Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

L uca

I wake, feeling like I've had the best night's sleep in weeks. Maybe being out of London is good for me. I pad over to the window and look out across gardens.

Fuck! Is that someone in the gardens?

Fuck! Why is someone out there? Maybe I should have locked the gate last night.

Fuck! What am I going to do? Do I call the police? No, I don't think they'll be interested. Is it the press? No, I'm not that interesting and no one knows I'm here, only Anna. Is it someone stealing stuff? I doubt there's anything in the garden worth stealing—maybe in the house though. I'm sure Aunt Frances had a few antiques, but surely robberies take place after dark, not in broad daylight where I can see them.

I watch him for a few minutes. He doesn't look like he's stealing anything. He's moving round like . . . like it's his home. I'm intrigued, and also scared. I hate confrontation, but I need to go out there. Where's Anna when I need her? She'd march out there and demand to know what he was doing.

C'mon Luca, you can't hide behind Anna all your life . There is a part of me that wants to do that, even though I know Anna won't let me.

I pull on some jeans and a hoodie and head out into the garden—my first visit since I arrived. The paths are completely overgrown and impassable, so it takes me a while to find my way to where I'd seen the guy at the greenhouses. I see him on the path ahead. He has his back to me—a broad back, part of my brain notes—as he enters one of the greenhouses. I could've called out then, confronted him, but instead I follow him and stand in the entrance, leaning against the door frame. He turns towards the bench and I can see him in profile.

Jeez, he's gorgeous —tall, well-built, but lean. He has brown hair, curling on his collar, and a few days' old stubble. I watch him tenderly transfer a small plant from one pot to a slightly larger one, taking his time and care with it. I'm entranced and in wonder at someone being so careful. He's giving it his full focus. It's like the gods have been listening to my dream for a handsome guy to appear. I'm thinking about whether I can hypnotise him into staying and looking after me the way he cares for those plants—and involuntarily snort.

Fuck!

He snaps his head around, startled. Damn, his eyes are brown, like liquid chocolate. He looks at me warily. There's nowhere for him to go except through me, and he doesn't look like he wants to do that.

"You're trespassing," I state, but leave it there. How he responds is up to him. He looks away for a second then back, like he's deciding how to play this.

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm really sorry. I thought the house was empty." He lowers his eyes a little. I'm really intrigued as to why he's here.

"What are you doing?"

"I needed somewhere for my plants. They aren't quite ready for hardening off yet—I needed a greenhouse. I was looking for somewhere to rent and then I saw the house was empty. I'm sorry, I'll get them moved out." He raises his eyes a little to look at me. Fuck, he really is gorgeous. Move them? No, that means he'll leave, and I want to see more of this guy.

"You don't have to move them. I'm not exactly using the greenhouses at the moment and, well, they look too delicate to move." I nod towards the bench of plants. He follows my gaze to them and then he looks back at me, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"They are delicate right now, but are you sure? I don't mind looking for somewhere else."

No, I definitely don't want him to go looking elsewhere.

"I'm Luca." I think I should introduce myself. "Luca Winterton."

"Winterton?" He looks thoughtful for a minute—damn, he's connecting me to the scandal. It's then I open my big mouth.

"You're wondering if I'm the Luca Winterton, the artist who was involved in the scandal with the art critic." Way to go Luca.

He frowns, and even then he looks divine. "I um, no, I was going to ask if you were related to Frances Winterton?"

"Oh." That throws me for a minute. "She is, er, was my Great Aunt. This was her place. She passed recently and left it to me. I might sell it, though." Phew, he didn't know about the scandal—except he does now. Big mouth, Luca. Well done.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I didn't get a chance to meet her, but I heard great things about her. Oh. Sorry, I'm Jackson Blake."

"Have you been here before, Jackson?" Even his name is rugged.

"No, I've never had the pleasure, but I have seen pictures of the gardens when they were open to the public. They looked magnificent."

"They were."

"Look, I'm really sorry about using your greenhouse. I'm happy to find somewhere for my plants."

"No, honestly, please use it. But how did you get in?"

"There's a small gate in the wall. It was wired shut but the um, wire broke." He quirks his mouth into a sheepish smile. God, it's sexy. I can feel my knees go weak and a stirring in my cock. Damn it. I need to change the subject and stop him looking at me like that.

"What plants are they?" He turns his attention back to the bench. Phew . I shift slightly to make myself more comfortable. But, damn him, he's smiling tenderly at his plants again.

"They're bedding plants—lobelias, fuchsia, salvia, geraniums, petunias—they're all I have left."

"Have left?"

"From my divorce. My wife took everything else." Fuck, he's straight. But the sadness that crosses his face makes me want to help him somehow.

"Um, would you like a coffee?" His face breaks out into a beautiful smile. It's criminal that straight guys can be so damn good looking.

"Yes, please, I would like that."

We start walking towards the house, taking the route around the blocked paths. I see Jackson looking round, taking it all in.

"You seem to know a lot about plants."

"I'm a gardener—well I was—and I hope to be again when my plants have grown. I'm hoping to start my own nursery."

"In Larchdown?"

"No, but that's a whole other story." He clams up then, and I don't push. We reach the back door, and I usher him into the kitchen and head to the coffee machine. I pop in a pod and grab a couple of mugs, glad that I spent some time yesterday cleaning the kitchen.

"Umm, thank you." He actually closes his eyes when he takes his first mouthful. When he opens them, he catches me staring, and I look away, suddenly embarrassed.

"I've missed coffee this good," he says. "So, are you an artist?"

That catches me off guard. He's been paying attention then.

"Used to be." I shrug. That's all I'm prepared to give. I've always been wary around straight guys, until I know them and what they think about gay men. He seems friendly enough, but in truth, I don't know him. I want to know him more though, even if we could just be friends. I want more—a whole lot more—but that isn't possible, as he's straight. Friends it will have to be then. Apart from Anna, I don't have any friends. He finishes his coffee and goes to wash the cup in the sink. Tidy, I like that.

He thanks me again for the coffee and the use of the greenhouse before he leaves. I watch him walk down the path, looking out of the window long after he disappears from view.