Because of Audrey. Mary Sullivan

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СКАЧАТЬ money. “So,” he asked, “what’s so important in here that you locked yourself to the door?”

      “My life.” She decided she might as well come clean and let him see exactly how kooky she was. “These—” she swept an arm wide to encompass the tables of seedlings and plants she nurtured like vulnerable infants “—are my babies.”

      He quirked one eyebrow. “Babies?”

      Her natural defiance kicked in, and she lifted her chin and nodded.

      “This is what you do for a living?” he asked. “I thought you did something with rocks.”

      “I did. I was a geologist for thirteen years. I decided to come home to open a floral shop.”

      “Why? Geology would probably pay more than the income from a flower shop in a small town.”

      “After all these years, there’s still a glass ceiling for women in certain industries.”

      His swift glance down her body spoke of things he wouldn’t express overtly. Again, his disdain. “Did you dress like that on the job?”

      “I expressed my individuality.” She’d been defiant at work, yes, but she’d done a hell of a good job. “I paid a price for it. I worked for thirteen years at something that should only ever have been an avocation. Collecting rocks was a hobby and should have stayed that way, but I made enough to do what I really want to do.” At least, barely.

      She gestured toward her fledgling plants in this greenhouse, and the two as-yet-unfilled greenhouses beyond the windows. “I earned what I own here. I paid good money for it. I scrimped and saved and nickeled and dimed. For years I did what I had to do. Now, I’m doing what I want to do. Flowers are my passion.”

      But for the occasional self-indulgence, like the vintage Chanel suit she wore today, she’d scraped by and had put the rest into savings and investment accounts.

      Through the years, she’d even sewn her own clothes. Still did.

      She shot him a look, uncertain whether the sound he’d just made was a snort or a clearing of his throat. Either way, she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know judgment when she heard it. “There’s more to life than the bottom line. Money isn’t everything, Gray.”

      “No? You’re a romantic, Audrey. Everyone needs something to live on.”

      “True, but how much is necessary and how much overkill? Why is it no longer okay for businesses to believe that making millions is enough? Everyone wants to be the next computer geek gazillionaire, at any cost. People no longer matter, only more and more money. Insane, unreasonable amounts of money.”

      “Is that what you see is wrong with the world these days?” She thought she detected a glint of admiration in his eyes. Or maybe not. His mouth had a cynical cast to it. Surprise, surprise. Their philosophies, after all, directly opposed each other.

      “One of many things.”

      She couldn’t fix the world, but she could control her small corner of it. “I want to spread joy with my flower arrangements. I want to spend the rest of my life doing something I enjoy. I can make this business work.”

      He nodded, cataloguing that information, but why?

      His fingers drummed against his thighs, as though nervous energy hummed through his body needing an escape. “Do you dress like that when you go on dates?”

      Dates? “What does that have to do with anything?” She did, but it was none of his business. She’d had her share of boyfriends, most of them good men. She’d just never considered one a keeper. “My boyfriends have never complained about my clothes.”

      Gray shrugged and looked at the plants. “Tell me about them,” he demanded.

      She watched him and remained silent. The man had no authority over her.

      “Please.” He’d softened his tone.

      “Okay.”

      The first row held her myriad weird and wonderful mushrooms.

      “What is that?” he asked, indicating a hedgehog of a mushroom.

      “Lion’s mane,” she answered.

      “It looks like Cousin Itt,” he said, “but with shorter hair.”

      The corner of Audrey’s mouth kicked up. She’d often thought so, too.

      Gray stepped closer, using his body to make her uneasy. She was pretty sure his subtle intimidation was deliberate. Oh, please. As if that was going to work on her.

      She had to be honest with herself. To a certain extent, it did. Where with every other man on the planet she was strong, Gray left her vulnerable. The woman in her liked the man in him too much, breaking down the barricades erected between them as business adversaries.

      He unsettled her, the heat from his body penetrating the careful walls she constructed against him. He smelled clean and crisp and green, like her fields, like the forest after a rainfall.

      Even though his cologne reminded her of an earthy forest floor, of evergreens, something else hovered around him, too. Cigarette smoke. Yuck. She would have sworn the boy she’d known, who’d loved nature and impish exploration, could never turn into a man this cold and be a smoker to boot.

      Tall and fit, he loomed over her. Maybe she should be afraid, but she wasn’t. So many years ago, Gray had been her little buddy. He would never hurt her, but his heat so close to her right arm, and his sheer forceful presence, distracted her. Audrey forgot what she’d been about to say.

      This close, she noticed things about him that gave her hope he might not be stronger than her, cracks in his perfect veneer, tightness in his jaw and a tension that radiated from him like static electricity.

      He might want the world to believe he was in control, but something was bothering Gray, feeding his nervous system with darkness. She knew as surely as she recognized her own heartbeat that he was a deeply unhappy man.

      About to open her mouth to ask, What happened to you, Gray? she felt his withdrawal, as though he sensed she saw too deeply.

      He pretended a normalcy whose authenticity she questioned, and asked, “What are those?” He walked to the next row of plants.

      She swallowed her concern. If he didn’t want to confide in her, there was nothing she could do.

      “Rare orchids.” She held herself back from naming all of her orchids. Not everyone shared her enthusiasm.

      Thelymitra ixioides, with its bright blue flowers that bloomed on warm, sunny days, waited patiently for her attention. She thought of telling him how hard it would be to get it to bloom indoors, but held her tongue, wary of this über-practical man and his motives, of his probable question, So why do it?

      Whimsy. Pure utter whimsy that he would never understand.

      She didn’t want to tell this cold stranger too much, didn’t want to disclose her hopes and dreams to a man who would use them against her.

      “And СКАЧАТЬ