No Flowers Required (19 page)

In all fairness, she’d once believed that, too, but she’d been so wrong. Now that her footing was becoming more solid in the business arena, all she could think about was what she’d been missing. She’d had it for a little while, and by God, she couldn’t imagine living her entire life without experiencing that wild rush again.

She wouldn’t.

Fingers shaking, she withdrew the ticket Dillon had given her to that evening’s gala from her purse. She was a successful store owner. Hiding away in her apartment while she stewed over what he’d done might’ve fit the old Alexa, who only fought if the odds were firmly stacked in her favor. But the new version wasn’t about to give him—and Cory—the satisfaction of thinking she needed to go off to cry in private.

She would be at that party, and she’d be looking so damn good Dillon would be the one weeping by the time the night was through. They’d see that she didn’t need their damn help. Or their pity.

…

Dillon paced the length of the reception hall. He’d been calling Alexa all day to no avail. He’d gone by the store earlier, but she’d closed at noon, not two as the sign on the door said. Even more worried, he’d pounded on her apartment door. Only after he’d gone back outside had he realized her small sedan wasn’t parked in the lot.

He thumbed out a package of antacids from his jeans pocket. He’d been chewing them like mints all day and his gut still burned. His head still throbbed. He was hungover and miserable and God, he couldn’t stand the idea of her curled up crying somewhere—or worse. If only she’d let him fix things. He’d make it right.

He’d do anything.

“There you are!” Sidestepping the workers finalizing last-minute arrangements, his mother hurried across the decorated hall. She looked as fresh as one of Alexa’s roses in a pale pink shift dress. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

As evidenced by the five voice mails he’d ignored. “Sorry. I’ve been in the middle of stuff.”

“Stuff that didn’t include getting changed for tonight, I see.” Obviously disappointed, she fingered the sleeve of his T-shirt. “People will start arriving in less than an hour.”

He glanced at the tables with their navy tablecloths and drab flower arrangements centered around hurricane lamp-style candles. “Who did the flowers?”

“
We
did the flowers. Have you forgotten the home beautification part of Value Hardware’s business?”

He wished he could forget a lot of things. “No, but Divine could’ve done so much more. Alexa could’ve…” He stopped. How long was he going to continue to torture himself like this? “I’ll go home and get changed soon. It’s not like I’m making any headway.” Disgust laced his words as he shoved his phone in his pocket.

His mother frowned. “Did you finally find a date for tonight?”

“I’d like to hear the answer to this,” a voice behind him answered.

He looked away from his mother. And did a double take at the sight of Alexa in a floor-length royal purple dress, slit up the side to reveal miles of creamy thigh.

His mom looked back and forth between them. “Oh,” she said softly.

Dillon stared at Alexa. She stood tall and regal, her hair pulled on top of her head in a crown of curls. Her eyes regarded him coolly. Waiting.

He’d been waiting too. Now was his chance to put it all out there. To say everything he’d felt, to apologize, to tell her how much she meant to him. That the idea of living his life without her in it would be like never seeing the sun again. Everything she’d made so bright and new just from her presence would go dark.

“Yes,
oh
.” Alexa flashed a razor-thin smile and cocked her head. “Still wearing the poor-boy costume, huh? Afraid you were going to run into me?”

He barely breathed.
Costume
? He wasn’t hiding from her, not in the ways that mattered. She’d helped him figure out who he really was, and how much he could give to the company. Along with how much he would get in return.

It wasn’t about coloring outside the lines. It was about working within the system to make it better from the inside out. Helping people through helping himself.

And her. Always her.

“Did you figure paying my bills would make up for your sins?” she demanded.

Dillon gaped at her. “I—”

“I don’t need your money, Mr. Big Shot. I can do whatever I need to do for my store myself. It’ll succeed or I’ll die trying. I didn’t want you to help prop up my business. I wanted you for
you
.”

His head and stomach churned in tandem. Only half of what she’d said made sense to his addled brain. Why had he chosen last night to get drunk when he needed his faculties more than ever?

All he had left to give her was the truth. He’d get the words out even if they choked him.

And with the way his throat kept locking up, they just might.

“Nothing I did was for show. What you saw is who I am.” He ignored her derisive snort. “I wanted to help you, but not because I didn’t think you could do it on your own. I knew you could.”

“You really think I trust your supposed faith in me when all you’ve done is lie?” Her beautiful eyes sheened and his gut twisted. “Give me one reason to believe you.”

Because I love you.

He opened his mouth, the words right there. This was it. He was going to lay it all on the line. But before he could speak, Alexa muttered a curse and twisted the knife in his gut once more.

“Your money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t buy me.”

Chapter Eleven

Goddamn bastard.

Alexa flexed her hand and stared straight ahead until her dry eyes screamed for relief. But there was none to be found tonight.

Other women probably would’ve slapped him and left. She’d planned on doing some version of that but when she’d seen not one, but two different gorgeous women glide up to Dillon before she’d even made it out the door, she’d changed her mind.

She wasn’t keeping an eye on him. That would be ridiculous. No, she just wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of ducking out early as if she was too brokenhearted to stay.

There were other benefits to staying besides proving that her will hadn’t been broken by the mighty Santangelo/James brothers. She wanted to see the so-not-a-handyman in action. Schmoozing with his fellow benefactors, rubbing elbows with his snooty family. Although Dillon’s mom and dad weren’t snooty at all, truthfully. Cory probably stole all the stuck-up genes and hoarded them for himself. Seemed like something he would do.

It wasn’t all bad. She ended up at a table with two lovely older couples who included her in the conversation and seemed quite interested in her store. Both of the women mentioned stopping by the following week. And even a picky eater like her couldn’t fault the selection of the dinner buffet. She went for seconds of her chicken piccata, and had a thick wedge of lemon meringue pie for dessert.

Though that might just have been to spite Dillon, who tried repeatedly to speak to her. She hadn’t told him to go to hell again, but she reserved the right to change her mind.

The last time he’d crouched next to her table and told her in an urgent voice that she needed to give him a chance, that he’d never meant for “things” to go so far. His face might as well have been set on stun for its effect on her traitorous body.

His golden skin gleamed under the lights and his black tux wrapped sensuously around every rise and ripple of muscle. The few times she’d caught his eye, he’d stared at her as if he wanted nothing more than to get her alone. Worse, her traitorous body wanted to let him. Coming to the benefit at all had not been the smartest move on that score.

She fought a sigh. It just wasn’t fair.

The unfairness multiplied when they started the award portion of the evening. Dillon’s mother got the first one, then it was two board members’ turns. She applauded them all, because it was a great charity and the house she and Dillon had, ahem, visited the other night proved how much good Helping Hands was doing in the community.

How much good
he was doing.

But when Dillon got the biggest award of all, practically a damn trophy, for all his many hours of service, she couldn’t look away fast enough. Even so, she still saw the embarrassment he shouldered as he strode on stage.

He kept his speech mercifully brief. Too brief, it turned out, since that meant the guests could again wander around. What wandered her way only sent her further into her rage spiral, via emotional purgatory.

“You should’ve sat at our table. We have beignets.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have a lot of nerve.”

“Indeed. It’s an asset in business.” With a smile unnervingly close to Dillon’s—how had she not noticed before?—Cory sat in the empty seat beside her. The dancing portion of the evening had begun, and most of the couples were swarming the dance floor. There weren’t too many singles at the gala, and those who were there looked about as merry as she did.

“You look like you just fought three rounds and lost in a TKO.”

Wonderful. That was just the image she wanted to project. “I’m fine.”

“He said the same thing. He’s a worse liar than you.”

Something sharp twisted in her already achy chest. “I think he’s a pretty good liar, all things considered.” She bore down hard on the urge to cry. Just sit there and bawl while the romantic swing music swelled and couples swirled in pastel blurs around them. “I don’t need his damn money. I don’t need him to bail me out. I paid off my own bills.”

Cory rested his leg on his opposite knee, apparently not concerned about his steel-gray tux. The guy might’ve stepped off a page in
GQ
, he was that handsome. In fact, she might’ve called him the most gorgeous man in the room, if not for the blond, eye-maskless pirate scowling at the head table. He would win that contest, effortlessly.

In jeans and a T-shirt. In a flawless tux. Or better yet, completely naked.

“You could choose to look at it as a hand, not a handout.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive and stubborn and not giving a hoot. She was entitled.

“Undoubtedly. But I’ve heard—and this is just a rumor—that life is better when you have someone who wants to take care of you, and vice versa. Someone to spoon with on cold mornings, and bring you soup. Or let out the dog, should you have one.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Me either. My parents have a horse, though.” Cory seemed to ponder that before shaking his head. “Then there are all those other couples things. Sending cards on important dates. The occasional love note tucked under a pillow. Joint checking accounts.”

She barked out a laugh. “Joint checking accounts? That’s one of the highlights of romance to you?”

His grin overtook his face and silvered his charcoal eyes. “Trust me, sharing an account with me would be more excitement than most women could take.”

“You’re a complete ass.”

“I am.” He leaned toward her, his expression suddenly grave. “But he’s not. He’s actually a decent guy. Part of why women are constantly flinging their undergarments in his direction, despite his assertions that they only care about his wallet. He’s the kind of man women can sniff from miles away.”

She’d already seen several of those types skulking around him tonight. Not that she blamed them. But still. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the stink from his lies.”

“I guarantee he hated himself for lying to you.” At her huff of breath, Cory zoomed in for the kill. “He’s faithful and genuine and loyal. Above all that, no matter what you think, he’s honest. He didn’t lie to hurt you. I promise you that. Dill’s not built that way. Me, on the other hand, I’m apt to do any damn thing. For any damn reason.”

Shocker. “I thought I knew him. At least part of him. But I don’t. He’s a complete mystery.”

“Because you didn’t know I was his brother? Until recently, he hasn’t acted as if I am for years.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Worse, she wasn’t sure if she hurt more for herself or for Dillon at that moment, if Cory was telling the truth. “You can tell him I don’t need his money. I want that credit on my account returned.”

“How about mine?”

Alexa glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He didn’t pay your bill. He doesn’t even know it
has
been paid.”

“Then who—” She broke off when Cory shot to his feet, as quick as a rattlesnake. “Oh,
hell
no.”

“We’ve had an excellent quarter.” He dipped his hands into his pockets, a mercurial smile flitting over his face. “It was either pay off your back bill or expand the store’s gardening section. Your choice.”

Before she could rail at him, he strolled away. Whistling.

The bastard. That family seemed to make them in pairs.

To avoid further bloodshed, she remained seated through the dancing portion of the gala. Luckily one of the wives returned sans husband to keep her company. They people-watched for over an hour. The nicest part was that Ruth never asked her if she was dating anyone. It helped her pretend she was single and unencumbered.

The single bit was true at least.

Eventually the auction got under way. She watched as a parade of high-end electronics and vacation packages to various tropical islands got offered up for bid. Everything went for staggeringly high amounts. Then the last item was put up, a simple watercolor painting of a purple rose, its petals so velvety and lush she would’ve sworn the flower was real. The simple wooden frame surrounded what looked like a burlap canvas.

Under the table, she gripped her hands together.

“This one is called
Love at First Sight
,” the emcee read from his card. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? So, who’s going to start the bidding?” he asked in his booming voice, his smile bright enough to scare the sun.

The irony of that particular rose being featured in this particular auction wasn’t lost on her, but she refused to look Dillon’s way to see if he was staring.

Watercolors. Not often anymore. Don’t have the time.

Had he really done this painting for her? And what did it mean exactly, other than it being the rose he knew she loved the most?

She rubbed her forehead. Cripes, she was going to have an aneurysm if she didn’t stop with the questions.

“Three hundred?” She glanced at Ruth as she bid three-fifty, and a sudden panic seized her. That was
her
painting. If someone had snatched it up at a flea market and slapped a hefty price tag on it, the joke would be on her but she didn’t care.

Alexa lifted her paddle. “Four hundred,” she called, shocked she sounded so calm. Her heart sped up while she waited for the auctioneer to acknowledge her winning bid, but before he could, another bid came from the table in front she’d steadfastly avoided looking at all night.

“Five hundred.” Dillon’s even tone made her sit up straighter. Why had he done the painting for her if he just wanted to snatch it back? Had their fight made him rescind the gesture? Or change his mind?

Whatever. She was getting that painting. It was hers, and suddenly it seemed vital she win it.

“Six,” she called back.

“Seven,” Dillon immediately countered, earning a growl from her that made her tablemates glance at her in dismay.

Fine, if he wanted to play that way, she was game. So what if he took baths in beaucoup bucks. She had credit cards. Okay, she had one credit card left. With a low limit. “Nine,” she yelled, louder than was necessary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dillon’s parents looking in her direction. And Cory, that jerk, was grinning.

“Two thousand,” Dillon shot back.

She tossed her purse on the table. Oh hell no. She was going to hang the painting above the prep table in her store and he was not taking it from her. With all the embarrassment and frustration—and yes, pain—Dillon had caused her, she wasn’t letting go that easily.

One thing he’d taught her—if nothing else—was to fight.

“Five thousand.” She slapped down her paddle when a wave of conversation rolled through the crowd.

“Ten thousand,” Dillon returned, rising.

Slowly he crossed the room and it took everything inside her not to wilt against her chair. He’d loosened his bow tie, shrugged off the jacket. With his strong jaw, his sexy glower, and the stubbled growth of beard, she was practically toast. Add in his untucked white dress shirt open at the neck to reveal his sun-warmed skin—skin she’d kissed and licked and bitten—and yeah, she was
so
done for.

The last of the fight drained out of her. She’d battled her ass off for that painting, for her store, because he’d been there. Pushing her. Showing her everything she could have if she didn’t give up.

God, he’d
wanted
her to fight all along.

When she descended back to reality and realized he was at her side, she opened her mouth. She intended to tell him to go to hell. What came out was a soft, croaked, “Why?” As if she were on the verge of tears.

Worse, as if they were already tracking down her cheeks. Again.

Now he would know how much she cared, if he didn’t already.

“Can we call the bidding at ten thousand?” the auctioneer asked, waiting for Alexa’s argument.

She gave none. She’d lost anyway, hadn’t she? The guy had more money than God apparently, so why waste everyone’s time on pissing matches?

“Sold to Mr. James for ten thousand dollars. The charity appreciates your generous donation—twice over in this case.”

“Princess?”

She braced at the nickname. Soft fingertips skimmed her jaw and she glanced up, hating that she was still crying. Two crying jags a year were usually her limit, and she’d hit more than that within the past twenty-four hours. Not good.

Before she could speak—though she had no clue what to say—he crouched at her side, his fingers exerting a tender pressure as he turned her face to his. “You asked me why. Let me explain. No more lies. Just the truth.”

“What is there to—”

She jolted as he fisted his hands in her hair, wrecking her careful updo, and dragged her toward him, nearly upending her chair in the process. Her gasp at the pull of gravity that slammed her into his chest turned into a moan when he swept his tongue between her lips and simply took what she’d been trying so hard to lock away.

The familiarity almost broke her. His touch, his smell, the way his nose bumped hers in his urgency to seize her mouth. He took possession of her with confidence, the kind she’d found so sexy once upon a time. If she’d only tasted his skill in the kiss, she would’ve shoved him back and told him to go to hell. But she could sense the desperation in each conquering stroke of his tongue and every strangled groan trapped in his throat.

His teeth scraped her lower lip as he drew back, his eyes steady on hers. Wildly blue and hot with need, those eyes made her want to believe. “I love you, Alexa.
You
were the only thing worth risking you for. If taking back what I did means I couldn’t be there to watch you succeed, I wouldn’t do it.”

Her head pounded, making his words rattle around like pinballs. She simply couldn’t process what he’d said, not after he’d already shaken her down to her toes with that scorcher of a kiss. Her lips were still tingling.
Everything
was still tingling.

The sound of clapping made her glance around the banquet hall. Everyone seemed to be grinning at her and Dillon. She, the woman who was so aware of how she was behaving at all times, hadn’t even noticed that they’d created a spectacle.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me.”