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“Colette,” he said gently. “I enjoy you when you’re relaxed.”
She couldn’t help it. She snorted. “Oh? I thought the opposite.”
“Making you relaxed and happy is one of my greatest joys.”
She swallowed, and her desire, just barely banked, flamed to life. “I want to make you happy, too.”
“You do.”
She rolled to her side, nestled deeper into her pillow. “I’m glad.”
“Tell me, other than what we’ve done together, what do you enjoy doing? What relaxes you?”
“Do? Um. I read. And …” She didn’t want to say it. He might think her hobby silly.
“And?” he urged.
Her belly fluttered at his interest. Oh, what the hell. “I love botanical gardens. I mean, I like to discover a new one or park every week. It’s kind of a … thing I do.” Though not lately, because one tall, dark-haired man consumed her every waking moment. “It’s how I met Charlotte, actually. At Bishop’s Garden. Do you know it?”
“I do. It’s lovely. Rare. Have you seen Accendos’ gardens yet?”
“No, though I hear they’re spectacular.” Alexander Rockingham had apparently created an outdoor oasis at his home-turned-club. She’d heard it was the envy of all in Washington, DC—at least those who knew about it. Few photographs existed.
“It is,” he said. “Picture wide flagstones that weave a path through tall boxwoods and trees surrounded by roses, hibiscus, lilies … So many flower species.” His voice got a little dreamy. She didn’t expect him to be such a poet—and not about flowers. It warmed her that he’d appreciate something she also loved.
“I heard he has more than fifty Black Baccara red rose bushes.”
“Yes. I’ll take you.”
“I’d love that.” She’d love anything where he was involved, but most of all, something about making plans with him gave her hope.
“His gardens hold quite a few secrets.”
Her lips stretched into a smile. “Like what?”
“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you.” A tease colored his voice. “The place needs to be seen, experienced.”
“And you’ll take me, really?” She almost couldn’t believe it, and she silently prayed her insecurities didn’t come through in her voice.
“Of course. Much of it should be in bloom right now.”
Her heart did a little happy dance. “Thank you. The gardens sound a bit wild but still elegant.”
“Like you. But you’re more beautiful.”
Her breath hitched, and she was momentarily stunned. He’d called her beautiful before, but something felt different. Perhaps it was the conversation—the fact that they were talking about things that didn’t involve spanking or bondage. Or maybe she was like a starving rabbit needing a carrot, and he’d given it to her with his attention, admiration. Still, the knot she’d been carrying around in her shoulders instantly eased.
“What do you like to do? I mean, to relax?” she asked.
“What we’ve been doing. How’s the journal coming?”
He asked the one question she dreaded. Mood broken, she swallowed thickly. She couldn’t bear to disappoint him, so she lied. “Good.”
“I like hearing that.”
Her stomach roiled a little. She’d have to confess her lie if she didn’t get off the stick about the journal—something she thought would be easy to fill out. Instead, it sat empty, taunting her every time she glanced at it on her nightstand.
“Whatever you wrote interests me deeply, Colette.”
