The Uber driver complained about a boxy delivery truck with flashing hazards blocking most of the curb outside Jen’s building as Ryan exited into the oncoming traffic. He was damn lucky to make it to the sidewalk without getting run over or pushed down.

Two delivery guys struggled with a large, cumbersome tree that had a burlap sack wrapped around its root base. They stumbled to the building’s doors and used the intercom to gain entry. Ryan was close enough to hear the conversation.

“Howser Nursery with a delivery for Carlton.”

Carlton? Ryan’s attention was instantly captured.

“Come on up,” he heard a disembodied voice say.

Jumping into helpful action, Ryan held the door while the tree squeezed through.

“Stairs,” one of the guys barked. “Third floor. Apartment three, two, three.” They diverted from the lobby elevator and started up the stairs with their burden.

“I’ll get the door at the top,” he told them before stepping into the slow-moving elevator.

On the third floor, he noted three apartments. Two on the eastern side of the building but just one at the other end.

His eyes found Jen’s door by the brass numbers on the wall next to it. Across the wide hall was a door marked with a lit exit sign. He went to it and pulled, using his foot to prop it open as he leaned into the stairwell.

“How you guys doing?” he called out.

“Almost there, thanks,” one of them answered.

They stopped to catch their breath and wipe the sweat from their faces after carefully maneuvering the significant tree from the stairwell.

When Jen’s door opened wide, Ryan ducked behind the tail end of the tree and helped with the moving. She barked orders as he shielded his face and moved into her apartment.

“Down the hall and left to the terrace. You’ll see it.”

Unable to see much of anything except the guy in front of him, Ryan stumbled awkwardly, almost tripping over a basket overflowing with shoes, and helped the guys get the unwieldy birch tree onto the terrace. When they were outside and the guys dropped the heavy tree, he got his first look at something so extraordinary that he gasped.

An oasis of greenery and plants completely covered an enormous flagstone patio. Raised planters and an assortment of unique pots overflowed with an abundance of colors, heights, and textures.

It was like walking into a memory of his father, and he struggled from the emotional impact.

A voice he was certain belonged to Jen was barking orders. He looked at her as she waved her arms at the foreman and pointed.

His eyes narrowed. Wait a minute. What the hell? This was Jen Carlton, right? Or did she have a doppelgänger? Maybe a twin?

Ryan’s jaw cranked open as he took her in.

The uptight, suit wearing, business dominatrix with a penchant for order was nowhere to be found. In her place was a knockout babe who looked more pagan than perfect. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Starting with the floral Wellington boots that for some reason shocked the crap out of him, he drifted his eyes slowly upward over thighs that solicited filthy thoughts. It was the tattered short shorts with the pockets showing that started his brain melting. Her grungy t-shirt had seen better days—possibly in the past century.

Nothing was left of his melted man-brain after he got a good look at her hair and face.

Used to an impossibly smooth and severe hairstyle, Ryan wasn’t expecting to see her any other way. She wore a messy knot on the back of her head that seemed to be in suspended animation with loads of loose tendrils. Her cheeks were bright pink, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face and neck. Without her woman’s armor of impeccable makeup and styling, she resembled a mere mortal. A very sexy, very fuckable female who still didn’t know that he was in her midst.

Had he made a mistake by barging in? Perhaps. Though finding a different Jen than the one he expected explained why John had reacted so curiously to hearing that Ryan took her home. His brother must suspect she rocked a second and very surprising life.

Debating a hasty retreat, he hesitated a moment too long. She was waving her arms at the greenery behind him and explaining things to the workmen when she saw him. And froze.

Raking unsteady fingers through his long hair, Ryan met her shocked gaze and held firm. He saw her swallow. Noted how her pink cheeks turned a ruddy scarlet before she tightened like a screw.

The foreman didn’t know he’d inadvertently allowed an unwanted person to infiltrate his client’s hideout, so the clueless guy kept talking over her silence.

During the minute that ticked by in slow motion, he and Jen stared at each other. He tried to pin down the reactions flashing in her eyes and on her face, but only one stood out. And it looked as though, despite her annoyance, she might be a little glad to see him.

After a half an hour of grunts, groans, and shouted instructions, the large tree was upright in its concrete planter. When the work crew ran off to bring up the two smaller trees, she turned on him with a vengeance that Ryan found oddly titillating.

“You do know that I have to quit now, right? Thanks a lot, jerk face. Nice job.”

She spat at him with her hands slapped to her hips, and man, what a sight she made as she stood her ground in the absurd outfit and rained hail, fire, and brimstone down on him for invading her personal space.

Splotches of dirt were evident on her legs while a smudge decorated one cheek and extended down her chin and onto her neck. Her t-shirt was more a handiwipe than clothing, and a quick glimpse of her hands would probably make a manicurist drop like a stone.

Bottom line? Jen Carlton caught off guard was a hot mess.

He wanted to tell his dick to stop laughing and behave, but it was too late. His dormant libido came back online with one hell of a power surge thanks to the most unexpected sexual attraction of all time, complicated in no small measure by the fact he already found her mentally and emotionally stimulating. Discovering a hidden and very astonishing side to Jen was the wild card he couldn’t ignore.

“Zip it, lady. No one is quitting, and you and I have different definitions of the word jerk face.”

She squinted and gave off an air that suggested he was a half-wit. “What the hell does that even mean?”

He couldn’t believe she walked straight into the best innuendo comeback of all time.

“What? You mean jerk face?”

“Yes,” she sniped with absolutely no authority whatsoever. In her business suit and wearing a face of makeup, she was definitely intimidating. But Wellies, cutoffs, a sloppy hair knot, and a grubby shirt? No way.

“You are a jerk face,” she replied with a grouchy pithiness that made him want to laugh.

“I disagree,” he challenged.

“What?”

Her disbelief that he challenged her was funnier than a YouTube monkey video.

“You can have a jerk face, but you can’t be one.”

Again, all she said was, “What?”

Ryan gave a lazy shrug. “I thought this was something you gals discussed. The jerk face.”

Her expression was hilarious. Clearly, she thought he was a dolt.

“Are you totally … what?”

He couldn’t help the idiot grin on his face. Her confusion and indignation were making this too easy.

“Jen, Jen,” he drawled. “Surely, you know this? One must be jerking to make a jerk face.”

She rubbed her nose with a grimy hand and pushed her wayward hair out of her face. “You’re not making any sense.” Her brows bumped together. “Must be jerking what?”

Oh god, really? Had she actually gone there? He counted. One ... two ... three ... and then her face lit up with understanding.

“You are a pig,” she snarled just as the crew reappeared with a dogwood tree and something else he didn’t get a good look at.

He helped her and the work crew get the greenery situated and then wandered the terrace as she signed for the delivery. It was impossible not to be moved by her extraordinary efforts. Here, in the heart of the city, was a hidden gem. A green sanctuary that blew him away.

More memories of his dad crowded Ryan’s mind. He thought about the trees his family planted at their suburban home and remembered the two greenhouses where his father kept the high-maintenance plants that fascinated him so.

When he realized a trellis covered in vines and flowers partially obscured a second part of the terrace, he turned the corner and stopped dead when he saw the rooftop greenhouse. The city’s roof gardens were hardly a secret, but to find himself in the midst of a horticultural Shangri-La when he envisioned an Ikea commercial as her home base left him at a loss.