Chapter Fifteen
Emma sipped coffee from her travel mug as she turned her car off the highway toward her cousin’s cottage. This morning, Buddy sat in her lap, trying to hang his head out the window.
“You’re not big enough, yet,” Emma told him, stifling a yawn. She had given up trying to keep him on the passenger seat. If he insisted on helping her drive, she wasn’t going to argue.
Juliette’s mailbox stood at the end of a dusty path near the road. Vines and flowers wound around the post, covering the box in bright yellow blooms. If anyone knew Juliette, they could tell where she lived just by looking at it. When Emma was a little girl, she used to imagine her cousin was the goddess of the spring, and everywhere she stepped, flowers bloomed. While that wasn’t quite true, it was close enough. Juliette could make anything grow and thrive.
Rosebushes lined the road that led up to Juliette’s house. Even for early June, the bushes overflowed with a profusion of colorful blooms that dazzled the eyes.
Emma parked her car in the drive next to a few other cars. It was only eight o’clock in the morning, but Juliette rose with the sun and she liked to start the planting early. Every year, right before the summer festival, Juliette held a flower-planting party. She was in charge of the two dozen potted flowerpots that would line Front Street during the festival. The pots of flowers would be placed at intervals near shop fronts to help add an air of festivity to the event.
While this might have seemed like a small thing to most passersby, it was a big deal to Juliette and the merchants. Of course, a larger maintenance crew would swoop in and add hanging baskets to all the lampposts, but this tradition of planting flowers with Juliette had gone on for years. The flowers were always gorgeous, never wilted in the hot sun, and were guaranteed to bloom and thrive throughout the summer.
Emma grabbed her coffee in one hand and the basket of muffins in the other. Buddy hopped onto the grass, tail spinning in a happy circle. He immediately began investigating the rhododendron bush that flanked Juliette’s front porch. From the sounds of laughter and good-natured banter going on behind the cottage, it was clear the planting party was already in full swing. Last year, Emma missed the party because she had no one to cover the shop. This year, she was grateful Molly had volunteered to open. It had been hard to keep things running all by herself, and Emma thanked her lucky stars every day since Molly had stepped in to help.
Juliette came floating down her front steps holding a pair of gardening gloves. She wore a gypsy skirt and no shoes, which was pretty typical of her, given that it was late spring. Juliette liked to feel the earth beneath her feet when she walked, and she only wore shoes when completely necessary.
She gave Emma a quick hug. “You made it.”
“Barely. I’m only on my first cup of coffee, so don’t expect coherent speech.”
“Babble all you want, honey,” a warm voice called. “No one’s going to care, because you brought muffins.” Romeo Rossi, the owner of the flower shop where Juliette worked, approached from the side yard with Buddy at his heels. He was a handsome man in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair, tanned skin and impeccably tailored clothes. It was unusual for an island local to wear collared shirts and pressed slacks, but Romeo was the exception. People often said he looked like an old Hollywood film star. He was also funny, pragmatic, and one of the kindest people Emma knew. If he wasn’t gay, she’d have tried to woo him with cupcakes, long ago.
He gave her a Rhett Butler smile and took the basket of muffins. “I’m starving, so I plan on eating at least three of these. They’re zero carbs, right?”
“Zero,” Emma said, straight-faced. “And they also have negative calories.”
“Perfect. I knew I could count on you. What’s their superpower?” Romeo was a staunch believer in the Holloway charms, given that he worked with Juliette on a daily basis.
“They inspire productivity.”
“Oh, thank God.” He put his hand on Emma’s shoulder and lowered his voice in a stage whisper. “Have you seen the motley crew Juliette has here this morning? They’re going to need all the motivation they can get.”
“It’s true,” Juliette said with a sigh. “You should have made a double batch, Em.”
Romeo glanced down at Buddy, who was eyeing the basket of muffins with laser-beam focus. “Come on, little dog. Let’s go feed the rabble.” He turned and headed toward the side yard with Buddy trailing after him.
Emma followed Juliette inside. Her cottage always smelled like a greenhouse. The damp, pungent scent of fresh earth permeated the air, punctuated by sharp notes of lavender, green herbs, or flowers, depending on where you were standing. Emma inhaled, grinning. Aside from her own house, Juliette’s cottage was her favorite place on earth.
“Who’s all here?” Emma asked, following her down the hall.
“Um, about that.” Juliette spun around to face her. “I may have invited a new person.”
Emma stopped fast, her coffee sloshing on her fingers. She narrowed her eyes. “What new person?”
A burst of laughter erupted from inside the kitchen, and Emma heard loud clapping. She pushed past Juliette to see Hunter standing outside on the back patio in a frilly pink apron.
All at once, he looked out of place, yet perfectly at home. And scrumptious. In jeans and a gray T-shirt, with Juliette’s gardening apron tied around his waist, he should have looked ridiculous. But the apron just seemed to accentuate his muscular physique. Impossible as it was, he had somehow succeeded in making pink polka dots look masculine and sexy. Emma took a gulp of coffee. Hot guy in frills. Who knew?
“Do it again.” Gertie laughed. She was standing beside her husband, Walter, with a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
Hunter stood on the patio holding three hand shovels. He tossed one into the air, then the next, until he was neatly juggling all three. The small shovels were all sharp edges and angles but he kept up the steady rhythm, expertly tossing and catching, while Gertie and Walter let out enthusiastic praise. With a final flip of one hand, he caught them all together, took a bow, and came up laughing.
Emma couldn’t find her voice. Hunter, laughing. It was . . . mesmerizing. Gone was the calculating look in his eyes, the serious expression, the hard-edged businessman. Standing in Juliette’s backyard, he just looked carefree and happy. Tiny ripples of pleasure shot through her, warming her insides. She tamped the feelings down and took a huge gulp of coffee. Calm and steady, Holloway.
“Where’d you learn to juggle like that?” Walter called.
Emma stepped onto the patio. “Clown school?”
Hunter’s mouth quirked up at the corner when he saw her and his green eyes sparkled with laughter. “Nah, I quit clowning a couple years ago. I try not to think about that time in my life.”
Emma fought not to smile. It wasn’t easy.
Gertie came onto the patio with a tray of lemonade. “Did you say clowns taught you to juggle?”
Hunter took the tray from Gertie, setting it on the breakfast table under the huge maple tree. “No, back in college I had a roommate who was a bartender. He and I used to compete with each other on who could juggle the most bottles without breaking them.”
Emma watched them talking and laughing. He looked so at ease in Juliette’s garden, but he didn’t belong there. The annual planting party was their thing. It was weird to see him fitting right in with everyone else. Sam Norton lounged on a gliding patio chair, talking with Romeo and two of the older men from the fire station. Some of the firefighters’ wives were setting out platters of bagels and doughnuts on the table, while Buddy wandered the yard. Hunter said something to Gertie, then went to help James Sullivan, the bartender from O’Malley’s Pub, carry in the terra-cotta pots from his pickup truck.
It all felt so normal, but it was just wrong. If everything went according to plan, Hunter wasn’t even going to be around for much longer. He shouldn’t be getting all involved in their traditions.
Emma went back into the kitchen where Juliette was filling a large coffee urn.
“What were you thinking?” Emma demanded.
Juliette gave her a vacuous smile. “That everyone needs coffee?”
“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it,” Emma hissed. “Why is he here?”
Juliette shrugged. “Because when I ran into Sam at the pub yesterday, Hunter was there, too. And Sam started asking what time the party started, and then he did his whole, ‘Oh hey, son, you should come along, shouldn’t he, Juliette?’ blah blah blah thing. You know how Sam gets.”
Emma sighed. She knew Sam all right. The old man loved the community. He was always trying to get people to gather and celebrate things. For Sam, it didn’t really matter what the celebration was, as long as it brought people together. Baby christening? Splendid! What time should we show up? Your dog had puppies? Marvelous! When’s the birthday party? One time, Sam even convinced the veterinarian’s office to have a memorial service to honor the town’s oldest rooster—an ancient, crotchety thing—who had finally met his end when he decided to cross the road in the path of an oncoming truck.
“I wish you had told me last night when I called,” Emma said. “If I knew he was coming, I’d have stayed home.”
“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I thought you might come up with some excuse, so I decided to omit that bit of information. Besides, think of it as temporary. You’re supposed to act nice and get along, remember? This might be a good way for you to butter him up.”
Emma didn’t like it, but Juliette had a point. It would be a good way to make Hunter feel right at home, without having to exert so much personal energy. It was a party, after all. Everyone was gathered together for a common purpose: potting the flowers for the shop storefronts along Front Street. That was all.
“Here,” Juliette said. “Take this coffee to the breakfast table, will you?”
Emma took the urn outside, careful to avoid Hunter. Juliette’s garden looked like something out of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. The grassy yard was surrounded by flowering bushes, with a huge maple tree at one end. There appeared to be no order to any of the plants and flowers, yet everything seemed to exist in harmony. Lilac bushes grew as tall as small trees on one end, right alongside lavender plants and roses. Here and there, fiery pink azaleas bloomed beside tulips and daffodils. There was an arching trellis of jasmine in the corner, and snapdragons along the borders. If anyone cared to point out that some of those flowering plants were out of season, Juliette just laughed and told them she had a green thumb. A select few believed it had something to do with the Holloway gifts, but most people attributed it to lots of hard work and planning.
Hunter and James were setting up the large flowerpots along one side of the garden.
Emma spent a few minutes talking to Sam, trying not to notice the way Hunter’s arm muscles flexed under the weight of the planting equipment.
Sam’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “And who’s this, then?” He grinned down at Buddy, who was attacking Sam’s shoelace.
“This is Buddy,” Emma said. “I’m taking care of him until I can find him a good home.”
Sam reached down to pet him. The puppy put both paws on Sam’s knee, wagging his tail furiously. “I like this little guy,” Sam said. “He’s a smart boy, aren’t you?”
Buddy would have agreed, but he caught sight of a squirrel and shot off toward the edge of the garden in a flurry of barking.
Hunter glanced over at Emma and smiled. Again, she felt that zing of warmth all the way to the tips of her toes. Juliette’s stupid jasmine potion sure had done a number on her. Maybe it was affecting him the same way. Maybe that’s the only reason his gaze seemed to linger on her. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Except it wasn’t. Because she wasn’t wishing for it. That would be stupid.
She tore her gaze away and smoothed her sweatshirt down over her hips. Why did she have to wear the crappy jeans with the hole in the knee, today of all days? They were baggy and old, and she had much cuter jeans in her closet. She needed a do-over.
“How are things going with Hunter?” Sam asked.
“Nothing!” Emma felt her ears grow hot. “What?”
Sam’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “How are things going with the summer festival preparations?”
“Yes. Good, good,” Emma said quickly. “Everything’s going great.”
“He seems pretty intent on making a splash here,” Sam said. “What do you think about his ideas for the festival?”
Emma wanted to tear them down, but she couldn’t. Even though she had her own reasons for wishing Hunter would leave, she had to admit his ideas were fantastic. And the money he had donated to clean up the wharf was going to make a huge difference. “I think it’s going to be the best festival we’ve ever had.”
Sam beamed, the tips of his ears turning pink in his wrinkled face. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”
“Okay, everyone!” Juliette marched into the yard. “You all know the rules. Except you, Hunter. You’re a newb, but you’ll catch on. The idea is to be as creative and colorful as possible. Plant the flowers with the taller greenery toward the back, the lower-blooming flowers toward the front. If you need any help with the design, I’m here. If you need any help lifting heavy objects”—she jerked her chin toward Hunter and James—“ask them. Sam, you’re in charge of the breakfast table. Keep an eye on it and don’t let anyone loiter.”
“Jeez, Juliette. You sound like a drill sergeant,” Gertie said.
Juliette put her hands on her hips. “We’re on a mission here. I want these finished before noon so we can get the barbecue started. So behave or I’ll make you run laps with him.” She pointed to Buddy, who was gleefully circling the perimeter of the yard like an Indy 500 speed racer.
“All I want to know is, what’s for lunch?” Walter asked.
“New York steak.” Sam beamed. “Hunter brought some over from Sawyer’s butcher shop.”
“And grilled portobello mushrooms,” Juliette added. “For the herbivores in the group.”
“Yeah, I think that’d just be you, Juliette,” James called, hefting a wheelbarrow full of potting soil. “No sane person wants grilled mushrooms when steak’s on the menu.”
“Good. More for me.” Juliette clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s get to work.”
For the next hour, Emma focused on choosing which plants she wanted from the palettes of flowers, occasionally stopping by the breakfast table for more coffee. The atmosphere was lighthearted and easygoing, and the conversation ebbed and flowed in a lazy rhythm that soothed all her initial worries about having Hunter there.
“Are you ready for this?” His deep voice startled her out of her thoughts. He set the wheelbarrow of potting soil next to the terra-cotta pot on the grass in front of her.
Emma sat back and rubbed her hands on her faded jeans. “Thanks.”
Hunter began filling the pot with soil from the wheelbarrow. Emma watched him under her lashes, trying not to notice the way his muscles bunched and flexed from the weight of the shovel. His arms were like Thor’s in that movie, which was really saying something. Emma and Juliette had argued for days over who was sexier: Thor or his brother, Loki. Emma was team Thor, all the way. No contest.
Hunter paused and balanced his hammer in one hand. Shovel. Shovel in one hand. “Do you want more?”
Lots more. “No, I think that’s good.”
“Here, let me help you.” He kneeled on the grass beside her.
Emma was acutely aware of his body, the nearness of him, the heat of him. She felt loose-limbed and shaky, but in a delicious way that made her want to giggle. Cripes. Juliette’s jasmine fiasco had really screwed with her senses.
Hunter looked at the plastic cups of seasonal flowers with reluctance. “So how does this work?”
“You . . . plant . . . them?” Emma said with deliberate slowness. “You know, in the dirt.” She gestured to a cup of pink flowers. “And then they grow.”
Hunter handed her the plastic cup of flowers, his mouth tilting up at the corners. “You don’t say.”
She tried not to stare at his mouth. “Haven’t you ever planted anything?”
He shrugged. “Not that I can remember.”
“Not ever? Not even when you were a kid?” It seemed weird to Emma, who had grown up around Juliette. As kids, they were always running around, digging in the dirt.
Hunter shook his head and handed her another cup of flowers. “We had gardeners.”
Oh. Of course he did. “I should have guessed that.”
“It’s not like I didn’t play in the dirt,” he continued. “I mean, I was a regular kid. Climbed trees, skinned my knees, that sort of thing. But the gardens were off limits. My parents wouldn’t have wanted me to interfere with the ‘aesthetics,’ as my mother called it. I could pretty much do whatever I wanted as long as it didn’t cause a dent in the glorious landscaping. Same rules applied inside the house.”
Emma set the flowers into the soil and glanced up. “Sounds like a lot of rules for a little kid.”
“A lot of rules to break.” He gave her a wicked smile that made her toes curl in her tennis shoes. He wiped his hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt. Somehow, it only magnified the rugged, outdoor vibe he was channeling. “I was in trouble a lot.”
“Glad to hear it. I’d think less of you otherwise.”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Once, my GI Joes waged war against my mother’s tulip garden right before her summer gala.”
Emma could just see him as a little boy, thrashing through the flower beds. “I’m guessing the tulips lost.”
“They never stood a chance.”
She tried not to grin, but failed.
“It was total annihilation,” he continued. “Flower carcasses all over the grass, dirt and debris everywhere. My mother was crying into her martini, but there wasn’t anything she could do because the guests were already on their way. The mayor was the first to arrive. His wife slipped and fell in the mud.”
“Your parents must have been furious.” Emma laughed.
“They stuck me with the nanny and didn’t talk to me for a week.” He said it in such a lighthearted way, but Emma could feel the darker, sadder emotion behind his words. How lonely he must have been. “My father called me a tornado on two legs, but what was I to do? Those GI Joes were a bloodthirsty lot. I was just a pawn in their scheme.”
“Was it just you?” she asked. “No brothers or sisters?”
“No, but that was a good thing. My parents always said trying to handle me was like herding cats. They never did get the hang of it. Even after they divorced, they each kept a full-time nanny.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly.
He shrugged. “I was fine. I had friends, and did a lot of sports in school. It kept me busy and out of trouble.”
Emma tried to imagine what it must have been like for him to have two parents who felt he was constantly in the way. Growing up, she always thought it was tough having both her parents gone. But at least she had her grandmother, who had loved her completely. Maybe that was better than having to live every day knowing you were a burden.
“Well, someday when you have kids,” Emma said, “you can let them run wild all over the yard to make up for all those pesky rules you weren’t allowed to break.”
The humor died on Hunter’s face.
“Oh, do you already have kids?” Emma felt as if the world slowed on its axis and she held her breath. It made no sense, but somehow his answer mattered to her.
“No, I don’t have kids. And I don’t plan on it.” Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable with the direction the conversation was going.
“Well, you never know.” She turned her attention back to the planting. “Some people start out saying that, and then change their minds. When Gertie and Walter first got married they never wanted kids, but then they decided—”
“I don’t plan on ever getting married.”
“Ah.” Emma concentrated on laying another row of flowers in the terra-cotta pot. For some reason, his declaration bothered her. If there was one thing she knew about life, it was that anything could happen. Maybe for people like Hunter, with grand bank accounts and worldly views, there was some secret bargain they could make with the universe. Some kind of pact to ensure that all their plans succeeded. If there was such a thing, the universe never offered it to her.
“You seem to have it all worked out, then,” Emma said. “Must be nice, knowing exactly what your future holds.” Was that sarcasm in her tone? Maybe a little.
He shrugged. “I just know marriage is not a path I want to go down. It didn’t work for my parents and it wouldn’t work for someone like me.”
“Someone like you,” Emma said, tilting her head and studying him. “Where have I heard that before?”
It took a few beats for his dark expression to lift, but when it did, wry humor lit his face.
It was like watching a light go on inside him. As much as she wished it didn’t matter, she couldn’t deny that it gave her pleasure to see the darkness fade and humor take its place.
“When we were kids,” she said, “I once talked Juliette into planting M&M’s under a wild rosebush because I wanted an M&M tree.”
His mouth tilted up at the corners. “And how did that work out?”
Their faces were so close, Emma could see the myriad shades of green in his eyes, noting a thin streak of amber in one. She shivered, trying to pretend his nearness didn’t affect her. It had to be the stupid jasmine potion. She’d be so glad when that disaster finally wore off. Usually Juliette’s small potions only lasted a few days.
“No M&M tree,” Emma said brightly, ignoring her shaky hands as she placed the last cup of pink flowers along the border of her flowerpot. “But the roses smelled exactly like chocolate after that.”
“Well, maybe you didn’t plant the right kind of M&M’s,” he said. “You have to get the organic, cage-free kind. Picked fresh from the vine.”
She sat back on her heels. “Oh, is that right?”
He nodded, his expression serious. “Uh-huh. It’s common knowledge. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
“You think I’m making this up, don’t you?”
The pirate smile was back in full force. “Not at all.”
He didn’t believe her. She could tell. On anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared. People had such a hard time believing in magic. But for some reason, she wanted him to believe.
“Okay, then.” She tossed the hand shovel in the soil and stood up fast, slapping dirt off her hands. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
* * *
Hunter followed her without a second thought. There was no man on earth who could resist Emma Holloway with that mischievous grin on her face. She led him around the front of the house to the edge of the woods. The sun was high in the sky already, but the woods were dark and cool. Beckoning to him, she stepped into the shadows.
He followed her through the deep green foliage. She looked like a forest nymph from a fantasy film, winding through the trees, her hair glowing gold in the dappled sunlight.
They had barely gone a few yards when the tiny footpath opened into a sunny clearing. A wild rosebush grew in the center near an old wooden bench. He watched as Emma strolled over to the bench, then turned.
She was standing in a stray sunbeam, the light kissing her rosy skin and sparking off her head. “Prepare to be amazed.”
He already was. There was no denying the attraction he felt for her anymore. He could still ignore it; in fact, he planned to. But he wasn’t stupid enough to pretend it didn’t exist. She was hands down the most alluring person he had met in a long time. A gorgeous bundle of contradictions. One minute she was cool and standoffish, and the next she slayed him with her intoxicating smile and genuine kindness.
Emma picked a wild rose and brought it over to him. Her eyes were shining with laughter and she held it out.
He took it. What was going on? Was she romancing him? There was no way. She barely liked him.
“Go on,” she said, nodding to the flower. “Smell it.”
Hunter’s eyes never left her face, but he bent to the small red rose. It smelled deliciously sweet. Like a Hershey bar. He frowned down at it. “What is this?”
Emma put her hands on her hips and grinned. “What did I tell you? This is the rosebush where we planted the M&M’s.”
He sniffed them again. They really smelled like chocolate. Weird. “What species is this?”
“Who knows,” Emma said as she began gathering a few of the flowers into a bouquet. “You’ll have to ask Juliette. I love them though.” She bent her head to the roses and inhaled. “I could just eat them, you know?”
Hunter’s heart thumped hard in his chest. She was too luminescent; too lovely, even in her old jeans and blue sweatshirt smudged with potting soil.
He could hear the muted conversations from the group at the back of the house, but it was quiet in the clearing where they stood. He felt like they were in their own little microclimate, and she was the sun around which everything revolved. He stepped a little closer, because she was smiling up at him and it was too hard not to gravitate toward all that warmth.
He glanced down at her mouth. So sweet and soft. What if he stole just one kiss? The thought came out of nowhere.
“We should probably get back,” she said quietly.
“Probably.” Hunter didn’t move. He still held the wild rose in one hand, his other hanging loose at his side, fingers itching to touch her.
She took a shaky breath.
He dragged his gaze up from her mouth.
Their eyes locked.
With infinite slowness, he closed the gap between them and reached his arm around her waist, settling his hand on her lower back. He felt as though he were in a trance, like everything else faded around them and the only thing he could see clearly was her. She was warm and soft, and touching her felt right. A thrill shot through him when she didn’t resist. He pulled her body flush against his and she exhaled on a tiny sigh.
Emma tilted her head back, her eyes half closed, her breathing shallow. The scent of chocolate and honeysuckle surrounded him and the urge to taste her was so strong, he almost groaned out loud. If he didn’t kiss her now, he’d go mad. The rose fell to the ground, forgotten, as he wrapped both arms around her and lowered his head.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
When he lowered his lips to hers, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer. For the briefest, most blissful of moments she brushed her lips against his. The whisper-soft touch of her mouth on his was intoxicating. He was drowning and he never wanted to come up for air. This was heaven.
Emma yanked away, breathing hard.
Hunter blinked, frozen in place. Most of his mind was still mush and the only thing that seemed to matter was getting closer to her.
“Fake.” She shook her head with a nervous laugh. “This is all fake. It’s not real.”
Hunter strained against his desire to hold her again, forcing himself to find his voice. “What?”
Emma gestured to him and her. “This whole thing you’re feeling,” she said in a rush. “It’s because of Juliette’s jasmine potion.”
He frowned and stared down his nose at her, struggling to get his breathing under control. “What?” he repeated in irritation. She wasn’t making any sense and he didn’t like how nonchalant she was acting, as if the tiniest, almost-kiss didn’t affect her the way it had affected him.
“This,” Emma insisted, wagging her finger back and forth between them. “This whole wanting-to-kiss-me thing? It’s because you slammed into me on that running trail and that jasmine spilled everywhere. Remember?”
“I remember,” he said. “But I don’t see how—”
“Trust me,” Emma said, a nervous smile on her face. She nodded and stepped back, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “Juliette put an attraction spell on that jasmine vial that day, and then it spilled on us. But don’t worry. It was an accident. Anything you’re feeling right now will fade in a couple of days. This isn’t real.”
Hunter took a breath, then let it out fast. “Are you trying to tell me that your cousin made some kind of love spell and that’s why . . .” he trailed off, shaking his head.
“Yup.” She forced a laugh. “Crazy, right?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. It was crazy, all right. Because it was a ridiculous notion. Love spells were make-believe and this desire raging through his blood was very, very real.
“Anyway, it wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said, shrugging. “Sorry for the inconvenience. But it’ll be over soon.” She waved a hand as though to brush the situation away like a piece of stray lint, and started back toward the house.
Hunter stood rooted to the spot, stunned by his desire to grab her and spin her around and finish what he started.
Sorry for the inconvenience?
Her sweet, intoxicating scent still surrounded him, permeating all thoughts except his desire to take what she had almost given. He jammed his hands on his hips and glared at the ground, waiting for his breath to steady. It didn’t. Her bouquet of roses was scattered at his feet and he bent to gather them up.
It was almost as if an invisible string had somehow woven her and him together, and the farther she walked away, the more agitated he felt. Jasmine potion, my ass. She could blame it on whatever the hell she wanted, but he knew desire when he felt it. And he knew what it looked like when he saw it. There had been desire in her eyes. She felt the attraction, too, whether she wanted to admit it was real, or not.
He caught up with her just as they emerged from the woods into Juliette’s front yard.
“Here.” He held out the flowers. “You forgot these.”
“Thanks,” she said breezily, not meeting his eyes. He wanted to say something, but what could he say? The moment was over and she clearly didn’t want to talk about it. But he’d be damned if he’d apologize for it. It had felt too good to hold her, and he wasn’t going to take that back, even if he knew it couldn’t go anywhere.
Hunter followed her back to the house, swearing under his breath. So that was it, then. They were going to pretend nothing happened. Technically, nothing did happen, idiot. He scowled, frustration and desire tangling inside him like dangerously crossed wires on a ticking bomb. Was he mad at himself for almost kissing her, or mad that he didn’t get the chance?
He entered the backyard and his gaze flew directly to Emma, who was already back at her post, planting. A tiny frown creased her brow and she wasn’t making eye contact, which was just as well. If she turned those gorgeous gray eyes on him again he’d likely forget to be cautious and end up panting after her like the puppy.
He walked over to her and picked up the shovel.
“You can take some of that soil over to Gertie and Walter now,” she said, not looking up. “I’m finished.”
Oh, was she? Anger flared, hot and bright. Well, he wasn’t damn well finished. He hadn’t even gotten started. His heart was still pinballing around in his rib cage, and the memory of her soft curves pressed against his body was burning him like a brand from the inside out. But if she wanted to pretend everything was normal, fine. He could play it that way, even though they both knew it was a lie.
Hunter hefted the wheelbarrow and left her there, trying to ignore the simmering frustration shooting through every vein in his body. He had to pull it together. God knew he had no intentions of getting romantically involved with Emma Holloway, so why was he standing in the woods trying to kiss her like a lovestruck teenager? She could try to blame it on some stupid flower potion, but he knew better. He had been attracted to her from the first moment they met. The truth was, he found her irresistible as hell, with all that golden hair he wanted to tangle in his hands as he watched her expressive eyes go dark with desire. Her lips were so perfect and lush, just the thought of possessing them, possessing her, made another bolt of lust spike inside him. The things he wanted to do to her were hot and carnal and . . . Fool! He was a complete fool. There was no room in his plans for her, and he’d do well to remember it.
It was time he focused on the real reason he came to the party.
Hunter clenched his jaw, vowing that for the rest of the day, he would work on getting closer to Sam Norton. Getting the old man to accept him as part of the community was imperative. Sam owned all the properties on the wharf, and if Hunter could somehow find a way to gain his trust, then he could gain everything.
Eyes on the prize. Nothing else mattered. For the rest of the afternoon, he would pretend that Emma Holloway didn’t exist. Not that she would care, since it was clear she planned on ignoring him, too. Maybe if they both pretended nothing had happened, the raging sense of lust would fade away. Maybe.