Chapter Five #3
Rhett took a long, deep breath. He couldn’t be angry over a gift, and he had completely forgotten he’d given her a key to his house long ago.
He made a mental note to get his locks changed, knowing Delia would have had a spare key made by now.
His needs had just changed from unpacking and a hot shower to getting this gift-giving with Delia over with as quickly as possible.
He took a step back and released her hand. “So what did you get me?” he asked and pulled on his schmoozy developer smile.
“Plants,” she said with a pleased grin. “Lots of lovely house plants. You go on and have a look. I’ve been reading here in the library, so I’ll just get my things together and join you in the great room in a few minutes. The two delivery gardeners are finishing up out on the terrace.”
“Plants?” He gaped at her. “Really? I’ve been meaning to get some.”
He’d be even more pleased with her gift if he hadn’t already planned to ask Lily to shop for plants with him since she knew so much about landscaping.
Delia’s grin broadened and looked positively devilish. She waved him off. “Go on and have a look. I’ll be right there.”
Glad to put some distance between them, Rhett ventured toward the great room and cringed when he realized Delia would certainly expect carnal gratitude for her thoughtfulness.
He strode into the cavernous room and came to a stop halfway across.
The center pair of French doors stood open, and he had a clear view of his terrace.
A petite blonde clad in a denim shirt, khaki shorts, and work boots struggled to remove some kind of wrapping from an enormous twisted-trunk Ficus tree held steady by a similarly clad young man. There was something definitely familiar about the woman though she was turned away from him.
Rhett shifted to get a better look and bumped into a side table near the couch.
The woman turned and glanced back.
He stilled, frozen in place.
Lily.
Strands of her silky hair straggled free of her ponytail, and dirt smudged her cheeks, hands, and clothes, but the woman scrabbling with the brown paper wrapper was his Lily—dressed like a gardener.
Was she in cahoots with Delia over this house-warming gift? The utter shock on her face quickly turning to panic told him no, that was definitely not the case.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked, taking a step forward and then another.
Lily’s face blanched, and she stepped back from the tree. Her grubby hand covered her mouth.
“What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?” he demanded, in his construction-site-commander tone that always retrieved immediate answers and compliance. He stalked toward the terrace doorway. His hands involuntarily went to his hips.
Still, she stared with that same stricken expression.
“Answer me,” he ordered, all the impatience of his afternoon coming to a head.
His beautiful, innocent Lily was in his house and dressed like a laborer—or better yet, a street urchin—and wrangling with Delia’s blasted plants.
After watching Lily stare mutely, the young man with her blurted, “We’re delivering plants, sir. Are you the owner of the house?”
Rhett glanced briefly at the man clutching the greenery. “Yes, I am.”
The man looked nervous. “Your lady friend bought these for you as a gift and let us into the house, even drew up a floor plan on where we were to place the plants.”
Rhett was having trouble breathing. The us and we obviously included Lily, and she stared at him like a rabbit ready to run from a bobcat. And Rhett was the bobcat.
“You work for Bloom & Grow?” he managed, while staring into Lily’s panic-stricken eyes.
“Yessir,” the man answered quickly, in an attempt to soothe what he obviously considered to be an irate customer. “I’m Jason Graber, the shipping supervisor and this is—” Lily’s soft gasp stopped him for an instant. “—Lily Foster. She runs Bloom & Grow.”
A chilled wave of disappointment flooded through Rhett, followed by a glacial tide of betrayal that stiffened muscles and joints, bones and tendons. His hands balled into fists, flattened back out, and then recurled. Tightened by the icy sinews of deceit.
How?
Why?
Lily had played him for a fool, masqueraded as a Jupiter socialite to lure him to her web like a black widow lured her prey.
What an act! Right down to the innocence.
Her acting abilities were beyond compare.
He had fallen for her deception—hook, line, and sinker.
The answer to the question of why came easy. His money, of course.
Just like all the other women in my life.
“You lied to me,” he growled and stared hard into Lily’s eyes, still hoping to spot evidence of honest denial.
“No!” she cried, finally finding her voice. “I never lied! I just didn’t tell you who I was.” She choked back a sob. “I didn’t know how.”
Her distraught act came off as believable as her innocence masquerade.
He should have taken her to bed in New York when he had the chance.
She had no doubt been around the block a time or two.
Maybe if he had bedded her, he wouldn’t be so enraged he could barely see at the moment.
At least, he would have felt compensated for his time and trouble.
“You didn’t know how?” he repeated at full volume. “Or is that a game you play at the nursery? Dress up in sexy clothes and lure wealthy men into your lair to buy lots and lots of your damn trees?”
Two bright pink blotches flared in her cheeks. “How dare you!” she said indignantly. “I didn’t even know who you were when you walked in the office.”
“How dare I?” he thundered again.
Rage welled up in his chest, outrunning the aching spread of hurt and disappointment and even the sense of loss and betrayal.
Lily had played him for a sucker—the oldest game in the world.
Only after his money, just like every other woman in his life.
Except her plot had been more devious, and she had made him care about her. Oh, how he had cared.
Right now, he’d take his pick of any of his Hollywood starlets or supermodels who made no effort to couch their money-hungry tendencies in innocence or affection. He would even prefer Delia over this liar, this betrayer.
He had been played, pure and simple.
“I was going to tell you.” Lily’s eyes glistened with her crocodile tears. “I wanted to tell you from the first.”
“Could’ve fooled me because you sure had ample opportunity. Like in New York?” he sneered.
She reared back as though he had slapped her.
“I couldn’t,” she said. Real tears streaked down both cheeks. “It was all too perfect. I wanted it to last.”
The knife in his gut twisted when her eyes filled with tears. Lord, how he wanted to believe her, but women had never played fair with Rhett Buchanan from Indiantown. Women were only after his money, and for the first time in his life, he regretted being a billionaire.
“Perfect?” he growled. “How was it perfect? Like when you pretended to be a wealthy socialite? Or when you pretended to be innocent? And to get what? Did you think I’d propose to get in your bed?”
He saw the light flare in her tear-filled eyes, and his rage flamed anew. He had guessed right all along. His last hopes dashed against the steel door closing his heart back into its familiar vault.
“I’ve got news for you, lady. And I use that term loosely.” He ignored her outraged gasp. “I only wanted you in my bed. Nothing else. And now, I don’t even want that.”
He watched her lower lip quiver, and he fought back the remorse stabbing at him for hurting her. She was only playing him again.
She straightened suddenly, threw her shoulders and head back like a miniature blond general. “Good,” she said curtly, “because you’re nothing like the man I thought you were.”
What kind of man did you think I was? He found he truly wanted to know, but he would die before he asked her.
“We’ll be finished in a few minutes,” she added, in that new commanding tone, “and then we’ll leave.” All trace of tears remarkably had vanished.
Game over.
That hurt more than anything. She considered him no longer worth the effort to play her role, to cry her tears. Time for her to move on. The knife in his gut twisted anew. The embers of his anger flared white-hot.
“You’re finished now!” he roared. “Get out and take your damn plants with you! I don’t want them.”
Lily and her helper stared for a moment, both stunned at his outburst. Lily’s eyes locked with his. Agony seeped into them and then fresh tears. Her tiny hand swept up again to cover her mouth, and she bolted off the terrace and around the side of the house.
“Get out,” he hollered after her, “and don’t come back!”
Lily’s partner hovered an instant longer, still clinging to his damn Ficus tree. He finally let go of the trunk and streaked after her. Rhett never took his eyes off Lily’s path of escape.