, and let my senses absorb the clean scent of his soap, the smooth texture of his freshly-shaven face.
With a grin, he slid into the spot opposite me.
My heart jerked at his close proximity and I found myself oh-so-not-so-subtly shifting closer to the warmth of his body.
“Now, what’s this I heard about flowers being ripped up?” Harry asked.
Mr. Garret’s face blanched, and then turned a robust shade of red. “None of your business.”
Harry stretched his long legs in front of him.
The rough denim of his jeans brushed my leg and I repressed the urge to squeal with delight. I added sugar to my ice-tea, my attention focused on the closeness of his hand, the way his fingers slid across his clothing as he reached for a glass. The grey cotton of his shirt stretched across his chest, and I lost count of how many spoonfuls of sugar I’d added to my drink.