8. Birdie
Birdie
Chapter 8
Armed with a watering can, I closed Lavender Lane for an hour at lunch and set to work tending my flowers. I bought the crumbling old cottage when I was twenty-one years old, with a head full of floral dreams. The glassed-in porch attached to the house had been in shambles and in desperate need of some TLC to turn it into the greenhouse I’d been fantasizing about for years.
I replaced the grimy and broken windows. Scrubbed away the mildew gathered in the corners. Ripped out the rotten floorboards from years of water damage. Now the porch served as my sanctuary, an escape from the shop with a chair and a table tucked in one corner. Every shelf was full of plants—trailing nasturtiums in lush reds and golds; lacy sprays of baby’s breath; perky pink miniature roses; and elegant arches of orchids in an array of colors.
A door led outside to my garden, where foxgloves towered nearly as tall as I was. Creeping thyme and moss sprawled between stones of the path, creating a thick, green carpet. Stocks and carnations were still in bloom despite the increasingly colder weather, filling the air with their heady perfume. Deeper into the garden, my roses were faded, petals wilting. Rose hips dotted the bushes now, turning plump and vibrant orange at the end of the growing season.
Living in a small town afforded me the opportunity to keep my operating costs to a minimum. I grew most of the flowers that I needed. For bigger events—like the Harvest Festival—I ordered the flowers I needed from outside Denver. As I wandered my porch, snipping sprigs of flowers and putting them into a vase, checking for disease, deadheading the spent blooms, this was the part about my business that I always loved the most. Surrounding myself with the colors, scents, textures, the small humble flowers, and the big, showy blossoms.
My gaze landed on a pot of forget-me-nots by the door. My heart squeezed. I trailed my fingers through the flowers, making their little heads bob.
I knew Grady was a busy man. I knew his ranch would take priority more often than not. And yet, I couldn’t help feeling…dismissed…this morning.
Then I began to wonder. Hosting the festival at his ranch was always about making Grady appear to be a generous man, friendly and inviting. What better way to convey that than having a woman on his arm for the evening? Maybe I was a pretty ornament to him and nothing more. Maybe he had no use for me now that the festival was over.
I sighed. My head was starting to hurt from thinking in circles.
Eventually, I would have to face Grady again. For now, I would lick my wounded pride after virtually getting kicked out of his bed unceremoniously.
After my lunch break was over, I gathered the flowers I’d cut, and placed them in a vase by the register. I flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN and pushed Grady firmly out of my thoughts.
The bell over the door chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. I lifted my head, prepared to speak, and the breath rushed out of me when I saw the figure standing on the threshold.
Grady filled my doorway with his broad shoulders. He removed his hat, looking self-conscious, rough, and out of place amid the delicate lilac and white decor.
A heartbeat of silence settled over the shop.
“May I…help you?” I asked, haltingly.
Grady seemed to snap out of his reverie and started to move, striding toward me at the front counter. He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and smoothed it out.
Were his hands shaking?
No. I must have imagined it. There was no way a stoic, grumpy man like Grady would be nervous enough to have unsteady hands.
“I was hoping you could offer your professional opinion,” he said.
“About what?”
“I need a bouquet. And it has to send the right message.”
Something tugged at the back of my mind, but I brushed it aside and turned to the wall of cut flowers behind me, waiting to be freshly arranged.
“All right,” I said. “Read them to me. Let’s see what I’m working with. I’ll build as we go.”
Grady cleared his throat and started to list flowers.
“Roses, red.”
That was no surprise. Red roses were a classic for a reason. In the language of flowers, they conveyed love, romance, eroticism. Men always wanted to get their girlfriends and wives red roses.
I selected a bundle of velvety red roses and turned to look at Grady, waiting for him to continue.
“Lily-of-the-valley.”
I clucked my tongue in dismay. The tiny little white clusters of bell-shaped flowers weren’t in season. They were spring beauties that held a variety of meanings, from sweetness and humility, to you make my life complete.
I paused as the realization sank in. Despite Grady’s pride, he was capable of humility. I’d seen it before. And he was doing it now by learning the language of flowers that I spoke, even when it was a far cry from the cattle he was used to.
“I’m afraid lily-of-the-valley isn’t in bloom,” I said. “I can order some if you like.”
Grady shook his head.
“That’s a shame. What about the next item on the list? Ivy?”
It sat at the end of the row and I plucked a healthy selection out of the bucket, twining it through the bouquet in my grip. The greenery symbolized wedded love.
There was no denying Grady’s intentions now. My heart hammered around my chest.
“Next?” I asked.
“Ferns,” he replied.
Sincerity. A genuine confession.
“Honeysuckle.”
Bonds of true love. Devotion, commitment.
The bouquet was bursting now, sweetly scented and beautiful. My gaze roamed over the cut flowers, waiting for Grady to continue reading from his list. What more did he have to say?
When he didn’t continue, I glanced over my shoulder, expectantly.
“Is that all?” I asked.
Grady shook his head.
“There’s…one more.”
He wasn’t looking at the list. He was looking at me. And in my arms were all the things he wanted to say to me.
“Go on,” I prompted.
“Forget-me-nots.”
My eyes slipped closed and I buried my face in the flowers. Of course it would be forget-me-nots. The flowers I picked for him, pinned to his lapel to practically mark him as mine in front of the whole festival.
Grady’s boots scuffed on the floor as he approached and his big, warm hands cupped my cheeks. When he tipped my head up, I opened my eyes.
“I told you, Birdie,” he said quietly. “I’m no good at this. My first marriage failed because I wasn’t a good husband. For twenty years, I told myself that I wasn’t the marrying kind. But you…when I’m with you, all I can think about is how desperately I want to try and be a better man for you.”
I was melting on the spot. I just needed to know one thing.
“This morning…it almost seemed like you were kicking me out.”
Grady shook his head.
“That wasn’t my intention, I swear. I could have easily left the cattle in Bowen’s care. He’s perfectly capable of handling the situation after working with me for years. I got caught up in the moment.”
I chewed my lower lip as my gaze fell to his mouth. I really wanted to kiss him. My whole body ached with it.
“Grady, I know your ranch is important to you. I would never ask you to give that up.”
“And you are important to me, too.” He cradled my chin in his palm. “I want you by my side, Birdie, for the rest of my days. If you’re willing to have me, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I don’t lose you.”
The flowers slipped from my hold and scattered across the floor in a pile of stems, petals, and colors. Grady pulled me into his arms and sealed his mouth to mine. I curled my fingers into his shirt, stumbling backward and pulling him with me until I bumped against the front desk.
Even after spending only a few hours apart, I was desperate for him again. The empty throb between my thighs was torture. Grady slid his hands down my back and gave my ass a firm squeeze, sucking at my neck.
“We should get out of here,” he said. “Before we’re indecent.”
My eyes fluttered closed at the delicious sound of Grady’s low, gruff tone. It was so unfair that his voice alone could turn my panties into a mess. He nuzzled against my cheek, pinching my earlobe between his teeth. The sandpaper roughness of his stubble against the sensitive curve of my jawline made me whimper.
I hooked my fingers into his belt buckle and hauled him out of the room, around the corner. I lived above the shop, with a modest bedroom that would probably be cramped, thanks to Grady’s size. I was too impatient to drag him all the way upstairs though.
So, I pulled him into the cutting room—a small, private space where I made my arrangements, kept cool to maintain the flowers’ freshness as long as possible. I swept an arm across the old white-washed table at the center of the room. Tools, wire, and flower stems tumbled to the floor.
By the time I turned around, Grady was on me, pinning my body between him and the edge of the table. He grabbed a fistful of my skirt, rucking it up around my waist. I fumbled at the buttons of his shirt with frantic fingers. I loved the feel of his strong chest beneath my palm, the coarse texture of dark hair, and the shift of his muscles when he lifted me onto the table.
As I started unbuckling Grady’s belt, I gasped as he slipped his hand past the elastic of my panties and crooked two thick, callused fingers inside me. He brushed a kiss to my temple, bringing his mouth to my ear.
“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”
As soon as I shifted my legs apart wide enough, Grady pressed his fingers deeper. Pleasure raced hot and fast through my veins. A smile spread across his face, crinkling his eyes as he watched me arch into his touch, trying so desperately to grind my clit against his palm.
“I wish you could see how fucking gorgeous you look right now. Flushed and squirming and so needy.”
He twisted his fingers, hitting just the right spot to make me shudder. And he was so damn smug about it.
“Take off your shirt.”
I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head, tossing it aside. I hurried to unhook my bra, too. Grady’s pupils dilated full-black as his gaze fell to my breasts. A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
The steady curling, coaxing rhythm of his fingers had a haze of arousal fogging up the edges of my vision.
“I—I’m listening.”
Grady pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss at the base of my throat, tracing his lips between my breasts.
“That day we had lunch together,” he said. “When I spilled water all over myself like an idiot.”
I barely registered what he was saying. The slow burn of my rising orgasm was maddening and I just wanted to come.
“I looked straight down your shirt,” Grady finished. “And I’m not sorry for it. Your tits are goddamn perfect.”
I let out a breathless laugh as I fisted my hand in his hair. They were far from perfect, with stretch marks after hormonal changes and weight gain. They sagged more than I liked, too. But the slick heat of Grady’s mouth made me forget any misgivings I had about them.
“Then show your appreciation,” I replied.
Grady flicked a quick look up at my face with the slightest twitch of one eyebrow. For a big, bossy rancher man, he certainly liked it when I gave him orders now and then. Lowering his head, he closed his lips around my nipple, teasing at it with his teeth.
I fisted my fingers in Grady’s hair to anchor myself and let the pleasure wash over me. The rhythm of his fingers, the hot suction of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble against the soft curve of my breast—it was too much to take. My orgasm hit, and I clenched around his fingers.
Grady grazed his teeth over my nipple with a sweet sting of pain to contrast the overwhelming surge of pleasure. I made a noise of frustration when he pulled his fingers out, leaving me empty. He peeled my panties off while I unzipped his fly. My breath hitched at the feel of his hard length in my hand.
I gazed up at him as I swirled my thumb over the thick, red head. Grady groaned deep in his throat and braced his hands on the table, bracketing my thighs. He flexed his hips forward, trying to thrust into my grip.
“Looks like I’m not the only one needy around here,” I said.
I could do this all day. Watching the way Grady’s body strained with every touch and stroke. When I pressed my thumb beneath the crown of his cock, the tendons in his neck tensed. I liked seeing him fight for his self-control, slowly unraveling because of me.
Hooking my legs around Grady’s hips, I pulled him between my thighs. His breathing was shallow and fast, teeth clenched, cock throbbing. I slipped my hand into his back pocket and pulled out a condom, tearing the packet open with my teeth.
I nuzzled at the curve of Grady’s throat as I rolled the condom on. He smelled incredible—like black coffee and horses and wild mountain air. Everything about him was rough, wild, barely tamed, but he was gentle as a lamb when I had him in my hands like this.
As I lined Grady’s tip with my entrance, he lightly grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Then he shifted closer, pushing deep. Every inch was slick and scorching and glorious.
I sucked in a breath and clamped my lower lip between my teeth with anticipation. Grady leveled me with his gray-eyed stare that never failed to fill my stomach with butterflies. He placed his palm, scratchy and rough, on my inner thigh, pressing my legs wider. I couldn’t decide what was hotter—his unrelenting, steady eye contact as he buried himself inside me, or the temptation to watch where we were joined until I’d taken his entire cock.
Grady kissed me slowly, deeply, stealing my breath away with the measured roll of his hips. I clutched the back of his neck, drawing him closer. His knuckles grazed the heavy curve of my breast.
Clinging to each other, every gasp and thrust sent us climbing higher. My second orgasm lingered just out of reach, but Grady was losing his rhythm fast. With a growl, he sank balls-deep inside me, pulsing, throbbing. As he fell apart, he shoved one hand between my thighs and pressed the rough pads of his fingertips to my sensitive, aching clit.
I flinched with a cry of ecstasy and wrapped my legs around Grady like a vise, keeping us locked together. He trailed lazy kisses over my shoulder, down my chest, softer this time, showing his appreciation as he’d been ordered to do. I smiled, hiding my face in his neck.
I couldn’t wait to call this man my husband someday.