The Heir And His Bride

Roots and Rain

The first official day of Summer’s consultancy began with a challenge that had nothing to do with soil and everything to do with Mr. Henderson, the estate’s head gardener. A man who looked as though he had been carved out of an old oak tree, Henderson stood in the potting shed with arms crossed, watching Summer as if she were an invasive species.

"Wildflowers," Henderson grumbled. "Lavender in the walkways. Do you have any idea how much work it is to keep a formal garden looking formal, missy?"

Summer didn't flinch. "It’s not a whim, Mr. Henderson. It’s a restoration. These roses are suffocating. They’re being fed chemicals instead of nutrients, and they’re being trimmed for symmetry instead of health." She pointed to a bush near the door. "It has scale. If we don't change the airflow and the soil composition now, you’ll lose the entire row by mid-summer."

Henderson squinted, examined the stem, and let out a long sigh. "You’ve got a spine, I’ll give you that. Fine. The north quadrant is yours. But if you kill my prize-winning 'Peace' roses, I’ll have Silas drive you back to the city myself."

The morning was the most satisfying work Summer had done in years. By mid-afternoon, however, the sky turned a bruised purple, and the humid heat broke into a torrential downpour. Summer scrambled to gather her tools, her hair plastered to her forehead, a streak of mud across her cheek.

"Need a hand?"

She turned to see Collin standing under the stone veranda. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Before she could slip on the wet grass, his hand shot out, steadying her by the waist. The contact felt like a jolt of electricity.

"Come inside," Collin said, his voice dropping an octave. "The library has a fireplace. You're shivering."

He led her into the library, a room that smelled of old leather and woodsmoke. Collin disappeared for a moment and returned with a thick, oversized cashmere sweater. "Put this on."

Summer pulled it over her head. It smelled like him, sandalwood and cold air. They sat by the fire, watching the rain lash against the windows.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Summer asked suddenly. "Yesterday you acted like I was a security threat."

Collin leaned back, the firelight dancing in his dark eyes. "I don't trust easily, Summer. In my world, everyone wants something. It makes you cynical. But you... you just want the roses to grow. It’s refreshing. And a little terrifying."

"Why terrifying?"

"Because if you're real, then everything else in this house starts to look like a prop."

The honesty in his voice made Summer’s heart ache. She realized then that Collin wasn't just a cold businessman; he was a man who had been surrounded by gold his whole life and was only now realizing it didn't keep him warm.

"I am real, Collin," she said softly.

He stood up and stepped toward her, the space between them vanishing until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he tilted her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. Summer’s breath hitched. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, full of a sudden, fierce longing.

The air between them was thick, the silence of the library heavy with everything they weren't saying. Collin leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw and dragging slowly across her lower lip. For a heartbeat, the world outside, the wealth, the name, the orphanage,ceased to exist. He hovered there, his lips just a fraction of an inch from hers, long enough for her to feel the frantic rhythm of his heart against her own.

"You're the only thing in this house that isn't for sale, Summer," he whispered, his voice thick and rough.

He began to close the final distance, his eyes fluttering shut, when the library doors swung open with a resounding thud. Marcus Vanderbilt walked in, his expression one of sharp, calculating amusement.

"Well, well," Marcus said, scanning the scene. "I see the help is making herself comfortable. Try not to get too attached to the cashmere, dear. It costs more than your yearly salary."

The spell was broken. Collin stepped back instantly, his posture turning cold and defensive. Summer felt the sting of the words, the sudden reminder of her place in the hierarchy, but before she could shrink away, Collin’s gaze snapped back to her.

"Don't ever let him make you feel small," Collin said firmly, his eyes burning with a silent promise.

The heat of that near-kiss remained etched into the air between them, unfinished and agonizing, as Marcus watched them with a look that suggested he had just found a new way to win.