Beauty and the Billionaire (BILLIONAIRE BOYS CLUB NOVEL) (17 page)

No wonder he was acting wounded. “Hunter. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Gretchen.” His voice was stiff and cold. “Spare me your excuses.”

“I’m not giving you excuses, you prickly jerk. I’m trying to tell you that if you don’t want to be with me, I understand. I’m not dumping you.”

He said nothing.

“Hunter!” she exclaimed, moving to his side and wrapping her arm around his waist. “I like you. I like you a lot. But I didn’t want to assume this was more than it was.”

“You let Cooper assume.”

“Cooper’s been my friend for years, and he’s my boss at the coffee shop I occasionally work at. I have to handle him with kid gloves, which isn’t easy when he’s trying to declare his love every five minutes. I’m not interested in him.”

Hunter’s dark eyes focused on her again, his gaze narrow and suspicious, as if he couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. “Answer me truthfully, Gretchen. Are you interested in me?”

“Now that’s a silly question,” she teased, tugging on his jacket sleeve. When he didn’t relax, she realized how deadly serious he was. No amount of teasing was going to ease this situation. And for a moment, Gretchen felt uneasy. Like she was stepping into raw territory. For some reason, it was very important that she not hurt Hunter. She didn’t want to hurt him more than anything. “I like you more than I should,” she admitted quietly. “Someone like you doesn’t really belong with someone like me, but I can’t seem to stop myself when I’m with you. I want to kiss you until you’re blushing, and grab your ass every time I walk past, and do dirty, lascivious things to you.”

The stiffness in his gaze receded a bit. He regarded her for a long moment, and then his hand tightened on her waist and he pulled her against him for a hard, breathless kiss.

“Someone like you is better than what someone like me deserves,” he said gruffly.

She frowned a bit at that—she’d been talking about money and station in life. But it was clear he couldn’t see past his face. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

“I speak from experience, Gretchen. You’re the only woman who’s ever looked at me and not been revolted.”

Her hand caressed his scarred cheek, and she brushed her thumb over his lower lip. “Shall I show you just how un-revolted I am by you?”

He growled low in his throat. “You should.”

She glanced around at the empty kitchen, then grinned mischievously. “Does the door to this room lock?”

“No.”

She shrugged and began to slide backward onto the kitchen island. “Then you’d better hope Eldon doesn’t walk in on us.”

Chapter 9

“You’re never going to believe this.” Kat’s voice bubbled with excitement. “It’s wicked amazing.”

Gretchen cradled the phone to her ear and continued typing, logging her current letter. The month was creeping past entirely too fast and she was barely halfway through the enormous trunk of letters. She kept getting distracted by Hunter, though who could blame her? A sexy, delicious man who constantly wanted sex and gave her great orgasms? Every job should come with such distractions.

Still, she was behind in her work and it wasn’t going to get done unless she threw every free minute into it. “My landlord called you?”

“No. Though I did drop off that check. He was kind of pissy about it.”

“We got the payment in for the contract?”

“Better.”

“What’s better than getting paid?”

“You know Astronaut Bill number forty-two?
Astronaut Bill and the Tragedy of Europa IV
?”

“That was the one with the rampant disease, right? Yeah, I hated that book.” Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “The cover sucked and they made me write in a plotline where Bill cheats on Uranea because he thought she was dead and they needed sex in at least three chapters.”

“It hit the New York Times Best Seller list.”

Gretchen dropped the phone in shock. She stared at her computer screen for a moment, then scrambled to pick up the phone, where she could hear her agent laughing with glee. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking! You hit number thirty-four. That’s the extended New York Times list, which isn’t as great as the main list, but whatever.”

“But . . . but . . . how?” Gretchen spluttered, thinking. “The majority of the sales are through truck stops and subscriptions. I sell hardly anything through retail outlets.”

“Well, you sold a shit-ton last week,” Kat said gleefully. “The team over at Incomparable Books is absolutely thrilled and they want you to do more Bill books. As many as you can work into your schedule this year. They don’t even care that you’re late on this other one. Isn’t that awesome? Steady work!”

“Great,” Gretchen echoed, suddenly feeling a little queasy.

“Sales is trying to figure out what the spike in sales came from, but they’re super pleased. They say that if sales keep going the way they are, they might even add your name as a byline at some point.” Kat sounded impressed. “Just think. You could write under your own name.”

“Great,” Gretchen said again.

“So how many Bill books do you think you can fit into your schedule this year? I told them you write fast. At least four, I think. What do you think?”

Four more Bill books, as fast as she could crank them out? Her stomach churned. “I’m not sure. Let me look at my calendar and I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Will do,” Kat chirped into the phone. “By the way, I was going to send you flowers but I wasn’t sure if it would be apropos since you’re guesting over there. But I totally thought of flowers for you. I even bought some shoes in your honor.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Gretchen said wryly, laughing. “Call you back soon.”

When she hung up the phone, she stared at her surroundings, uncomprehending. Then, the reality of it hit her and she burst into tears.

She felt . . . trapped. God, what was wrong with her? This should have made her happy. Before today, Incomparable Books had been on the verge of booting her from their stable of ghostwriters. She couldn’t hit a deadline and her books weren’t what the fans seemed to want. They wanted Bill having all kinds of sexist, ridiculous adventures and Gretchen had a hard time writing that. But with the success of this book, it meant steady paychecks. It meant success.

It meant she was locked into that misogynistic asshole Bill for the rest of the year, and possibly several years into the future. And she should have been thrilled.

But instead, she just wept.

It was there that Hunter found her, still on the couch and crying her eyes out. “Gretchen?”

She turned to glance at the doorway and absently dashed a bit of wetness from her cheek. “Hey.”
Damn it.
Her nose sounded stuffy.

His eyes narrowed and he strode toward her, his fingers moving to lift her chin and tilt her face to him. “You’re upset.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I don’t like seeing you upset. Tell me what it is that’s bothering you.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t something Hunter would understand. “I’m fine. Really.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe her. “Is it something I can fix?”

A wry smile touched her mouth and she stood, moving into his arms. She sighed with pleasure when he wrapped her in his embrace, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “I’m not entirely sure I understand why I’m upset, myself. So no, I can’t ask you to help me fix it.”

“A distraction, then?” Hunter murmured.

“Hmmm,” she said, chuckling. “Now that has merit. What did you have in mind? What do you do to relax?”

“I don’t know if you want to do what I do. I usually exercise or work in my greenhouse.”

She made a face. “Yeah, that doesn’t exactly sound like fun to me. Sorry.”

“I think you’re not giving it a fair chance. Come on.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the library door.

Gretchen hesitated for a moment, then let him lead. She should have been working, but working was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. It was part of the reason she was so unhappy.

They headed into the greenhouse, and Gretchen was immediately hit by the humidity and the perfume of the flowers. While it had its charm, she didn’t share the fascination with plants that Hunter did. They were pretty, they were fragrant, but that was about it.

He took her hand and led her through the rows of green bushes. A hint of satisfaction was stamped across his proud features as they moved through the gardens.

“Are we here to pick me another rose?”

“Better.”

“Two roses? You rebel, you.”

“Better,” he said again. “Which roses are your favorites?”

She ran her fingers along his sleeve. “The ones you give me.”

“Do you like a particular color? Scent?”

She thought for a moment. “I liked the blue one you gave me the first day.”

“What else?”

Gretchen thought for a moment. They were always lovely, which was why she was having a difficult time deciding. It was obvious that whatever this was, it meant something to him. He practically vibrated with enthusiasm. “Which one is your favorite?”

“For you?” He led her past a row of bright yellow blooms and knelt in front of a rosebush covered with red blooms. “This one. Papa Meilland. It makes me think of you every time I see it.”

The flower’s odd name meant nothing to her, but she knelt next to him, curious. “Why?”

“The petals are like velvet, the color a deep red like your hair, and no other rose that I own smells sweeter.”

She smiled at him. “All very good reasons.”

“It’s also one of the more difficult ones to grow.”

She snorted. “You calling me difficult?”

“It’s a fragile flower. It looks beautiful and hardy, but even the smallest of ailments can bring it down. It reminds me that some things require a bit more thought and care.” He smiled over at her, another one of his rare yet charming smiles. “It’s a challenge, but there is no rose sweeter when it blossoms.”

“That’s beautiful, Hunter. Who knew you would get so poetic over flowers?”

“Not the roses,” he said, giving her an intense look that made her toes curl a little.

“So what did you want to show me?”

“One of my passions is the hybridization of roses.”

“Wow. Sounds . . . um, boring. I think.”

He ignored her lack of enthusiasm, still stroking the soft petals of the red Papa Meilland rose in a way that made her panties damp. “I wanted to choose something you’d like. I’d like to create you a rose.”

Now he had her interest. “Create me a rose?”

He got up and gestured at a nearby stone bench. She followed him and was surprised when he sat in the center of it, leaving no room for her to sit. At her raised eyebrow, he gestured at his knee.

Ah, he liked it when she sat in his lap, did he? Gretchen smiled and gave an exaggerated wiggle as she slid into his embrace, her ass nestling against him.

“Hybridization,” he said, brushing her hair off her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her through the fabric of her T-shirt. “Is how all the different varieties of hybrid tea roses are created. They’ve been bred and crossbred with each other for the best qualities—long stems, bright colors, lovely scents. I’d like to see if I can cross a rose just for you.”

“I’m always game for a present,” Gretchen teased. “So when do I get to see my rose?”

He chuckled, and she warmed. Was it her imagination or did he seem more quick to laugh and smile now? “These things take time. It’s a slow process of pollination and experimentation. I’ll have to take one of the Blue Girl roses—that’s the one you liked—that’s budding and force it open—”

“Pollination, experimentation, and forcing petals? Sounds kinky.”

To her surprise, he reached across her front and lightly tweaked her nipple to shush her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. “You do that to prepare it for pollination from the other rose. They’re covered to prevent them from being pollinated from another rose.”

“Rose condoms. Gotcha.”

He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe. His fingers continued to tease her nipples through her clothing, and she felt him hardening against her buttocks. “Do you always interrupt?”

“Yes. But don’t let that stop you.”

“I won’t. Do you want to hear more?”

“Absolutely,” she breathed. “This is as dirty as those letters I’ve been reading.”

He chuckled again, which never failed to cause her to squirm with pleasure. “We want the Papa Meilland to bloom and mature. Once it has, we take the pollen from the Papa Meilland and transfer it to the Blue Girl. We let the Blue Girl go to seed, collect those, and plant them to see what we’ve created.”

“Hmm,” she said, her voice breathy with distraction from his touch. “This isn’t a fast hobby, is it.”

“I’m a patient man.”

“You think long term, don’t you?” If what he was saying was true, it’d definitely be months—maybe even years—before her rose ever came to fruition. Would they even know each other by then? She’d be long gone.

For some reason, that sent a stab of unhappiness through her. She turned her face slightly, offering her lips for a kiss. She wanted to be taken hard and rough by him to forget all about her troubles.

But the kiss he pressed on her lips was light, soft, and tender, the barest brush of his mouth across hers. “I love you, Gretchen. Don’t be sad.”

He loved her? All breath escaped her lungs. She stared up at him in surprise. “Hunter, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” His hands continued to caress her, moving all over her body, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “I’ve never met anyone like you. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never feel as deeply for anyone as I feel for you right now. You bring light and sunshine to my life. I’m not telling you that I love you to make you unhappy. I’m telling you thank you. Thank you for coming into my life.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped when he pressed a finger to her lips.

“Don’t say anything, Gretchen,” he murmured. “I’m a practical man. I never thought to have a woman in my life, ever. I thought my face would turn off any woman worth having. I never thought I would be lucky enough to meet someone like you. I have no illusions as to what this means to you, but for me, it is the world.”

She smiled softly at him and snuggled closer. “Sounds like fate’s brought us together.”

“Yes,” he said, and his voice was curiously dry. “Fate.”

***

I
love you most ardently, my dearest. It’s becoming impossible for me to spend even a day without you. This is interminable, these endless partings between us. I ache to be with you. My love grows every moment of every hour, much like my passion for you. I—

Gretchen put the letter aside with a sigh. For some reason, reading the endless declarings of adoration and oversexed adulations of Lula and Ben were bothering her today. Maybe she’d woken up in a bad mood. She thought of the way that Hunter had woken her up that morning—with a kiss and his hand between her legs. Nah, that hadn’t been it.

Maybe it was the rapidly mounting piles of work and her ever-approaching deadlines.

Or maybe it was because she felt like a jerk.

Lula and Ben were clearly in love. Wildly, passionately in love. Every day they wrote letters to the other, going on and on about how much they loved each other and wanted to be together. And last night, Hunter had declared his love for her.

And she’d sat there and stammered like an idiot.

It wasn’t surprising that this had happened. They were spending a lot of time together. Pretty much every moment that one of them wasn’t working, in fact. They were having an intense sexual relationship. And on top of that, she was Hunter’s one and only sexual relationship. Of course her lovely, scarred virgin had fallen in love with her. The question was, why did that make her feel like an ass?

He’d told her that she didn’t need to declare love for him.

She’d only known him for three weeks.

He was a man with Issues with a capital
I.

And yet . . . he was really wonderful for her. He looked at her as if she were the smartest, funniest, sexiest woman he’d ever met. He listened to everything she said, laughed at all her jokes, and blushed when she deliberately tried to make him blush. Sex with Hunter was some of the best she’d ever had—and what he lacked in experience, he was more than making up for in enthusiasm and intensity. He always made sure that she came. He was rich, handsome, and devoted.

So what was her problem?

Gretchen fiddled with the letter, thinking. Her gaze moved to the rose on her desk—a Papa Meilland. She recognized the dark, velvety petals and her body flushed, remembering yesterday in the greenhouse.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t fall in love with Hunter. She could very well see herself falling for him.