The Botanist (Sexy Scientists Series, Book Six)

By Ramona Gray

Iris
My plan was simple. Restore my grandfather’s garden to its former glory to surprise my nana.

Between my black thumb and inept gardeners, I’m left with no one to turn to but Luka Sanders, the local botanist, next-door neighbour, and, thanks to the incident, a dyed-in-the-wool Iris Jenkins hater.

Luka is smart, sexy, and brooding... a lethal combination for my underpants.

But if I want his help, I have to prove to Luka I’m not the girl he thinks I am.

Luka
I’ve spent four years avoiding Iris.

She thinks it’s because of the incident. She doesn’t need to know I spend most nights fantasizing about watering her flower... repeatedly.

With the Willowdale Botanical Gardens facing financial ruin, Iris is the only one with enough money to rescue it.

I’ll do anything for the Gardens, even if that means working to restore Iris’s family garden with the funny, intelligent, and way-too-sexy woman. The more time I spend with Iris, the more I believe she’s the one for me.

But Iris and I are complete opposites, and this is real life, not a fairytale.

How could two radically different people find forever together?

Author’s Note: This is the sixth and final story in a series of stand-alone, short and dirty (So.Very.Dirty.) novellas. If you’re looking for quick, one-handed (ahem) reads with insta-love and over-the-top alpha heroes in lab coats, then the trope-alicious Sexy Scientists series is for you!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ramona Gray
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781774461402

Ramona Gray

Ramona Gray is a Canadian romance author. She lives in Alberta with her awesome husband and her mutant Chihuahua. She is addicted to home improvement shows, good coffee, and reading and writing about the steamier moments in life.Email her at: [e-mail] out her website: www.ramonagray.caSign up for her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/_cL75She also writes contemporary and paranormal romance under her alter-ego "Elizabeth Kelly". Check out Elizabeth's books at www.elizabethkelly.ca

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Iris

Istepped onto my porch, shut the door, and stared to my right at Luka’s house. I sucked in a fortifying breath of warm air and, holding the container of cookies a little tighter, marched down the steps and across my lawn to Luka’s place.

Instead of climbing his porch steps, I veered toward his backyard, where a six-foot wooden privacy fence separated his yard from mine. That fence wasn’t there when I rented the house next to Luka’s.

Nope, that fence hadn’t gone up until after the incident.

My face burned, even after four years, and my steps faltered as I approached the gate. I hadn’t seen much of Luka since that night, but I hadn’t realized he was deliberately avoiding me. Even after volunteering at the Willowdale Botanical Gardens for six months and only seeing Luka in the Gardens once, despite my twice-weekly volunteer shifts, it hadn’t clued me in. I just assumed he was busy. Not only was he the curator of the Gardens and busy with the job, the Gardens was a big place. It was easy for us never to run into each other.

At least, that’s what I’d told myself. Until the last two weeks, when it had become more than clear that Luka Sanders was deliberately avoiding me. I’d been to his office at the Gardens three times, and his assistant had politely but firmly informed me he was out of the office each time. On the third visit, when I’d told her I could, in fact, look through his half-open office door and see part of his delightfully muscular, tanned left arm, she’d only given me a cool smile before staring at her computer screen and dismissing me entirely. I’d briefly considered making a break for his office and busting in there before deciding against it. Luka’s assistant was loyal as hell to him, an expert in Judo, and had a budding career in the MMA.

I’d switched to trying to catch him at home, knocking on his front door every evening, but he never answered. I tried to convince myself that he probably had a roaring social life, but more than once, I could have sworn I saw the curtains covering the big bay window next to the front door twitch while I stood on his front porch.

Three days ago, I’d asked Dupinder, one of the employees at the Gardens, for Luka’s cell number. I might have been neighbours with Luka for nearly five years, but we weren’t friends.

Yeah, because you got drunk and –

I shook my head to clear it. Nope, I would not think of the incident. It was a long time ago, mistakes were made, I’d apologized, and there was nothing to do but move on from it.

Luka hasn’t moved on from it. It’s why he’s avoiding you at the Gardens and why you never see him despite being next-door neighbours. It’s why Dupinder wouldn’t give you Luka’s cell number.

I wanted to convince myself that Dupinder hadn’t lied to me when he said volunteers weren’t allowed to have Luka’s number, but unfortunately, Dupinder was as terrible at lying as I was.

I stood in front of the fence gate, switching my gaze from the metal latch to the container of cookies with the envelope taped to the top of it that I held in my hands.

I’d thought up my new plan earlier this morning. I would write out my request to Luka, bake some ‘I come in peace’ cookies, and leave them at his house. His hatred for me ran deep, but I hoped his affection for my grandparents would convince him to help me. If not… maybe the cookies would sway him.

You really think cookies are gonna win him over? You’ve seen Luka’s body. It is not the body of a cookie eater.

Nope, it absolutely wasn’t, but who didn’t love cookies? Psychopaths, that’s who. Besides, the cookies were oatmeal, and oatmeal was good for you. That made these healthy cookies, right?

I reached for the latch, my hand faltering as an image of Luka’s body floated into my head. I was immediately embarrassed because usually, the only time I thought of Luka’s perfect body was after dark with my favourite vibrator pressed up against my clit.

My hands gripped the cookie container so hard I was in danger of cracking the plastic.

Iris! Get it together. Now is not the time to indulge yourself in a Luka fantasy.

I took a few deep breaths and turned my head from side to side, cracking my neck and steeling my nerves like I was about to enter the octagon with Luka’s assistant. I grasped the latch and pulled on it, frowning when it didn’t move. Was it rusted stuck? I pulled hard, grunting with the effort before releasing it. Well, shit. Now what?

Just leave it on his front porch, for God’s sake.

I could, but in the last month, there’d been a string of front porch package-stealing in our neighbourhood that had half my neighbours on NextDoor salivating for justice. I didn’t want to risk someone absconding with my written request and peace cookies.

I thought leaving it in Luka’s backyard behind the safety of his fence was a brilliant plan. But that was before I knew the latch was rusted shut.

I tapped my foot, studying the fence and the latch before reaching out and giving it another few tugs. It didn’t move even an inch, and I sighed with defeat. Well, shit. There went that plan.

I turned to walk away and ran straight into the large cement flower box to the left of the gate. I rubbed my bruised shin, staring thoughtfully at the box. It was almost three feet high, and a stunning array of brightly coloured flowers filled it to the brim. I eyed the thick edge of the flower box. It was wide enough to stand on, and I wouldn’t crush any of Luka’s flowers. Standing on the flower box would allow me to climb over his fence. I could leave the cookies and the letter at his back door, safe and sound from thieves and ravenous stray cats.

Tucking the container of cookies under one arm, I climbed awkwardly onto the ledge of the flower box, holding the top of the fence as my thick thighs screamed in protest. I wasn’t the nimblest person on the planet, and I hesitated as I stared over the fence into Luka’s backyard. Directly below me was a patch of grass, and just a few inches to the right of it was – my face burned anew – a lush bed of creeping phlox and the scene of the incident.

There was no matching cement flower box to help me climb back over the fence, but he’d have a patio chair or something that I could prop up next to the fence to allow me to climb back out if I couldn’t get the gate clasp unstuck from the inside. Easy peasy, right?

No, not easy-peasy. This is your worst idea ever, Iris, and you’ve had a lot of bad fucking ideas.

Wasn’t that the truth? But this was a great idea, the perfect plan, actually, and I was getting desperate for Luka’s help.

With the cookies still clamped awkwardly in one armpit, I heaved my body on top of the fence, balancing precariously on my stomach. The wood bit into my flesh, and even with my substantial muffin top, it hurt like hell.

Thanking God I wore stretchy yoga pants, I swung my right leg over the top of the fence with a grunt of effort. I straddled the top of Luka’s fence, gripping it with both hands and clamping my arm against the cookie container so hard that my armpit would have a bruise.

With another loud grunt, I lifted my left leg and swung it over the fence, ready to drop onto the patch of grass with the grace of the prima ballerina that I just knew lived somewhere inside of me.

Unfortunately, my thick thighs and ample belly did not get the ballerina message. Instead of dropping to the ground, the left leg of my yoga pants snagged on a jagged piece of wood at the top of the fence and stuck.

I made a strangled-sounding cry, my right leg dangling down with my toes a few inches from the ground and my left leg three feet above me. I gripped the top of the fence with both hands as the cookie container slipped out from under my armpit and hit the ground. My arms already shook from exertion, and I yanked and kicked my left leg, trying desperately to free the fabric.

Motherfucker! I shouted as excruciating pain shot through my groin. I swung my body wildly and made one final desperate kick with my left leg. My pant leg ripped, and the searing pain in my groin lessened as my chubby body flew backward. I landed flat on my back in the middle of the creeping phlox, my groin throbbing and my breath whooshing in and out of my lungs in loud gasps.

What the hell?

The sound of his deep voice, the one I rarely heard but seemed to have memorized for every one of my filthy fantasies, reverberated above me.

I struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain in my crotch and turned my head. The apology hovering on my lips died a silent death.

I stared in wide-eyed amazement at Luka Sanders. Botanist, neighbour, and apparently… my gaze roamed every inch of his perfect naked body… secret nudist.

CHAPTER 2

Luka

Iris Jenkins was the last person I expected to see flat on her back in my creeping phlox. Maybe it was how she stared blatantly at my crotch, or maybe it was because her shirt was hiked up nearly to her breasts, allowing me to see the smooth pale skin of her stomach and the bottom edge of a dark blue bra, but she looked even more fuckable than usual.

Why are you here? I asked.

Why are you naked? she countered.

Fuck.

I dropped my gaze to my dick before clamping both hands over my crotch. Stop staring at my dick, Iris.

She blushed hotly but said, You know I can still see it, right? Even with both your hands covering it. Congratulations, by the way.

Now it was my turn to blush so hard that the tips of my ears felt like they’d caught fire. I turned away and stomped back around the house, grabbing my shorts from the picnic table and yanking them up my legs before returning to Iris. She’d shoved her shirt down, thank fucking Christ, but she still sat in the creeping phlox.

You’re crushing the phlox, I snapped.

Shit. I’m sorry. Embarrassment crossed her face as she struggled to stand. She rolled to her knees, made a strangled yelp, and then froze.

What’s wrong? I asked.

I think I’ve pulled my groin, she said. I’m not sure I can stand on my own.

I sighed and joined her in the phlox, sliding my hands under her arms. Her whole body tensed, and I said irritably, Did you hurt your armpits too?

No, she muttered.

I lifted her to her feet, being careful to be gentle despite my irritation over the loss of the phlox and my tension over being this close to a woman I desperately wanted to fuck.

Thank you, she said as I stepped out of the creeping phlox. She stepped out of the flowerbed, wincing and stumbling as her face went white, and she hissed in pain. She pressed her hand against her right inner thigh.

Shit, you’re bleeding. I stared at the splashes of blood on the flattened pink flowers. There were only a few, and not very big, but worry gripped me hard. Where are you bleeding?

I’m not, Iris said.

"You