by Dani Wyatt
Except there’s one thing that gives me fucking nightmares. That damn ring on her finger.
Not just any finger. The finger. Ring finger.
Left hand.
Yeah I know what you’re thinking. Let this one go. She’s taken.
Fuck.
It’s been haunting me since the moment I laid eyes on her. I’m not proud, but I’m not ashamed either. I followed her home that first night after I walked into her shop with a few sample blooms. I watched her go inside her little bungalow on Market Street. I sat there all fucking night, watching for signs of a husband.
I had to know.
That was the first night. I did that for the next four fucking nights. Nothing. No sign of anyone else coming or going. It’s been a struggle but I only allow myself two nights a week to follow her home now. Again, two nights a week seemed okay. Any more was excessive.
And, okay, I get the creepy factor here is high but I don’t give a shit, I went through her damn mail too. More than once.
Less than twenty times.
Again, I counted. I stopped at nineteen times because, well, just because.
Nothing addressed to anyone else besides Rose Everhart. So since I’m no tech wiz, I enlisted Norman. Fucking hell he gave me grief, but he also did a full public records search on my girl. No record of a marriage license anywhere.
So I’m thinking she’s not married, right? But then, why the damn ring? It bothers the fuck out of me.
Oh well, I’ll find out what’s up with that at a later date, but today something’s going to change. It has to. I can’t live like this.
I stomp over the wet sidewalk as I make my way to the door of Ever In Bloom, her flower shop.
Her shop lights cast white light out onto the street. The weather is strange around here. I mean, it’s February. Gloomy is part of living in this part of the country, but the temps are nearly always mild. It’s perfect for my plants to thrive. See, my roses take five times as long to grow and mature as the standard commercial Franken-GMO roses you find at every corner gas station and grocery store.
Mine are heirloom hybrids. Originated from antique seeds. Unique. Then, over the years, I’ve spliced varieties together to create what are the best, longest lasting, largest, most colorful and fragrant roses in the world. And that’s not pride speaking. I’m not lying on any of that, no bravado, just facts.
Roses are my life.
Until Rose.
The irony is annoying.
It started as a hobby. My mom was a rose gardener and my dad was a botanist. He showed me how to create hybrids when I was maybe six or seven years old. It took root and I’ve been obsessed with growing roses ever since.
My free hand grips the aluminum door handle to Ever In Bloom and I say a little prayer because it can’t hurt my chances, right?
My heart is racing like I’m running for my life, and in a way I guess I am. How can an ugly fuck like me think he’s got any chance with a beauty like her?
Okay, maybe I’m not ugly, but I also realize I’m a little scary. I don’t walk, I stomp. I don’t talk, I grunt.
I’m bearded.
Grouchy as hell.
Never been a player.
I wouldn’t know slick if it slept next to me.
I’m all flannel and muddy boots. But I know what I want and I suppose I’m just too dumb to know any better because here I am once again, throwing myself on the altar of humiliation just for a glance at my girl.
Yep. My girl.
I’m so fucked.
Deep breath, I tell myself, but my cock is already soaking my thick-duck-cloth khaki work pants. I’m commando just cuz that’s just my way, but when I get around Rose I should be wearing a few extra layers to help hide my size XXXL hard on.
I always feel like a bull in a china shop when I stop here. My hand grips the bottom of the crystal vase holding the six Ever After roses and the muscles in my shoulders twitch.
Rose is so soft, so delicate, and I’m so not. Every part of me is oversized and I know it makes me even less approachable than my general bear-like demeanor.
The cluster of little door bells make this sort of fairy-dust tinkling sound when I walk inside. My eyes are already locked on her and everything else in the world fades away. She’s fresh faced as usual and more stunning make up free than any cover model.
She’s sporting her lime green apron with an ivory sweater and skirt under. That little dot of a mole above her lip calls to me. I wonder what it tastes like. I wonder what all of her tastes like.
Bombs could be lighting up the street outside and I wouldn’t know because she’s here, and I don’t just see her, I catch her scent.
In amongst all the thousands of flowers that fill the air that compete for my olfactory attention, it’s only her I can process.
She’s like winter and honey. That clean smell when it gets cold in the mountains and you know the first snow of the year is imminent. But it’s tipped with this thick sweetness. Something that took time to develop. Not like processed sugar or cotton candy. No, it’s like raw honey. Natural and purposeful.
I live in this second because I know it’s going to end. She’s fussing with an arrangement of common red long stems and in a way I hate that she has to touch such regular flowers. She’s rarer than the roses I grow, and in my mind they are the only flowers her delicate fingers should touch.
She huffs at the arrangement and turns to see me approaching.
It’s her eyes that turn my heart beat to a hummingbird pace. They are deep set and mysterious, a rich, heavy blue like the indigo on my mother’s blue willow china, and cracked with black speckles like opals dusting her irises.
I’ve memorized every stunning detail of her face in the two or three times she’s allowed me to be close enough, taken hours by myself, eyes closed as I committed every freckle and texture to memory.
In my head I’m telling her all the things I wish I could say. But I have to hold steady as I approach the little counter, my heart breaking as I see her hands freeze and begin to tremble.
Please, don’t walk away this time.
“Rose.” I love just saying her name. It feels so right on my lips. I nod and do my best to soften myself but around her my entire body hardens.
Her soft, pink lips tighten and her teeth set into her lower lip. I know she won’t reply, but just having her eyes on me is enough to ignite a lust that streams through me like molten lava.
“I brought you these. They’re my latest. I call them ‘Ever Afters’. No one has them yet. I have a waiting list of buyers at three hundred bucks retail a bud, but as always there’s no charge for you. Just samples. You can charge what you want, but I wanted you to have them here first.”
Her cheeks brighten as I set the vase on the counter. The six roses have buds the size of my fist. The petals are a shade of lavender that doesn’t even look real, with swirls of white through them like marble. They will bloom and last for three weeks or more.
She’s told me in the past that she can’t afford to carry my flowers. And she’s probably right. Her little place is artistic and well run, but the market in our little town isn’t ripe for selling a three hundred dollar single rose. So I keep dropping off the samples to her for free and she can charge what she likes.
She tips her head to the side. A stream of cream colored waves nearly cover her face and I see she’s preparing to turn and head into the back room like she always does.
I have to stop her. I have to change this. I have to have her.
Just as my next words are forming on my lips, Kandi, her part-time help, bounces out of the back room with that tooth-rotting smile and tugs her T-shirt down to expose more of her cleavage. With an eye roll toward Rose, she gets to the counter in three steps and her fingers reach to touch the Ever Afters.
“Wow! These are beautiful! You name them after me this time?” Kandi chomps on a piece of gum and my brow tightens into a knot.
I grab the vase and lift it from the cou
nter before she can touch it. No fucking way are her fingers touching these roses before Rose’s. She’ll tarnish them and I can’t have that.
“Rose.” My balls are heavy and my cock stretches my skin tight as it thickens.
I’m not waiting. No more opportunities will pass. I have to do something and do it now. My fingertips tingle and heat covers me from head to toe.
Before I think it through, I’m speaking again. “I have some paperwork I need to go over with you if you have a second. I have exclusive sellers now and you are one of them, but my fucking...” Fuck, did I just swear? Shit. I squint one eye as Rose tosses a questioning look my way. I’ve never cursed in front of her before, but my blood is boiling and things have to change. Too late to go back, the only way is straight through. “...my fucking lawyers say I need to have exclusivity agreements with all my sellers.”
I shrug. Not my fault. Lawyers, huh? What are you going to do?
Kandi chomps her gum, looking from me to Rose. I’m a desperate man. I just made that shit up on the fly about the damn paperwork. Part of it is true, my lawyers did say I need exclusivity agreements. But still, I don’t give a shit about that right now and that will never apply to her. I’m going to get her alone and get some answers. And hopefully get my lips on hers.
C H A P T E R T W O
Rose
I hate these days. And love them more than I love my stupid, ugly cat, Alfredo.
His full name is Creamy Alfredo Sauce because he’s the color of the perfect, delicious sauce. My favorite food in the entire world. When I make it that is. See I can’t eat food if I don’t see it being prepared but that’s neither here nor there right now.
Can you love and hate something with equal measure?
Yes. Yes, you can.
Last night I lay there in bed, on the verge of tears, knowing today he would walk into my shop. He’s nothing if not a creature of habit. Every thirteen days.
I barely ate my breakfast. Organic sprouted grain flakes and hemp milk. I know, right? Who would want to eat that? But it’s what I eat, every morning at 5:45 am. I’m a creature of habit as well, apparently.
Others would call it something else but my issues are just that. Mine. And they always will be.
So here we are now staring each other down across the counter at my floral shop. My usual reaction is to lose my stomach or run into the back room.
Tanner Valentine the hunky lumber-rose-grower that’s been the source of too many of my fantasies the last few months. Kandi is leaning over the counter, showing off her goods, and I’m standing here like a mute with acute social phobia as usual, because his presence turns off my already limited vocal abilities.
And just look at him.
Tanner Valentine.
Oh my God. Just him.
He’s standing there like a human sex toy, making my panties soaking wet while little moaning sounds catch in my throat.
“Rose.” He says and I swallow the drool gathering under my tongue.
Today his demeanor is different. He’s different.
Yes, the flannel is there. As well as the beard that nearly makes me orgasm just from the sight. The eyes the color of gunmetal and sapphires. All there.
But he’s different. The usual intensity is ramped up to eleven. He’s staring at me relentlessly, holding that vase of roses after he pulled them away from Kandi, sidestepping around the counter to come behind and closer to me.
“I’ll take you to dinner. I need to go over this paperwork and you need to eat. It’s Valentine’s Day and I know you’ve probably been working non-stop for days.”
“Not really.” I respond, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s a small town,” I offer, shifting my weight to the other foot and biting my bottom lip to stop it quivering. “All the orders are done. I’m fine.”
It’s the most I’ve ever said to him. Kandi spins on a heel and clears her throat. Unconsciously I’m shaking my head, turning down the offer before I’ve even thought about it, and Kandi pounces at the opportunity.
“I’ll go to dinner.” She juts out a hip and tosses her blue-black hair over her shoulder. “Rose doesn’t eat out. But I do. She has food issues.” She adds the last little bit on a snarky whisper and I want to disappear.
She’s right. I don’t eat out. It’s so bad, it’s to the point I’ve been thrown into full blown panic attack and passed out at restaurants trying to force myself to consume the food there.
But I hate her for telling him that. For spoiling this. Even though I’m turning him down I hate that she’s right here to squash the moment.
He gives her a glance that chills the room, then his eyes are back on me.
“You want the roses, though, don’t you?” His voice chases away the chill and sends heat racing between my legs.
I nod. There’s no thinking going on, I’m running on adrenaline and instinct.
“Good. I’ve got the paperwork in my truck.” He hands me the vase and I’m shocked when my hands reach out to take it from him. I swallow hard as he spins on his boot heel and heads toward the shop door. “I’ll be right back.” Before he’s out the door he turns and gives me a look that has my ovaries surrendering. “You do have an office, don’t you?”
He glances toward the doorway to the back of the shop. My voice is still locked up somewhere so all I can do is nod.
“Good. We can talk in your office then. Back there, right?”
He tips his head to the doorway and without my response he’s out the front door of the shop leaving me standing there holding nearly two thousand dollars’ worth of the most expensive, rare, and beautiful, roses in the world.
“Well. That was rude.” Kandi crosses her arms over her medically enhanced breasts. “Did you see how he completely ignored me? I mean, I said I’d go to dinner with him. Can you believe he—”
“Shut up.” I’m as shocked as she is that I just said that, but damn it. She’s not ruining this for me. “You can go home.”
“What?” She screws up her face and rolls her eyes again.
“I said you can go. You’re off in an hour anyway. Just leave.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna—”
“Go!” I’ve never been this rude to anyone in my life. But I feel a shift in the universe. Something's about to happen and for once in my life I’d like to actually show up for whatever it may be.
“Fine.” Kandi huffs. “I’m leaving.”
With that she’s in the backroom and I hear her mumbling as she grabs her purse and then the squeak and slam of the rear door.
When Tanner gets back I’m still frozen, holding the vase and wondering if he’s allergic to cats.
“You can set those down.” He smiles and retrieves the vase from my hands. It’s probably best, because I’m not entirely sure I wasn’t about to drop it and watch it shatter at my feet.
He’s even more amazing up close. God, I can smell him. Like a walk in the woods with a hint of man musk.
“Office?”
Like a fool, I point toward the back room, my feet still solidly pinned to the floor.
“You coming with me?” I watch his lips move under the deep brown facial hair. They are fighting a smile but even though I know it’s at my expense it’s sweet. He’s sweet. And the tension between us is about to buckle my knees.
With a hard swallow I manage to send the necessary impulses from my brain to my musculoskeletal system and my legs move. I brush him as I step past, sending my nipples clenching, and things are going on between my legs that I’m sure only happen in the most tawdry of affairs.
“Follow me.” I manage to mutter and I swear when I do, I hear him groan.
AVAILABLE NOW
R O U G H N E C K
O N E
Davis
“AND THEN, AS IF THE wind told me what to do, I opened myself to him, willing him to center his soul into mine. Driving his manhood forward, he took me in one swift, hard motion. His hands gripping my hair and driving his tongue between my lips
, halting my scream—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I shout into the cab of the truck at my friend’s voice coming through the car radio. I’ve got my phone hooked up to the audio system, but right now I’m wishing I didn’t learn how to do that shit. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m reading to you.” His deep laugh does nothing to settle me. “This fucking book was on my mom’s kitchen counter when I got home! I don’t know whether to throw up or be turned on. It’s filthy. And this is the page she had dog-eared. You want to hear more? This shit’s wild—”
“Put it away. Jesus. Don’t read another fucking word to me. When are you leaving there?” I snap. My usual grumpy nature dialed up another notch.
Donald, ‘The Tank’, Richardson and I have been friends since the moment I tossed his roughneck ass onto his first rig job. I don’t know what it was about him, but I’ve loved the little shit from the very first day, when he sang fucking old Kenny Rogers and Hank Williams at the top of his lungs while he did all the bullshit tasks I assigned.
“I’ll leave after I get laid.” He laughs. “Christ, we were on the last job twenty-six days straight. My dick’s gonna fall off.”
I roll my eyes and grip the steering wheel tighter, looking over my right shoulder before I change lanes. Driving my pick up and hauling my forty-foot home on wheels behind takes some defensive fucking driving skills. But after nearly twenty-years of moving around I’ve yet to get in an accident.
“Don’t tell me that shit. How many fucking times have I told you I don’t give a about your dick, your sex life, or now, your fucking mom’s dirty books. There is something wrong with you.” A twinge of jealousy that he has a family to go back to ticks at me.
My dad vacated my life before I was out of diapers. My mom lived a hard life, and died in a car accident coming home from her night job as a waitress the day before I graduated from high school. After that, I don’t know, I just drifted. The place where I grew up, my family’s land, isn’t even far away from here, but I guess my nature is to be on the road. After my mom died, the only real relation I had was my Aunt Becky. Mom’s younger sister and I are close in our own way. We are the only other family we each have. I check in on her at least once a month, she’s had MS for years and I know her health issues are becoming more of an issue.