Desire: Love and Passion - By Lesia Reid Page 0,12

warm her breath was against his lips. She didn't hesitate, didn't pull away when others had closed their eyes in disgust. No other had so excited or intrigued him.

He had to see her. He turned out the lights and in the darkness, hatched a plan to do just that.

Willow made it to WB Marketing at almost eleven thirty on Wednesday morning. She spent Tuesday doing what she did best, her photography. She was acutely aware of the receptionist giving her a new look. Then Nancy French, her partner walking out of her office as Willow whizzed by.

"Did I miss a meeting?" Willow asked.

"You didn't tell me you were seeing someone," Nancy said catching up to her longtime friend.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Willow said.

"Liar."

Another associate passed and more stares.

"What are you talking about?" Willow said.

"Well, someone sent you roses on Monday."

Willow stopped walking. How did she know?

"How -?"

"It was delivered around three in the afternoon," Nancy said. "I was going to call you, but I figured you would be in yesterday or at the very least today to finalize that new postage design."

"A bunch of flowers does not mean I’m dating," Willow said as she turned the knob on the door to her office.

The scent of roses, lavender, and a host of other scents wafted out to her. There were at least a dozen bouquets of flowers. She stopped in her tracks.

"The roses came Monday," Nancy informed her. "The others have been coming in since nine yesterday morning and every fifteen minutes until we closed. It started again today. It must have been a hell of a night or one heck of a fight."

Willow didn't answer as she walked over to her desk. She dropped her car keys, put down the coffee and the briefcase she carried. Her office was fast resembling a small floral shop.

"I restrained myself," Nancy said. "I didn't read the cards."

Nancy plucked the card from the first delivery and gave it to Willow. She glanced at the note. It was the same as she received at the house Monday. She dropped the card on her desk beside her keys. Nancy snatched it up almost immediately.

"Look, no name." Nancy said. "But, you did something together on Sunday night. And his initials are JM. Who is it?"

There was a knock on the office door. It was Emily, the receptionist. She had another floral arrangement in her hand.

"Where do you want me to put this?" Emily asked.

"How about at your desk?" Willow answered.

"It has a card," the receptionist replied.

Willow walked over and plucked the card from the stick. She realized that with the exception of the roses, all the other plants were live plants.

"I have an idea," Willow said to Emily. "Why don't you see who would like a bouquet in their work space or to take home."

"You're giving them away?" Emily asked.

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Emily asked as she picked up a pot of expensive rare orchids.

"Yes, I am."

"So who is he?" Nancy asked again when they were alone. "Are you going to read the other notes?"

Willow glanced at the tiny card in her hand. She opened it.

'Every flower is the part of my soul that dies the longer I wait to make things right with you. They will come every fifteen minutes - the time it takes for me to get your answer by courier. When they have stopped coming you will have either said you forgive me and a second chance is ours or that part of me that was touched by your light has been forever lost to darkness.'

"A poet," Nancy said reading over her friend's shoulders. "That is so romantic."

"Crazy is more like it," Willow said. "Come on, let's prepare for that meeting. Have you had a chance to read my email?"

"Not yet. So who is he?" Nancy persisted.

"Nobody," Willow said.

"Come on, you can tell me."

"I can't and he's nobody," Willow said. "We have work to do."

Her meeting lasted well over an hour. Four more plants were delivered during that time. Emily had, in addition to giving away a few, created quite the fresh arrangement for the front office.

Willow pounded out his telephone number a little after three o'clock when another large pot of rare orchids arrived. That plant started a lottery in the design department.

"Stop," she said as soon as he answered.

"How are you?"

"Stop," she said. "You cannot continue sending these flowers. My clients will start to think we are becoming a botanical business."

"You know what will make me stop?"

"A substantial dent in