And I was sitting here getting hard as a rock and talking to her like she was someone I’d known for years instead of a stranger I’d met over breakfast.
I couldn’t remember the last time talking to someone had felt this easy.
That thought scared me more than the mountain lion ever had.
My gaze dropped to the blessed view of her cleavage again, and I fought to stay on my side of the spring.
It was a small hot spring, perfect for two. Just enough room for both of us to lounge across from each other. I could close the distance in a matter of seconds, slip her flimsy bra out of the way and have my mouth on her breasts if I wanted to. And based on the dewy look on her face, she’d welcome the attention.
My cock pulsed, begging me to close the distance. But I stayed rooted in place.
How old could she be? She definitely wasn’t in her thirties. Her skin was too smooth. If I had to guess I’d say she was in her mid-twenties, not a day older.
There were too many years between us for me to be thinking about her like this.
Chapter 6
Amelia
The hot water lapped against my shoulders as I tried to figure out my next move.
Grayson wasn’t making this easy. He sat across from me, all brooding intensity and careful distance, and I had absolutely no idea how to bridge the gap between us.
My eyes kept drifting to his chest where a broad expanse of tanned skin was on display above the waterline.
Water droplets clung to his skin, catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the pine branches overhead.
The scar on his face should have made him look dangerous, and it did, but there was something else there too. Something that made me want to trace my fingers along that jagged line and soothe whatever old pain still lingered beneath it.
He shifted, propping his muscular arms up on the rocky bank behind him. I forgot how to form words for a moment.
“So tell me more about these plants of yours,” he said, his deep voice cutting through my distracted thoughts. “You said you sell them online?”
The question caught me off guard, but talking about plants was something I could do. It was familiar ground.
“I started small,” I said, settling more comfortably against the smooth rocks beneath me. “Just propagating cuttings from my own collection and selling them on Etsy at first. But then I got into some of the rarer cultivars and things kind of took off.”
“Rarer cultivars?”
His genuine curiosity surprised me. Most people’s eyes glazed over when I started talking about plants.
“Philodendrons mostly. There’s this one called a Pink Princess that can sell for hundreds of dollars if the variegation is good. And Monstera Thai Constellations?” I shook my head, warming to the subject. “People go crazy for those. The variegation is so beautiful, they have creamy white splashes against deep green. I’ve been building up my mother plants for two years now, taking cuttings, rooting them, growing them out.”
“Hundreds of dollars for one plant?”
“Sometimes thousands, depending on the variety. Not that I’ve personally sold any for that amount before. But I can dream. There’s a Philodendron Spiritus Sancti that sold for nearly thirty thousand dollars once.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not.” I laughed at his expression. “I don’t have anything that rare. But I’ve got some nice specimens. Philodendron Gloriosum, Monstera Albo, a few Anthurium varieties. And I’ve been thinking about expanding into orchids. The rare species market is insane, and they’re actually easier to ship than aroids because they can handle being bare root longer.”
I realized I was rambling and felt heat creep into my cheeks that had nothing to do with the hot spring.
“Sorry. I get carried away.”
“Don’t be. It’s interesting. I’m not a grower like you, but I can identify most of the plants out here in these woods. Sometimes Ieven take tourists out on plant identification hikes if that’s what they’re into.” His brown eyes held mine. “So you’re planning to settle down somewhere warm, then? For the plants?”
There was something in his voice. A careful neutrality that felt deliberate.
