Bloom Read online

  FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, DECEMBER 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Deborah Bladon

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9781674884943

  eBook ISBN: 9781926440583

  Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media

  www.deborahbladon.com

  Also by Deborah Bladon

  THE OBSESSED SERIES

  THE EXPOSED SERIES

  THE PULSE SERIES

  THE VAIN SERIES

  THE RUIN SERIES

  IMPULSE

  SOLO

  THE GONE SERIES

  FUSE

  THE TRACE SERIES

  CHANCE

  THE EMBER SERIES

  THE RISE SERIES

  HAZE

  SHIVER

  TORN

  THE HEAT SERIES

  RISK

  MELT

  THE TENSE DUET

  SWEAT

  TROUBLEMAKER

  WORTH

  HUSH

  BARE

  WISH

  SIN

  LACE

  THIRST

  COMPASS

  VERSUS

  RUTHLESS

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  Deborah’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Athena

  My shop, Wild Lilac, seems to be the place all the hot guys in Manhattan come to when they’re looking to impress their certain someone with flowers.

  Today is a perfect example of that. One of my first customers this morning was a hotshot hockey player. I only know that because I saw his face on a billboard in Times Square during the playoffs last season.

  After he bought and paid for the perfect bouquet for his special lady, a looker in a suit strolled through the door.

  It took him over an hour to choose the arrangement he wanted. I was happy to oblige since it cost a small fortune. The flowers will be delivered tomorrow before he goes to the yoga studio his girlfriend owns to drop to one knee to ask her to spend her life with him.

  I look over at the man who walked in less than a minute ago.

  He’s sexy-as-sin.

  His dark blond hair is pushed back from his face and skimming the collar of his black button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, so the black and gray tattoos that cover his muscular forearms are visible.

  He’s giving off a semi-corporate vibe since he’s dressed in black pants and shoes.

  I turn to the side to stop myself from staring at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  If there ever was a perfect voice for phone sex, it belongs to this man.

  I look over at his face. His jaw is covered with a trimmed beard. His blue eyes pierce through me as he stares at me.

  The man is a gorgeous giant. He must be at least six-foot-five.

  “Can I help you?” I ask cheerfully from behind my checkout counter because swooning over the clientele will not pay the rent on this place.

  “I need some flowers.” He huffs out a laugh. “Nice flowers. I want something extra special for the woman I’m seeing.”

  Something deflates inside of me. It’s not as though I was expecting him to be in my floral boutique to buy a bouquet for his mom. That mad rush happens in May. It’s late September. The bulk of my recent orders have been gestures of undying devotion, new baby arrivals, birthdays, or sadly, red rose heavy arrangements to honor the recently departed.

  “Are you celebrating something?” I ask not only because that will help me determine what type of bouquet to suggest, but curiosity is a motivating factor too.

  “I’m celebrating her.” His tone softens. “She’s an incredible woman.”

  She’s a lucky woman.

  His eyes skim the front of the black sweater I’m wearing. “What’s your name?”

  That’s not a question I’m asked often since I usually have a nametag pinned to my chest, but this sweater and sharp objects don’t play well together.

  “Athena.”

  “Nice.” He flashes me a smile. “I’m Wolf.”

  “Wolf?” I question back because that has to be a nickname. “Your name is Wolf?”

  His hand jumps to his chin. Smoothing his fingertips over his beard, he huffs out a laugh. “It is. I’m Liam Wolf.”

  “Liam,” I repeat his first name because it suits him perfectly in some abstract, unexplainable way.

  The breadth of his shoulders and his height make him intimidating to look at, but his eyes and the warmth in his voice tell a different story.

  I’m running a business, so I go to the heart of the matter. “What kind of flowers are you thinking of?”

  “Whatever takes your breath away,” he says.

  Never mind the flowers; that statement did the trick.

  Speechless, I stare at him.

  He bows his chin. “I’m looking for an arrangement that will surprise the hell out of my girlfriend. It has to be unique. Do you think you can handle that, Athena?”

  I can handle anything, even creating beautiful bouquets for men like him to give to other women.

  “I’m up for the job.” I smile.

  Sliding a credit card and a sealed envelope toward me, he takes a pause. “Her name and address are written on there. I need that and the flowers sent to her today.”

  All of my deliveries have already gone out, and it’s nearing five o’clock.

  “My delivery cut-off is at two.” I glance down at the large silver watch on his wrist. “I can have this in her hands tomorrow.”

  “It has to be today.” He leans both of his palms on the counter. “I’ll pay extra if you can get it to her before eight.”

  Who am I to stand in the way of true love? I have nothing planned for tonight, so I do my good deed for the day. “I can take it to her personally. No extra charge.”

  His eyes scan my face. “If you can make that happen, I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  I set to work writing out an invoice for an ela
borate arrangement of the most expensive flowers I have in stock. If I’m going to do this tonight, I might as well do it right. I hope the woman on the receiving end of the bouquet and the note realizes just how lucky she is.

  “You’ll confirm once they’re in Wren’s hand?”

  I glance at the front of the envelope and the masculine handwriting.

  Even the way he writes his girlfriend’s name is sexy.

  WREN HOLSON.

  Beneath it is an address in Tribeca.

  My gaze shifts to his handsome face. “The recipient usually confirms the delivery in a phone call or text to the sender.”

  That goes without saying. Most people who receive flowers can’t wait to thank the person who sent them. I overheard my fair share of those calls when I worked at a floral shop during summer break in high school. I handled any deliveries that could be made on foot. It saved the shop owner a nice chunk of change, and it gave me insight into how much an unexpected gift of fragrant blossoms can instantly alter a person’s mood.

  “Wren has a shoot that starts at seven.” He taps his finger on the envelope. “She’s a photographer. This is her studio address. It might take her a minute to get in touch with me after you deliver the flowers, so I’d appreciate confirmation. A text will do just fine since I’ll be busy with a couple of appointments at my office tonight.”

  I push a pad of paper and a pen at him. “Jot down your number on here.”

  His lips curve into a smile. “Sure thing, Athena.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he writes out the digits. I’ll program it into my phone for the night, but by tomorrow morning it will be history.

  I finish up the invoice and slide it toward him. “Have a look over this and see if that works for you.”

  His gaze catches mine. Without a glance down, he studies my face. “Charge it to my card and add a twenty percent tip.”

  I already added a generous rush fee to the total, but since he hasn’t looked at the invoice, he doesn’t realize that.

  I play to the moment as I pick up his card to run it through the register. “I’ll add ten percent to this order. You can tip me twenty on the next bouquet.”

  “The next?” His brows perk.

  “Once you see how grateful your girlfriend is, you’ll be back.”

  I must have said that line hundreds of times since I opened the shop last year, but today it feels different. There’s more hope in my words than confidence. I’d like to see him again, even if it’s just for the innocent banter when he orders Wren Holson another bouquet.

  “I have no doubt I’ll be back.” He flashes me a gorgeous smile. “I’ll leave you to work your magic. Thanks for everything, Athena.”

  “Thank you, Liam.”

  “I don’t hear that often,” he says, lowering his voice.

  An ache settles somewhere deep inside of me from the rasp in his tone. “You don’t hear what often?”

  “My name.” He pauses. “Most people call me Wolf.”

  I tilt my chin up, taking another long look at his handsome face. “I like the name Liam.”

  “Do you?” he asks with a cock of his brow. “I like your name too. What’s your last name?”

  I give it up because a glance at the store’s website reveals that tidbit of information. “Millett. Athena Millett.”

  “That’s beautiful.” He leans forward. “I’ve never met anyone named Athena before.”

  I rub a hand over my forehead, suddenly aware of what I must look like to him. I’ve been at work since six a.m., and it shows. My long golden brown hair is cinched up in a tight ponytail, but a few wayward strands have fallen loose. The black liner I applied around my blue eyes has to be smudged by now, along with my mascara. My soft pink lipstick found a new home on the metal straw of my water bottle.

  I drag myself back to the reason he’s here. “I should get started on Wren’s arrangement.”

  He steals a glance at his watch. “I need to get back to my office. Thanks again.”

  Shoving a hand through his hair, he turns and walks out of my store, leaving me with the task of creating something beautiful for his girlfriend.

  Dropping my gaze to the counter in front of me, I realize he left me with something else.

  His credit card.

  It looks like I’ll see Liam Wolf again very soon.

  Chapter 2

  Athena

  Wren Holson stares at me with her big green eyes.

  A toss of her dark brown hair over her shoulder only adds to her attitude at the moment.

  My first mistake was barging into the middle of the mommy and son photo shoot that’s going on.

  I can blame that on her assistant. He was on his way out of her studio when I showed up. The enormous floral arrangement in my hands didn’t faze him. He pointed at a pretty brunette wearing a teal jumpsuit and holding a camera.

  I sauntered over with a big smile on my face and promptly sent the little boy nestled in his mother’s arms into a crying fit.

  The flowers scared the hell out of him.

  They’ve been a pain since I left my shop and hopped onto the subway to come here.

  I poked more people than I care to admit as I swung the bouquet from arm-to-arm, trying desperately not to injure anyone.

  Wren’s gaze drops to the envelope in her hands.

  I got her to take that, but so far she hasn’t reached for the flowers. I shove them at her for the third time. “I’m sorry again for the interruption, Ms. Holson. I hope you enjoy these.”

  She doesn’t make a move to take them from me. “Did Wolf send you here?”

  I sneak a peek at the blonde woman dressed in blue, holding her now-quiet son. “He did.”

  Sliding a pink manicured fingernail under the seal of the envelope, Wren sighs. “Give me a minute, will you?”

  For what?

  I’ve already overstayed my welcome. I should be out the door and texting Liam by now. I need to tell him that the delivery was a success and that I have his credit card in the front pocket of my jeans.

  Wren’s gaze flits over my face before it settles on the gold locket hanging around my neck. “Wait right here.”

  I stand in place as the heels of her sky-high black boots tap out an impatient rhythm on the hardwood floor with every step she takes away from me.

  “Those flowers are all kinds of gorgeous.” The woman bouncing the baby in her arms smiles at me. “Did her boyfriend send those to her?”

  I don’t think I’m divulging any secrets by nodding my head.

  “What florist do you deliver for?” She asks with a tilt of her chin. “My mom’s birthday is creeping up. It’s her big six-o, so I want to surprise her with something like that.”

  I glance at the door that Wren disappeared behind at the back of the studio. Since I have the time, I might as well make the most of it.

  Balancing the bouquet in my left arm, I fish in my tote for one of my business cards. I don’t hand out a lot of them, but my brother insisted I order a box when I set up shop. He’s not only my silent partner but my mentor too.

  I yank a small white card out of one of the compartments inside of my bag. “I own Wild Lilac.”

  Taking a few steps forward, I drop my card in her outstretched hand.

  She scans the violet-colored text. “I think I just found my new favorite florist.”

  I’ll never get tired of hearing those words.

  “Hey.” The sound of Wren’s voice turns my attention to the back of the studio.

  I raise a hand and smile as if we’re old friends. “Can I put these on that table over there?”

  Wren’s gaze shifts to the rectangular table covered with camera equipment, notepads, and a computer. “No. You’re taking those with you.”

  Darting to her feet, the woman who is holding the baby asks the obvious question before I have a chance to. “Why is she taking those flowers with her?”

  Wren stabs a corner of the envelope I gave her into the t
op of my hand.

  I look down. Her name has a line of red ink slashed through it. Written under that in the same crimson shade is one word.

  Wolf.

  “Give this to him,” she says when I take the envelope. “Give him the flowers too.”

  I flip the envelope over in my hand. The only thing holding the seal in place is a small piece of blue tape in the center of it.

  “I wrote on the back of his note,” she explains, her voice even. “I don’t want flowers. He shouldn’t have sent them.”

  “Maybe you should call him?” I suggest quietly.

  That perks both her brows. “I said everything I want to say in my note. It’s over. I’m done. I should have ended it weeks ago.”

  My gaze lands beyond her shoulder on the blonde woman. The expression on her face must mirror the one on mine. I’m shocked. This has never happened to me.

  “You can go.” Wren dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “I’m busy. Sorry for your trouble.”

  I stuff the envelope in my tote and turn my back to her. Taking a deep breath, I march across the studio, wondering how in the hell I got stuck in the middle of this.

  ***

  Liam Wolf didn’t answer my call or respond to any of the three text messages I sent to him since leaving Wren’s studio. I could have waited until tomorrow to get in touch with him, but that comes with a risk.

  The risk is that if he reaches out to Wren tonight, he won’t have a full understanding of where his relationship stands.

  It’s not my job to give the envelope to him before the clock strikes midnight, but he seems like a decent guy. He deserves to know that Wren wrote him a note when she refused the flowers.

  Running my fingers over the screen of my phone, I find what I’m looking for with a quick online search.

  Liam’s a grief counselor.

  He works in a building on West 54 th Street.

  I plug in the numbers for his office phone.

  By the third ring I expect it to go to voicemail, but a female voice answers. “Dehaven Center. Good evening. How may I help you?”

  Stepping back from the street, I settle in a spot under the awning of a closed deli. It’s not as though I’d need to shout over the noise of the traffic whizzing past, but this conversation feels like it deserves a modicum of respect.