“Aha!” Holly said, pleased. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You
do
know what a crush is.”
“Yes, Holly, I do. What I don’t know is why you deliberately set out to be uncooperative, knowing that I’d become even more intrigued each time you treated me like gum on the bottom of your shoe that you were trying to scrape off. Why would you keep trying to attract me tonight, if you really wanted me to go away?”
Holly opened her mouth. Closed it. Shifted her gaze from side to side. “Oh,” she said at last. “Um
…
it was an experiment? An
…
an intellectual exercise?”
He closed the space between them, put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t think so, Holly. Do y
ou want to know what I think?”
“Probably not,” she admitted, still trying to sort through her reactions, knowing dam full well that the
last
thing she really wanted was for Colin to go away.
“Too bad, because you’re going to get it anyway. You have a crush on me, Holly Hollis. Shall we go over what constitutes a crush? Let’s see, what was that? Oh, yes, I remember. It was something about wanting to kiss me until your toes curl up and you sigh into my mouth and melt against me, whisper my name over and over as I make love to you until we’re both limp and spent and fall asleep in each other’s arms—just so we can wake up and do it all again.”
Holly resisted the urge to curl her bare toes into the carpet once more. “That was your explanation, not mine.”
“True, but I like mine better. Don’t you?”
Holly looked up at him. At that wonderful face, into those kind yet sexy eyes. “This is nuts.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But as trying to get you to
admit to love at first sight doesn’t appear to be an option, I think it’s time we go with this crush idea of yours.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” he said, bending down and kissing her cheek, “I think we should spend the next week stuck together like glue, just to see what happens. If you’re right, and we’re both suffering from this crush syndrome, we’ll get sick of each other by the time I have to go back to Paris. But,” he added, his smile threatening to bring tears to her eyes, “if you’re wrong, and I’m right, by the end of next week both our lives will have changed forever. So, is it a deal?”
“I don’t know,” Holly answered honestly.
“Well, that’s honest. So I’ll be honest, too. I don’t want to let you go, Holly. And I won’t let you go, go away, not without a fight.”
“You sure are Max’s cousin, aren’t you,” Holly said, shaking her head. “Now I know what Julia was up against. Still, I also know I’m right on this one, Co
li
n Rafferty, and if it takes having you around for the next week to prove it, then that’s how it works.”
She bent her knees, effectively slipping out from under Colin’s hands, and started for the hallway. “I’ll get pillows and sheets for the couch. The larger one’s a sleeper, as I’m pretty sure you already know. You can make yourself useful by tossing the cushions onto the other couch and opening it.”
“No rice bed, huh?” Colin asked as she reentered the living room and threw a pillow and a set of sheets at his head.
“Not even in your dreams,” she told him, then
turned on her heels, barely resisting the urge to
run
for the safety of her bedroom.
“Oh, definitely in my dreams, Holly,” he called after her.
Holly slammed her bedroom door on a few choice, unlovely words she didn’t want him to hear.
Seve
n
C
olin woke to the aroma of frying bacon shortly after dawn the next morning, a grin on his face, his hopes high—and his lower back in a spasm, something he realized as he tried to sit up on the pull-out bed.
“Damn!” he swore, grabbing at his protesting back muscles as he staggered to his feet.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Holly said, standing in the dining room, looking in at him. “Hair mussed, morning beard, and now he’s bent over like an old man, scratching and moaning. Clearly this total immersion in each other isn’t working to cool my mad, impulsive crush. Be still my heart.”
He swiveled around, the muscle spasm easing slightly, and glared at her.
There she was, all spit and polish. Hair its usual intriguing spiky style, makeup on, dressed in stylishly baggy charcoal summer flannel slacks, crisp white silk blouse, and a black-and-burgundy paisley vest that
hugged her slim waist, snugged against her rounded breasts. She wore softest gray leather, high-heeled boots that couldn’t make her look much taller, but gave a whole new definition to the words “if you think I’m sexy.”
“Oh, great, a morning person,” he grumbled, heading toward the pair of travel bags he’d brought in from the BMW last night. “Where did you buy that sofa bed—Sadists Are Us? I think my back’s broken in three places.”
“Oh, you’re just charming, Mr. Rafferty. Utterly charming. Breakfast in ten minutes. I put fresh towels in the bathroom for you. There’s only one bathroom, so you’re going to have to work around a few things I washed out this morning. Just deal with it, okay?”
“Why are we up so early? Should I quick shower and dress? Where are we going?”
“I’m
going to work, I have no idea where
you’re
going, although, if pushed, I certainly could make a few suggestions,” Holly told him, then turned, a large, fairly lethal-looking fork held in front of her, and headed back to the kitchen.
“Not your smoothest this morning, are you, Rafferty?” Colin grumbled under his breath as he gathered up clean clothing, his shaving kit, and headed down the hallway, through Holly’s bedroom, into the bathroom. He was greeted by the sight of three pair of still dripping panty hose draped over the glass door to the shower stall.
She’d done this on purpose, of course. He was pretty sure she would even have pulled three clean pair out of her dresser drawer and run them under the faucet, just
so she could hang them up to bother him. She’d probably left the top off the toothpaste, too, and little blue globs of toothpaste in the bowl of the sink—just to turn him off.
Nope. No globs of toothpaste. She probably couldn’t bring herself to be that messy. But she had “decorated” the counter around the sink with vials of lipstick, bottles of makeup, a bunch of brushes and pencils—and a small metal contraption he knew to be an eyelash curler, but had always thought of as the ladies’ version of a cigar snipper.
How did she know he was a neat freak? Not
entirely
a neat freak, but his idea of a great way to start the morning had little to do with finding a spot for three pair of dripping-wet panty hose.
One by one, he gingerly lifted the sopping panty hose from the door, watched them plop down onto the floor, where they could dry, or twist themselves into knots. He really didn’t care. Stripping out of the institutional gray cotton knit shorts and T-shirt he’d grabbed from his luggage last night, he stepped into the shower.
Nine minutes and twenty seconds later, still barefoot and unshaven, clad in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, he walked into the dining room, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Smells really good,” he said, taking in the scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes and two strips of bacon already sitting on his plate. “Looks good, too. Do you always decide what somebody else is going to eat?”
She hesitated as she spooned eggs onto her plate. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve loaded my plate for me, which
pretty much tells me you expect me to eat portions you’ve decided on. Now I’m looking at this stuff—and it really does smell good, honest—and trying to decide if you’re trying to fatten me up, choke my arteries me
with cholesterol, or make sure I
don’t eat
three
pieces of bacon.”
Holly sat back in her chair, blinked. “I
…
I never
thought
of that. Mom just always loaded up our plates for us in the kitchen, to save on serving dishes, all those extra dishes to wash. But you’re right, Colin. Mom was, in a way, deciding how much or how little us kids would eat. Why would she do such a thing? How
…
how
controlling.
Dad, too, like she was in charge of all our appetites. And now I’m doing the same thing. I’m so sorry!”
“So am I,” Colin said, digging in to his scrambled eggs. “I didn’t mean to give you something to tell a shrink. Your mom was probably just trying to save on dirty plates, just like you said. Makes sense to me. However, that said, I hope you won’t mind if I butter my own toast.”
Holly blinked, looked at the knife she held in her right hand, the piece of toast clutched in her left. “This
…
this is for me.”
“Sure, and the two already buttered pieces on your plate are for me, right?”
He considered it a small blessing that she threw the toast at him, and not the butter knife.
Holly plopped her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “Oh God, I’m my mother! This can’t be!” Then she sat back once more, glared at him. “Well, thanks, Co
li
n, thanks a whole heap. I could have
gone through my entire life without realizing I’m turning into my own mother. Next thing you know I’ll be telling you to sit up at the table, don’t slouch, because it will ruin your digestion. I think I’m going to be sick!”
Colin chuckled under his breath. He just adored it when she took off, flew straight into the sky with her dramatic responses. He didn’t know why, he just did. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about, Holly. I’ll bet your mother is a wonderful woman. Caring, protective
…
”
“Smothering,” Holly added, making a face. “Just wait until you meet her.”
“I’m going to meet her? When?”
Holly didn’t answer. She looked at the slim watch on her wrist, then dug into her breakfast, once more eating with an obvious appreciation for the food that went into her mouth, and not picking like an anorexic bird— meaning most every woman he’d ever shared a meal with over the years.
“Holly? I am going to meet her, right? Wasn’t there something about Sunday dinners at your parents’ house? It’s Friday. I don’t leave for Paris until next Friday, remember? In the m
eantime, we’re doing this immer
sion-aversion therapy, which means I go where you go.”
“And to think that it all sounded so logical last night. I must have been out of my mind,” Holly grumbled, standing up, lifting her plate.
“Leave it,” Colin offered, waving toward the plate.
“
I know you said you have to get in to the office early this morning. I’ll clean up, which is only fair, because you cooked, and I’ll meet you at the offices around
noon, so we can go to lunch together. I hope you don’t mind if I use your phone to make a few calls to my Paris office. I’ll use my company credit card, I prom
i
se.
”
Holly looked at him, looked toward the kitchen—he could see the stove from his chair, and three frying pans sat on it. Looked at him again. “Okay,” she said, nodding her head in agreement. “I cooked, the least you can do is clean up. And close up the sofa bed, please.” Then she smiled. “I like this,” she said, waggling her eyebrows evilly. “I’ve never bossed anyone around before.”
“Now why do
I
doubt that?” Colin said, heading for the hall closet, taking out a thin pale gray trench coat and helping her into it. “Just in case you haven’t noticed that it’s drizzling out there,” he said, turning down her collar, then pulling her toward him, planting a kiss on her soft, pink lips. He released her slowly, smiling as he looked down at her, at her still-closed eyes, her slightly open mouth.
“I
like this,” he said, waggling his eyebrows much as she had just done. “I’ve never worried about anyone before.”
H
olly closed the door of her 4x4 and sat back against the seat, trying to catch her breath.
Oh God, he was gorgeous.
He’d been gorgeous before, but with his hair sort of mussed, his eyes still sleepy, that shadow of beard on his cheeks? Definitely more than gorgeous.
Did he have to wear shorts? She’d always heard, and agreed, that a man’s butt was a wonderful thing, but it
had never occurred to her that she could go slightly gaga over a pair of wonderfully straight legs covered in soft black hair.
She knew the hair was soft—as soft as his calves were hard—because she’d actually touched him the other day, to goad him into lifting up his leg so she could help him take off his shoes.
And his shoulders? She let out her breath in a rush, remembering how he’d looked in his black T-shirt just now. What straight shoulders, what a wonderfully flat belly. The guy had been sculpted by a master.
She’d seen him in an Armani suit. She’d seen him in a tux. But she’d melted completely this morning, seeing him as just Colin Rafferty, very,
very
healthy male animal.
Physical attraction. That’s what it was, nothing less, nothing more. A very immediate and extremely
intense
physical attraction. There couldn’t be any other explanation for her immediate and complete
awareness
of this man.
Holly inserted the key into the ignition and backed out of her parking space before she could give in to impulse and return to her apartment, jump the man’s bones.
“And wouldn’t that be
adult
of me,
”
Holly grumbled as she drove through the maze of smaller streets that led to the entrance ramp to Route 22 and her trip to the office. “You didn’t jump into bed with Richard, and he was gorgeous.”
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried to conjure up a vision of Richard’s face. Handsome yes, but sort of
fleshy,
now that she really thought about
it. And his smile never quite got as far as his eyes—to avoid ugly crow’s-feet, of course.
And he always had a manicure. That had always bothered her. She couldn’t seem to get past the idea of Richard sitting in some beauty salon, his fingertips stuck in a bowl of soapy water, letting clear polish be painted onto his fingernails. Did he wear a smock, maybe one with flowers on it, like they had at her beauty salon? Did he have pedicures, too?
Eeeuuuwww!
Not that her heart would go pitty-pat for a guy with ragged, unkempt nails, grease blackening his fingertips, but there had to be a happy medium, didn’t there?
Colin’s hands were a marvel. His palms were nearly square, his fingers long, with clean, blunt-cut nails— and no polish. She’d been fascinated watching his hands last night, as he’d played her grandfather’s guitar. Talented hands. Talented fingers.
How would they feel if he “played” those hands and fingers over her?
A horn honking behind her alerted Holly to the fact that she was on MacArthur Road now, somehow having exited Route 22 without realizing it, and that the streetlight in front of her had turned green.
“You’ve got to stop this,” she told herself as she continued on to the o
ffice connected to the new Sutherland offices, a large, modern
factory situated on Front Street. “You’ve got to get this guy out of your system, one way or another.”
She parked the Jeep, then just sat there, staring out the windshield. What was she worrying about? Next Friday he was going back to Paris. It would be kind of
difficult to maintain a crush on a guy three thousand miles away.
“So you’d better get him out of your system now, because otherwise you’ll b
e all alone, listening to tear-
jerker golden oldies on the radio every Saturday night and crying into your brownie batter,” she warned herself.
Of course, she realized as she opened her car door and grabbed her leather briefcase, that meant that Colin’s “immersion-aversion” plan, as he called it, just might be a good one.
She could really hate him for that.
“Crush, smush—the whole idea is crazy and I’m crazy for considering it, let alone bringing it up in the first place, then going along with his solution. Some solution! I should have just kept my big mouth shut, sent him away and eaten a half gallon of Rocky Road to get him out of my system.”
“Hi, Holly, talking to yourself again? You really might want to consider carrying one of those portable tape recorders around with you, just so nobody sees you, locks you up in a rubber room.”
Holly turned to see Jim Sutherland approaching, looking fit and healthy, and remarkably handsome for a man in his early sixties. Both Jim and Margaret Sutherland were good-looking people—which did a lot to explain her friend Julia’s classic good looks.
“Morning, Jim. You’re here early,” she said, ignoring his teasing as she fell into step beside him, heading for the door to the office.
“We’re wrapping up the Corrigin order today. You and Julia should be very proud of yourselves. They took
the whole line, for twenty-five of their top-line department stores. That’s quite a coup.”