The sky is pale, with no obvious clouds in sight. In the distance, the sea is choppy and slate gray, foaming at the crests. I set off jogging over the rolling grasses to where West’s greenhouse hunkers, almost as big as the manor itself, the wind whipping at my dress.
It makes sense that the greenhouse is so huge, I suppose. The rare and exotic plant samples that West has collected from around the globe are his most treasured guests on this island. Certainly he never seems to invite humans round. My mouth twitches in fondness for my surly boss as I hurry along the paved path that leads to the greenhouse.
This uniform is really designed for days spent indoors, working up a sweat amid the central heating. It’s no match for the frosty winter wind, and by the time I reach the door, my teeth are chattering.
It’s unlocked. The door swings open with ahushingsound, humid warmth hitting me like a brick wall.
Thank god.
The greenhouse is stuffed to the high ceiling with what seems like a mini rainforest, complete with looming trees, dangling vines, and a thick understory of ferns, flowers and other plants. Birds hop beneath strange-looking bushes, and insects buzz and flit. The sound of burbling water echoes through the space, though I can’t pinpoint the source.
Paved paths wind among the foliage, sometimes looping back or leading to a dead end, and as I bite my lip and hurry through the greenhouse, it feels a little like I’m hunting the Minotaur in his own labyrinth. My heart thuds.
Is West here? Or is he back in the manor somewhere, tucked away where I won’t think to look? Has he changed his mind? Is he hiding from me again after all?
Doubts gnaw at me, eating away at the happiness in my chest, until I’m swallowing hard and forcing myself to take each step, then another; to check down each winding path and secret cul-de-sac.
I’m here now. I should at least finish looking.
Five more minutes, then I’ll take the hint and hurry back to my abandoned vacuum cleaner, queasy with hurt and disappointment.
That’s the mood I’m in when I round a corner and nearly trip over my aristocratic boss where he kneels on the path. He’s wearing a dove gray button down shirt, rolled to the elbows and loose at the collar, a moss green waistcoat and dark pants. His thick dark hair curls beneath his ears, and his beard is freshlytrimmed. The only admission to the fact that he’sgardeningrather than sitting at a desk is a pair of worn canvas gloves.
Did West dress differently for all those expeditions he went on? Surely he did.
Or perhaps he bushwhacked his way through the jungle in a three piece suit. God, I’d have loved to see that.
As I come barreling around the bend in the path, West swivels to face me, his handsome features etched with alarm. But when he sees that it’s me, that apprehension melts into something softer. Relief.
“You came,” West murmurs, then pushes to his feet. It’s an awkward, painful-looking process, what with his injured leg, but I don’t look away or pretend it’s not happening. No: I soak up every detail of the man I’ve been craving non-stop since I left his study last night.
His debonair clothes, and the piercing depth of his gray eyes. The firm line of his jaw, and the swell of muscle beneath his clothing. The fine lines at the corner of his eyes, and the salt and pepper of the hair at his temples.
How old is he, exactly? Early forties? This is a man who haslived, who has seen the world and experienced great highs and lows, and he’s staring at me like I’m someone worth coveting. As fascinating as any of his plants—and believe me, that’s high praise.
It’s a trip.
“I came,” I agree softly. It didn’t feel like a conscious choice, not really. More like a primal urge, a natural imperative, to find the man who makes every cell in my body quiver with yearning. To find him and get as close as possible.
Even now, just staring at him, surrounded by plants on all sides, it’s a heady feeling. How badly I want West. How eager I am to give himeverything.
After I left the study last night, our heated kisses felt like a dream. Like they couldn’t possibly have been real; like I must have fallen asleep in my attic bed after all and tossed and turned under the covers, overheating at the thought of my boss.
But here he is. Flesh and blood, with the same undeniable yearning in his gaze.
“Although,” I pretend to scold, propping my hands on my hips and tilting my head, “you said you wouldn’t hide from me.”
West glances around us, bemused. Like kneeling at the center of this otherworldly rainforest does not count as hiding at all.
“I always come here in the mornings,” he says.
“Well,Idon’t know that.”
There’s a lot about this man I don’t know yet. Thousands upon thousands of things, despite my nosy Googling. But for the first time in my life, I’m not already planning my next caper, or plotting my escape to sunnier pastures. I don’t wish I were somewhere else, reinventing my life for the fiftieth time. Reinventingmyself.
I’m right where I want to be.
And maybe this man is a big mystery to me, but for the first time, I want to stick around and solve him.
