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“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 st
ems, 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.”
