Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4) Page 2

  He reached for the spray. “May I?”

  His fingers brushed the back of her hand as he took it from her. Heat shot straight up her arm and lodged in her throat. His eyes widened infinitesimally, his pupils expanding. Had he felt it too? She pulled her hand away, tucking it in the pocket of her work apron.

  Gunnar stared at the sample bouquet for a time before handing it to Mrs. A.S., who clutched it against her chest. He cleared his throat. “What I think is... If I’m standing at the altar, waiting to join my life to the woman I love, I’m not going to notice flowers. Everything else, even her very lovely mother, pales in comparison to the bride’s beauty.”

  Oh, no. The crevices surrounding Mrs. A.S.’s lips erupted again. She certainly understood when someone was blowing sunshine up her ass. “The flowers aren’t for the groom, young man. Other women in the assembly will notice. What I want them to see is how exquisite our taste is. How unique.”

  Dammit! The woman had been hooked until Gunnar had turned on the charm. Now Gunnar’s over-the-top schmoozing meant she’d have to hard sell the old biddy. She mentally shooed him away and prayed he was telepathic.

  She grabbed her iPad from the shelf. Swiping her finger across the screen, she fast-talked to divert attention. “What if we used these arrangements for the bridesmaids, but went completely avant-garde for Ashleigh?” She turned the tablet toward Mrs. A.S., sharing a bridal photo featuring a brooch bouquet. “We’ll find pieces that sparkle and glitter in various consignment stores and wire them together with tiny flowers, adding depth and dimension. Maybe there’s a special piece or two in your personal jewelry collection, a family heirloom, which we could use as a focal point. You have such exquisite taste in jewelry. I’ve seen some of your fabulous statement pieces and think they’d be perfect for an evening wedding.”

  Mrs. A.S. looked between the screen and the flowers she’d tossed to the counter after Gunnar had opened his stupid mouth. Deciding to go all in, Malin rushed on, “We could even carry the design through to Ashleigh’s shoes. We’ll dress them up to resemble Cinderella shoes. Or the shoes Princess Diana wore on her wedding day.” Malin held her breath again, waiting for a final judgment.

  Anxiety released its crushing grip on her shoulders when the wrinkles surrounding the other woman’s lips disappeared. Mrs. A.S. nodded her head curtly. “That will do nicely.” Sparing a tight smile for Gunnar, she donned her coat like a suit of armor, buttoned it up to her neck, then grabbed the flowers off the counter. “We’ll go with that idea. Now, I really must run. I’ve wasted too much time here telling you how to do your job today. Really, May-lin, you must do better.”

  Mal locked her jaws to keep her mouth from dropping open. Mrs. ASS fluttered her fingers over her shoulder and then jerked the door open to depart. Because she knew how visible she was through the wall of glass windows at the front of the store, Mal pasted a smile on her face, trying not to wince as she ground her teeth together. The mother of the Bride from Hell reversed out of the handicapped slot she should never have parked in and drove away.

  Mal dropped her chin to her chest and slowly exhaled her pent-up breath. When she looked up again, Gunnar wore a deep scowl.

  His biceps were clearly defined in his jacket sleeves when he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “Why the hell do you let her talk to you like that?”

  Chapter 2

  Malin squinted her eyes at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  Gunnar had seen that look on his sister’s face enough times to know he’d said the wrong thing. But the way the society bitch had treated the shopkeeper rankled him. “What the hell is her problem? Who does the old broad think she is?”

  “Gunnar, Mrs. Aubrey-Smith is the customer. That means she is always right. She knows it and doesn’t hold back making sure I know, too. I’m used to her ways.” Malin crossed her arms and rested her hip against the counter.

  Aubrey-Smith? He knew that name. He’d had an interest in Ashleigh, the old bat’s daughter. Until he’d learned she was engaged. Ashleigh’s promise to another man apparently wasn’t enough to keep her from flirting with every other male in sight. Thankfully, he’d dodged that bullet. He shook his head, then turned his attention back to Malin.

  He liked the way Malin looked at him. Even when she was angry. Her ice blue, almond-shaped eyes, fringed with thick black eyelashes, were direct and curious, as if she’d found a new specimen of flower that required closer examination. As he stared at her, she reached up and tucked her chin-length white-blond hair behind her ear. How the hell had he not realized before how pretty she was?

  Malin possessed the peaches-and-cream complexion many of his female relatives shared. Her skin was flawless except for the angry red scratch just below the apple of her cheek. He’d be willing to bet if he touched her face, he’d feel satin. He tucked his hand into his pocket, a paltry effort to curb the urge. Touching someone the way he wanted to touch her went beyond being just friends. And he’d like this woman as a friend. For now. It was entirely possible that sentiment would evolve if his body’s reaction could be trusted.

  Gunnar shifted his weight onto one leg, bumping his knee against the wooden panel of the cash wrap. “Being the customer is no excuse for bad manners. And she could win a gold medal in the Bad Manners Olympics. That witch owes you an apology.”

  Malin’s fast grin dazzled him. “Can I tell you something? She was on her best behavior today, but you should have kept your mouth shut. I had her eating out of my hand until you butted in.”

  “I suppose if your hand was her lunch maybe. It didn’t look like it was under control to me. I was trying to help.”

  “You failed miserably, buttercup. But, no harm, no foul. I got what I wanted in the end. I proposed the alternative bouquet to the bride months ago, and she loved it. But Mama vetoed it because it wasn’t her original idea.”

  Buttercup? Yeah, well, two could play that game. “I thought mentioning Princess Di’s wedding shoes was a stroke of genius, Daisy Mae.”

  She tipped her head back and laughed. A shot of lust speared just south of his belt buckle. He shifted to ease the sudden constriction in his trousers.

  “I have moments of brilliance, and the shoes were just one of them.” She fiddled with the strings of her apron, but her eyes remained on his face. “What’s up? How can I help you today?”

  Damn, talk about a loaded question. For the life of him, he could only think of one way she could help him. He gave a mental groan and focused. “Um…I need a dozen roses. Do you have any in orange?”

  “Orange roses? Oh, Suzy will like those.”

  She pushed away from the counter and walked to the refrigerated case. He followed, entranced by the view of her behind. A blast of cool air puffed against his face, startling him out of the reverie caused by the gentle motion of her hips. God, he was a dog. He was in her shop to buy flowers for some other woman. Unfortunately, he was having trouble recalling the name of this weekend’s distraction.

  “Suzy?” From the Chamber of Commerce? Damn, she had a good memory. “No, these are for Justine.” Relief flooded through Gunnar when he was able to pull the woman’s name out of his lust-addled brain.

  Holding the door open, Malin paused and raised an eyebrow at him. The warm glow in her eyes dimmed. Or maybe he had imagined it because her smile remained generous. “New flame? That would explain the color choice. Orange is the color for passion, you know.”

  He refused to get defensive about this. He certainly didn’t need to justify his dating habits. “Really? I had no idea.”

  “You replace girlfriends with entirely too much frequency.” She reached into the unit and emerged with a black plastic vase filled with sunset-colored flowers. “But that’s good for my business. Here, take these.”

  Girlfriends? What was she talking about? Justine was only the second woman Gunnar had dated in the six months he’d lived in Granite Pointe. And she wasn’t exactly a girlfriend, either. His relationships never lasted long enough to qual
ify as exclusive.

  Shrugging, he skirted the counter. He stepped to her side and took the container from her hands, then deposited it on the worktable while she opened the next case. Grabbing a few sprigs of lacy white blooms, she also plucked a handful of long blades of green leaves from an oversized plastic tub. They reminded him of meadow grass. She returned to the workstation and laid everything out within easy reach, then pulled a clear glass vase toward her.

  Her phone rang, and after the second chime, she silenced the ringer and flipped it upside down on the counter next to her. Glancing up, she asked, “You want to watch? Or would you like to help?”

  “You don’t mind? I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

  “You won’t be in the way. You’re a regular. That gives me the right to put you to work. Let’s call it a perk of friendship.”

  She opened a packet of sugar and dumped it into the vase. Twisting the top off an industrial-sized bottle of bleach, she sloshed a little on top of the sugar. She swirled it around, then pushed it into his waiting hands. “You can start by filling this with tepid water. Two-thirds of the way up.”

  The strong smelling mixture stung his nose as it wafted out of the vase. “What’s up with the mad science?” He crossed the room to the sink along the wall and cranked the spigot. Water gushed into the glass.

  “It helps to extend the life of the flowers. There are commercially produced powders, but I think my way works best.”

  As he walked back to her, she snipped the ends off the stems laid out on the table, her movements efficient, economical.

  When he deposited the vase in front of her, she put the shears down and swept a hand across her face to push her hair back. She winced as her fingernail scratched along the thin red line on her cheek. Blood welled up, marring the peachy perfection of her skin.

  Without thinking, he reached out and swept his finger along the mark, wiping the narrow bead away. God, he was right. Her skin was softer than silk. His fingertip tingled. “You’re bleeding.” He held his hand up in front of her nose for inspection.

  Her eyes crossed as she tried to look at the tiny smear of blood. Grabbing his wrist, she moved his hand back. The damn zip of current flared brightly and rushed up his arm, taking up residence against his solar plexus.

  Malin released his arm and brushed against his chest when she leaned around him to grab a tissue out of the plaid box on the corner. “Occupational hazard. Roses are gorgeous, but they have a wicked defense system.” She blotted the tissue to the weal of blood on her face.

  Would she let him kiss her and make it better?

  Whoa, he needed to restrain those thoughts. Especially since he was buying flowers for another woman.

  Her white teeth flashed between her pink lips. “Better?”

  He nodded, then trained his gaze on the vase of flowers, a willful strategy to ignore her lush mouth. “Um…what do we do now?”

  “We throw the flowers into the water first, then add gypsophila and greenery.”

  “Gypso-what?”

  That earned him a laugh. She held up a sprig of the small wispy white flowers. “Baby’s Breath. It’s a filler flower, but no rose arrangement is complete without it.” She gestured to the flowers on the table. “Get busy.”

  “Anything you say, Daisy Mae.” He picked up a partially opened bud and deposited it in the water, then grabbed another. Malin added blooms, too, pushing each one firmly into place. Gunnar was more hesitant, afraid of snapping the delicate stems.

  She huffed out a breath and frowned at him. “They won’t break. You have to force them a little.” Laying her hand on top of his, Malin pressed down with enough pressure to wedge it between the other stems. Jesus, he liked the heat of her palm. Letting go of his hand, she eyed the result. “See, no breakage, and the rose is standing at attention.”

  That rose wasn’t the only thing at attention in the room. He cleared his throat. “It might be better if I watch. I’m not much help.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Maybe. But I’m more of a bull in a china shop than a florist.” He shook his head. “I’ll stick to running my gym and let you do the flowers.”

  “I didn’t take you for a gym rat. You never come in here in workout clothes.”

  “Hey, now. I’m a gym owner, not your every day, run-of-the-mill rat.”

  “Owner, huh? Which gym?”

  “Granite Bay Health Club. Do you know it?”

  “That’s my gym. I generally stop in around eight after the shop closes. Not many people there at that time of night. Confession time—I haven’t been in a few weeks, although I probably shouldn’t admit it to you. And with Valentine’s Day coming up, it may be weeks before I get there again.”

  “I won’t tell. And I know you’ll be back. You care enough to have a membership, so fitness must be important.”

  Her brows drew together in a pensive frown as she concentrated on adding the lacy white flowers to the bouquet. She was right. They did make it pretty.

  Malin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The stair climber saves my sanity some days. But I’ve never seen you there.”

  “I signed the papers five months ago. It’s turning in to more work than I was led to believe. Something breaks every day, and I have to figure out how to fix it. Or I’m in meetings all day. I don’t have as much time to work out as I’d like. Lately, the only time I can squeeze an uninterrupted workout in is before or after hours.”

  “I suppose that’s your occupational hazard.” She wove a long blade of green grass into the center of the vase, her fingers practiced and sure.

  The added grass transformed the entire thing from a collection of flowers into a work of art.

  Laughter swelled out of his mouth. “Never thought of it that way, but yeah...as soon as I hop on a machine or hit the boxing ring, someone comes up to complain or visit.”

  Malin stepped away from the counter and eyed the arrangement. Tipping her head to the side, she squinted. She twitched a pointy blade and tweaked the location of one of the gypso-thingies. Her face lit up as she observed the final result. The vase of flowers might be perfection, but it could not compete with the glint of satisfaction heating her eyes.

  “All done. What do you think?” she asked.

  “Think of what?” He forced his eyes from her face to the flowers. “I think...Justine will love them.”

  “You want to deliver them personally, or would you like us to handle it? My delivery driver will return soon.”

  The excitement of taking the bouquet to Justine’s office had faded while he’d spent time in Malin’s presence. In fact, the idea of continuing a relationship with Justine lacked the shiny prospects it had when he’d walked into The Secret Garden. There hadn’t been nearly as much conversation with Justine, and he’d been with her for nearly twenty-four hours. Their only communication had been in Braille, a real hands-on experience. Damn, he might have to rethink women as friends.

  “Gunnar?”

  “I...uh…I need to get to work. Can you have them delivered?”

  She wiped her hands on a wad of paper towels and walked away from him. His mouth went dry at the provocative sway of her hips. From where he stood, it didn’t look like she’d missed too many days at the gym. The denim of her jeans kissed her thighs and butt in a way that made his lips—and okay, other parts of him—twitch.

  She slipped behind the counter, obstructing the sensational view. “We’ll get them out this afternoon. Do you have an address?”

  “Yeah, hang on.” He pulled his iPhone from his pocket and swiped his finger across the screen, waking it from its technology-induced slumber. A couple of rapid taps later, he recited Justine’s name and office address. He’d deliberately avoided asking for the woman’s home address when they’d parted ways Sunday morning, not entirely sure he wanted to see her again. Or that she really wanted to see him. Having an elaborate floral arrangement delivered seemed like a commitment to future dates, even if the legs on that partic
ular idea had gotten a lot shorter in the past fifteen minutes.

  He shut the phone down and pocketed it. “On second thought, I’ll take them myself,” he said.

  Except he’d deliver them to Rikki instead of Justine. Mal would never have to know.

  Chapter 3

  Weak winter sun filtered through the pergola overhead. Malin took advantage of the peace in her private garden spot whenever she could. Seeking the light the way a hummingbird seeks nectar, she tipped her face up and relaxed muscles that were set in ice. Activity in the store had been hectic through the morning and into the lunch hour. This was the first time she’d sat down since she’d walked through the door shortly after nine this morning.

  Focusing on her breathing, she pulled chilly air into her lungs and released it slowly in a white puff. She forced the residual anxiety from dealing with Mrs. A.S. into the exhalation, attempting to rid her body of the toxic remnants of the encounter. Malin had spent many hours wishing she’d turned down this particular wedding planning gig. But she’d regret the missed opportunity and publicity even more. She wouldn’t be able to open the second location based solely on her revenue from the Granite Pointe shop.

  Sighing another breath out, her thoughts turned to Gunnar Sims. She’d enjoyed the silly banter they’d shared while he’d helped her arrange flowers for his newest friend. Oh, she knew better than to get involved with a man like Gunnar. He’d been coming into her shop regularly for the past four months. She’d delivered flowers to five different women in that time. He seemed like such a steady guy. He was smart and had a solid sense of humor, which, for Malin’s money, had more clout than his good looks and charm. Those things didn’t hurt. She smiled when she recalled him winking at her over Mrs. Aubrey-Smith’s bouffant hair-do.

  She couldn’t understand why one steady woman wasn’t enough for him. God knew, Gunnar’s broad shoulders and narrow hips would be enough for her.