It took her a lazily long and delicious forever to convince him to let himself come, too. To persuade him that he would not hurt her or scare her if he picked up the pace. She finally clawed him into action, inciting, demanding. Sinking her nails into his butt, pulling him deeper.

He finally gathered her up tightly against him, and gave it to her harder than she would ever have dreamed she would want it, but she did want it. She was transformed. No walls inside her to painfully slam against. He’d gotten past her walls. She was all softness, eagerness.

He could do as he wanted with her. She loved it all, his fierceness, his strength, his vigor, his size, jarring her, ramming into her, energy gathering, and his hoarse shout, that hot blaze of energy, pumping…

She loved…him.

The terrifying thought reverberated through her as the blast wave of their mutual climax wiped them out. When she opened her eyes, they lay side by side, limp and damp and spent. Arms and legs entwined.

He gazed into her face, touched her cheek with the tip of his finger. “I can’t believe how soft your skin is,” he said quietly.

She grabbed his hand, and kissed it impulsively, her realization shining inside her. Part pleasure, part a keen, stabbing pain.

It wanted so badly to be shared. But she couldn’t.

She snuggled up to him, hiding her face against his chest, and they stayed that way until the rays of the afternoon sun began to lengthen and turn warm gold. Finally, he brushed her hair off her face.

“Want to go and plant that Eranthis hyemalis with me?” he asked.

She was taken aback. “Right now?”

“I don’t know how much of a chance they have to root now, but we could give it a shot,” he said. “What the hell, right? I’d hate to see them just wither away without even giving it a try. Doesn’t seem right.”

She thought about that for a moment. What an ironic choice of words. And he had no clue. She could tell from his face. He was just talking about flowers. His mind was hardwired that way. Completely straightforward. Calling a flower a flower.

She didn’t know how much of a chance the two of them had to root. Not much, maybe. But she was going to give it a shot, by God.

She sat up. “Yes,” she said, reaching for her skirt. “Let’s go plant those little guys right this very minute. They deserve a shot.”

This thing of theirs was not going to wither away for lack of trying. It was just too damn beautiful and rare for such a sad and stupid end.

Chapter

7

Jack patted the earth down after setting out the last seedling and rose to his feet. “There you go,” he said. “Now we just watch, and hope.”

Vivi’s smile made him feel so strange and good. Charged with energy that crackled and glowed like a bonfire.

“Would you show me your other flowers?” she asked, hesitantly. “Margaret told me they were beautiful.”

“Sure.” He brushed earth off his hands, looked at them. He wanted to hold her hand, but it didn’t seem right, with all that dirt.

She resolved his dilemma by grabbing his hand herself.

They set out toward the river, through a clearing on the hillside that glowed with wildflowers lit from the side by the setting sun so that they glowed, dancing and flickering like flames. She hardly seemed real, wafting next to him, in that floating skirt. Something from a dream. So pretty, she hurt his eyes, bright hair streaming, cheeks so pink, lips so red. Eyes that glowing gray. Already, he felt the hot tingle of a brand-new boner coming on.

They hadn’t bothered to shower, just pulled on the minimum of clothing. Vivi seemed urgent about planting, as if something bad would happen if they lost any time. He’d seen no reason not to indulge her.

He kept looking at her, ogling, marveling. It was official. His brain had melted. He’d never even dreamed of sex like that.

After they’d gotten past the scary stuff, of course. His free hand clenched at the thought of her evil ex. How a man could hurt any woman was beyond him, let alone one like Vivi. So beautiful and scrappy and strong. She’d probably scared the shit out of the bastard. Given him a huge inferiority complex so that the dickhead felt compelled to use the one pathetic advantage he had—his greater size. Classic. Not that it was an excuse. He would pay. Jack intended to see to the matter personally.

Vivi stared up at the trees, the rays of sunlight slanting through them. Jack gazed at the perfect curve of her arched neck, the angle of her jaw. Then they stepped out of the pine thicket, into another world.

The floor of the little valley was covered with spires, buds, blossoms of wildly contrasting colors. Edna yelped and readied herself to plunge into a bank of Kniphofia. Vivi caught her collar and held her fast. “No, girl. You stay right here. Sit!”

A branch snapped in the forest, and Edna twisted out of Vivi’s grasp and bounded off into the woods to investigate.

“Come out into the field,” he offered. “I’ll show you around.”

He led her out into the field, between the beds, and pointed. “These are Kniphofia, otherwise known as red hot pokers. The Lilium auratum on the other side are almost ready. Down there are Oriental poppies, and Anthoxanthum odoratum, which is a type of ornamental grass. There’s some Centaurea cyanus and Stachys byzantina on that rise over there. Bachelor’s buttons and lamb’s ears, in common English. And see those white and blue ones? Campanula aurita. Bellflowers. And columbine, at the far end.”

She looked enchanted. “Who taught you to grow flowers?”

He hesitated. “My uncle Freddy,” he admitted. “I lived with him for a while. Until I was fourteen. He was heavy into organic gardening.”

“He grew flowers, too?”

“You could say that,” he answered.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean? He did or he didn’t.”

“Uncle Freddy specialized in cannabis. Various strains of specialty marijuana. Very profitable for him, for a while. It was a different era.”

“Oh,” Vivi said. She looked startled, but not unduly so.

“The principles are the same,” he said. “He loved plants. He knew how to give them what they needed.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“I prefer flowers,” he went on, blandly. “More color. Less stress.”

“Is your uncle still…um, never mind.”

“It’s okay. I doubt if he’s still in business. It’s more dangerous these days. And he had to leave the country one night twenty-some years ago. Haven’t seen him since. Don’t even know if he’s still alive. He’d be pushing seventy by now.” He kept his gaze averted and stroked a Campanula aurita bud. They were gearing up to bloom at any minute.

“That was when you were fourteen, you say?”

“I’m thirty-seven now. That would make it twenty-three years ago.”

“Were you there when he ran away? Was it a drug bust?”

His discomfort surged up, turning into irritation. “Yeah.”

“How awful,” she said. “What happened to you?”

He walked into the fluttering poppies. “Nothing happened to me.”

“Did he just vanish?” she persisted, following him.

“I’m fine now,” he said tightly. “Let’s leave it.”

“Excuse me,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”

Fuck. He felt like shit, but he did not want to talk about it. He was a dick-for-brains for bringing it up. Ruining their excellent mood.

A distressed yelping came from the trees. Vivi picked her way hastily through the flower beds toward the pine thicket. He caught up with her as she plunged into the trees. Her dog was whining and pawing at her muzzle.