Chapter Thirteen

Day Twelve

Parker wrestled with his mounting feelings toward Violet all night, but a lack of sleep was all he’d managed to accomplish for his efforts. He entered the hothouse with her the next morning with a sense of dread. Or excitement. She wished to continue her teaching. His only thought as they entered the confined space was what he could possibly teach her. But, if he could get through this session, he could put a check mark next to another item on his list and be one step closer to leaving. Unscathed and alone.

Violet snapped her fingers to gain his attention. “We do the same thing to the Lady Banks as we did for the male plant. Find a nice, healthy bloom, hold it by the base, strip away the petals carefully, and remove the pollen, which goes into its own jar.” She worked through the motions with the agility of someone competent with the process, and had the bloom denuded in a matter of minutes. She stopped to wipe the damp from her brow, and Parker took the opportunity to do the same. He couldn’t tell if the cloistered environment of the hybrid house or the nearness to Violet had been the culprit in making him sweat. The fact Violet experienced the same made him deduce the environment held the blame. She hadn’t shown any outward interest in him beyond what her father expected of her. Beyond a tentative friendship he had forged with her. Which had almost been blown apart by him taking action against Carson. Now, today, after her display of tears in front of him yesterday, she appeared awkward, as if embarrassed by her outburst.

“Now comes the fun part.” Violet picked a small brush from her apron, carefully wiping it free of any lingering pollen. A blush crept into her cheeks as she explained the next step. “I load my brush with pollen from the Scotch rose and brush it over the sticky surface of the pistil. The sticky part is called the stigma.” With a few deft strokes, she brushed a small amount of pollen onto the plant.

Parker observed her carefully. “I should be writing this all down. Although it’s very similar to humans and how they reproduce, so I get the gist of it.” Her cheeks bloomed even pinker, as he suspected they would. Time to change the subject. “Is that all? One time and done?”

The tinge in her cheeks grew deeper, almost a reddish hue. “Oh no. Once is never enough. I have to stroke on the pollen at least three or four times to assure it’s taken hold.”

“I see.” Parker stroked the leaves of the Lady Banks as his mind conjured up images best left alone. “How soon after this process do you see a result?”

She replaced the jar of pollen back on the shelf and wrote on a stick, which she placed in the dirt of the container where the Lady Banks resided. “It takes several months for the rose hips to form. Then, I break them open, remove the seeds, and plant them. But they have to grow for a number of years before I can tell if my experiment has been successful. Which is why it’s so important to keep good notes.”

“Similar to having children, then, I suppose.” Parker almost laughed at her sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t see the similarity, Parker. A baby emerges as either a male or a female, so you can tell right away what it is.” She put a hand to her ruddy cheek.

“That much is true. But it takes several years before you get a whiff of the person the child will become. For a personality to emerge. For the traits that make that person different from everyone else to formulate. I never got to find out the kind of man my son would become.” Parker ran a hand over his heart.

Her gaze caught his, and they stared at each other for a long moment. She placed her hand over his, covering his heart as well. “Your loss must weigh on you every day.”

His other hand sandwiched hers and he tugged her closer. He leaned down, finally gave in to his needs, and captured Violet's pretty pink lips with his own. He sensed her shock, her hesitation, before she leaned into him. He kept the kiss tender and gentle, imitating the softness of the rose petals surrounding them. The scent of many different roses filled his nostrils as he lifted his hand to stroke Violet’s cheek and to curl around the back of her head, drawing her closer still. After her initial hesitation, she wrapped her other hand around his shoulder and returned his kiss. Her lips were as smooth and pliant as he thought they’d be, and he teased them with his teeth until they parted and allowed him access. He shifted his head and floated his lips over her softness, his tongue entering her mouth. He could not have selected a better person to share his first kiss in eleven years, since he had left his wife’s doorstep to fight in the war, and he could not have selected a better setting than a hothouse full of roses.

He held Violet in his arms, at last ready to put his wife and son to rest. His mind screamed the warning that he should back off. After all, this woman, Violet, had already been kissed and rejected by one man. Now, he kissed her, but soon he’d leave her, too, and head back to America. Even as his mind put the thought together, he deepened the kiss, and his hand rolled down her spine. She shivered under his touch, and he came out of his haze of lust, ceasing his exploration of her body. What the hell had he been doing?

“Forgive me, Violet. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your kindness.” Parker stepped away from her, noting her tremor, despite the heat in the room.

Tears filled her eyes. “You should never apologize to a woman for kissing her. Am I so awful a kisser? Perhaps that’s why Davey showed me no interest after he sampled me.” Her voice wavered and broke on her last words.

Parker plowed a hand through his hair. “Violet, the quality of your kisses isn’t in question. It may have been a long time since I’ve imbibed, but I couldn’t have asked for better.”

“Then what, pray tell, is making you back off?” She blinked the tears away and stared at him, demanding an answer.

“If you’ll recall from the crude calendar in your office, I have only days left before I begin my return journey. I’ll have to leave you, just as Davey did. For different reasons, but the result will be the same.” His gaze softened and he couldn't resist brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You make me willing to leave the past behind and to find someone to spend the rest of my life with. But you live thousands of miles from me, and I can’t wait to head home. It will never work for us.”

Violet stared into his eyes for a long moment, her breath warm on his cheek. Then, she raised her arms, encircled him, and kissed him again. Craving for her pooled in the core of his body, and he ached for more. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss. Took his time with her this go-round. Took his fill of her. When he finally backed away, her bruised lips plumped delightfully, tempting him to come back for more. He may have initially thought he’d taken his fill, but he admitted to needing more.

“I . . . I should go.” Parker backed out of the small space, bumping into roses left and right as he scrambled to remove himself from temptation. Thorns and prickers snagged his clothing, making his withdrawal less hasty than he would have preferred. As if encouraging him to stay, to return to Violet and kiss her again until her legs couldn’t hold her up. He shook his head, closed the door to the hybrid hothouse, and barely controlled his impulse to run back to the inn. Or to retrace his steps and take Violet into his arms again.

• • •

Violet’s entire body shook as she stood in the hothouse by herself. She held on for support to the tables filled with her Lady Banks roses. Parker had finally kissed her. Really kissed her, not just on her fingers this time. She’d been able to taste the man who’d shared her space for weeks. The man she’d discussed pollination with, described in detail the process, the whole while hoping he’d show her how people performed the process. She had become damp from his kisses, become as sticky as her Lady Banks’s stigma. When he’d done the sensible thing and backed off, she’d wrapped her arms around him, begging for more. She’d been excited by his touch, yet embarrassed by her reaction. He’d expressed what she’d been hoping to forget—he had been preparing for his departure, and she didn’t play a part in it other than to help him collect the roses he needed.

Well, if he could toss her overboard with no regret, she could do the same. As soon as her body stopped shaking and her legs worked again. She would refocus, complete her work with the Lady Banks, present her findings to the Royal Horticultural Society, and become a sensation in the botanical world, as she’d set out to do long ago. She’d find a nice English fellow to marry and would discover with him all the delights of human procreation. She took deep breaths of the heavily scented air and finally left the hothouse. She marked Day Twelve off her calendar with another “x” and a sigh. Her interlude with Parker would soon come to an end. A mere handful of days ago, she would have kicked up her heels at his departure. Now the greenhouse became silent and cavernous when he left. Her empty life stretched out before her, similar to the road between Salisbury and Portsmouth.