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“She’s one of my students,” Holly replied sotto voce.
His sister had mentioned that Holly, a commercial stained glass artist, taught classes in the craft to subsidize the care and feeding her overpopulated pet collection. That’s how he’d come up with the idea to offer her money for her animals. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Not if I can help it.” Holly forced the words through the patently false smile she aimed at the photographer.
“C’mon, folks, this isn’t a firing squad. Kiss for the camera,” the reporter cajoled.
Kissing Holly appealed far more than it should. Eric blamed the unwanted attraction on her seductive dress and dangerously high heels. Holly had always been the girl next door who wore jeans or shapeless sweats. She’d never been a girlie girl. But tonight there was no doubt that she was all woman. A generously endowed woman. His gaze lifted from the smooth ivory curve of her breasts to her mouth.
“Don’t even think about it,” Holly all but snarled through her clenched teeth. Pink dotted her cheeks, and her toffee-brown eyes sparked a warning.
Was the possibility of kissing him so repulsive that she couldn’t tolerate even one platonic peck to pacify the pushy reporter? The idea slipped under his skin like a splinter.
She shoved an errant curl behind her ear, and Eric noticed the polish on her short nails for the first time—the same dark red as her lips and toenails. He’d never known Holly to wear nail polish or makeup, and he’d certainly never noticed her doing anything with her shaggy, boyishly-cut copper-colored hair. Tonight it curled in sexy disarray, looking as if she’d just crawled out from under an enthusiastic lover.
In fact, he’d never seen Holly look so desirable and she smelled…He filled his lungs. She smelled like a woman who didn’t wear cologne to mask her subtle, natural scent. He slammed the vault on his unacceptable thoughts.
The reporter motioned them even closer. Holly shook her head, lowered her arched eyebrows and glared at the photographer beside the reporter. “You have three seconds to take your picture and then we’re out of here.”
The shutter clicked.
“Excuse us,” Eric said to the newshounds and then cupped Holly’s elbow and steered her toward the exit.
Octavia kept pace with them. “Covering and reporting on your dates is going to be the highlight of this assignment for me, Holly. Just think of all the additional business the newspaper exposure will bring your way. Consider it free publicity. And of course, because you are my friend, I have a vested interest in the outcome of your dates.”
The last phrase sounded like a warning to Eric, but before he could demand the reporter clarify her meaning Holly muttered a curse. A chorus of screams erupted behind them, drowning out whatever she said next. Holly stopped and pointed to the stage. “Look, Octavia. Another bachelor sacrifice. Go do your job. Good night.”
The newspaper duo turned back. Holly slammed out the front door, veered off the sidewalk and trekked unsteadily across the thick grass toward the golf course. At nearly midnight the area was deserted and lit only by a slice of June moon. Eric followed because he needed to make arrangements to repay Holly.
She stopped and bent so abruptly he almost fell over her. He caught her hips to steady them both. The nudge of her bottom against his groin as she removed her shoes and the suggestive position with her bare back sunny-side up played hell with his hormones. He released her and put a few inches between them.
He hadn’t slept with a woman since Priscilla had dumped him four months ago. Not because he mourned his ex-fiancée or their aborted relationship, but because with the pending merger between Alden’s and Wilson’s, another privately owned bank, he hadn’t had time. The result of his abstinence reared its head.
And then Holly straightened, with sexy heels dangling from her fingertips, and resumed her course. She plunked down on the bleachers at the edge of the eighteenth green and then instantly sprang back up and flattened a hand to her bottom. “I’m wet.”
His heart slammed against his chest. So maybe the idea of kissing him hadn’t turned her off. And why did that excite him? He shifted his stance to hide his body’s reaction.
She lightly punched him in the stomach and glared. “From the dew on the bench, Casanova.”
He wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was embarrassed. At thirty-six he shouldn’t be so transparent or so easily titillated. Besides, this was Holly, a plain spoken tomboy and Sam and Tony’s baby sister. Even if she had been revealing sexual arousal, he’d have done nothing to alleviate it. There was an unspoken rule between friends. He didn’t date their sisters, and they didn’t date his. Anything beyond dating qualified as grounds for an ass-kicking. He might be six-five and a solid two hundred and twenty pounds, but he didn’t want to go two against one with Holly’s brothers for something he could easily avoid.
Besides, the Caliber Club was one of Alden Bank’s largest commercial accounts. Antagonizing the Prescotts could cost Alden’s business.
Holly turned, giving him a clear view of damp fabric clinging to her perfectly shaped butt. There were no panty lines. He bit back a groan, drew off his tux jacket and spread it over the bench. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat on his coat, tipped her head back and met his gaze. “We have a problem.”
“Besides the reporter?” And his unwilling and unwanted surprise attraction to Holly.
“The reporter is the problem. Eric, you and I each work with the public. Our businesses rely heavily on our reputations. If we renege on these dates, Octavia will report it in her Saturday column, and we’re going to come out looking like welshers. Trust me, I know Octavia’s twisted mind. She’ll make each of us a laughingstock. I know that’s something I’d like to avoid. I’m guessing you would, too.”
On the heels of the humiliating end to his engagement. She didn’t say it. Didn’t have to.
His dented pride didn’t relish another lashing in the press, and with the bank merger closing in on the final stages Eric couldn’t afford bad publicity without adversely affecting Alden’s bargaining power. Why hadn’t his mother considered that before involving him in this fiasco?
“Why didn’t you mention your relationship with the reporter before?”
Holly took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. The play of moonlight and shadow over her cleavage drew his gaze. He’d always known Holly had a broad-shouldered, athletic build because he’d spent countless afternoons playing ball in the driveway with her two older brothers a decade and a half ago. Holly had often joined them to even the numbers. She was fast on her feet and had a decent hook shot, if he remembered correctly. But what he hadn’t realized years ago was that her breasts matched her generous height and firm muscle tone. His pulse accelerated. Damn.
“Because I didn’t know Octavia would make this personal. Besides, me buying you was your idea, remember? My plan was to leave the auction alone tonight.”
He lowered himself beside her on his coat. Their shoulders and thighs brushed. Sparks ignited, but he ignored them. Tried to, anyway. He saw where this was headed and couldn’t see any way to avoid it. “Your recommendation?”
“We go through the motions. If Octavia is around then I want you to treat me exactly like any other date. If we’re lucky she’ll soon lose interest in torturing me. If luck’s against us then it’s only eleven dates. We’ll survive. Somehow,” she said with a total lack of enthusiasm.
She’d survive dating him? The comment ripped the scab off his wounded pride, and Priscilla’s comment echoed in his head. The only place you don’t bore me is in bed. If he’d bored his traditional-minded ex-fiancée, then he’d turn a free spirit like Holly comatose, and her friend would report it in the paper. Another public humiliation.
Damned if he dated Holly. Damned if he didn’t. “I can’t treat you like my other dates.”
“Why in the heck not? Am I such a toad?”
She was far from a toad, but commenting on her unique beauty would be unwise. “I sleep with most of the women I date by the third evening, if not sooner.”
Her lips parted and then closed. Her throat worked as she gulped. “Not this time, pal. You got the raw end of the deal. I’m not your type.”
“Nor I yours, I imagine.”
A smile played over her lips. “Not even close. But it’s just dinner and stuff, right? What can go wrong?”
What indeed?
As if in answer to the question, the automatic sprinklers erupted. After a shocked gasp Holly looked skyward. “That was a rhetorical question.”
She snatched up her shoes and then zigzagged through the spurting nozzles like a running back headed for the goal line. Eric grabbed his coat and jogged after her. She stopped on the sidewalk edging the parking lot. Her hair and gown were drenched and plastered to her body. Grass clippings clung to her bare feet and mascara streaked down her cheeks, but instead of complaining Holly laughed and once again looked skyward.
“This is what I get for trying to pull a fast one on my friends? Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”
Eric couldn’t think of a single woman he’d ever known who would have had anything less than a complete meltdown over having her evening and probably her dress ruined. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Holly.
“Thanks.” She blotted her face. Droplets glistened on her eyelashes as she grinned up at him. “I don’t suppose you have a beach towel tucked in there do you?”
That unabashed grin twisted something in his gut. He caught himself grinning back. “Not tonight.”
Gravity carried a rivulet over her collarbone and between her breasts. His gaze followed and his smile faded. Wet fabric molded Holly’s body, tenting over her beaded nipples and dipping into her navel. He’d found her satiny dress sexy before, but seeing the fabric adhered to her curvaceous damp body like a second skin ratcheted his response up a level—right into the danger zone. He swallowed hard.
And that’s when it hit him. He’d miscalculated.
His safe way out of the auction had become a minefield of trouble.
Two
Dumped and deserted. A situation with which Holly was becoming all too familiar for her liking.
She shoved her wet hair off her face, plucked at her stuck-on dress and faced Eric. Water had turned his white silk shirt almost transparent. She could see the dark whorls of his chest hair and even the small brown circles of his nipples. Warmth she couldn’t blame on the humid June evening settled low in her belly.
Good grief. You’ve seen him without a shirt before. That might have been years ago, but still, what’s the big deal? Shaking off the unwanted fascination, she met his gaze. “Could you give me a ride home? It appears my cohorts have abandoned me.”
Looking tall, dark and better than any male model she’d sketched in her university Live Art class, Eric motioned toward a black Corvette. “Certainly. We still haven’t finalized the repayment of your substantial bid.”
A smug smile twitched the corners of his mouth. Holly rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and gloat. I know you’re dying to.”
He smiled and looked so much like the guy she’d had a crush on in her teens that it sucked the breath from her lungs. “I’ve never been happier to waste fifteen thousand dollars.”
She snorted. “You guys and your egos. I should have let Prissy have you.”
His smile vanished, and she wondered if having his ex-fiancée join in the bidding had surprised him as much as it had her. Or maybe he’d wanted her to let Prissy win him?
“Thank you for outbidding her.”
Holly tried to gauge his sincerity, but couldn’t. Had he loved Priscilla Wilson? Had his heart been broken when she’d dumped him so cruelly? Or was his sister right? Juliana swore her brother couldn’t squeeze a drop of emotion out of his calculator heart with a juicer. “I promised and, good or bad, I always keep my promises.”
He opened the passenger door and cupped Holly’s elbow as she lowered herself into the leather seat. She wished he’d quit touching her. Each time he did, something tightened and twisted inside her.
She directed him toward her house and twenty minutes later he parked beside the white picket fence surrounding her home. She climbed from the car before Eric could open her door, and a chorus of barks reached them.
“It’s okay guys. It’s just me,” she yelled through cupped hands, and the barks turned from warning to welcoming.
Eric stood with his hands on his hips, appraising the farmhouse. Because she lived alone, Holly had installed several area lights to keep the yard well-lit. The scent of gardenias, honeysuckle and moon flowers saturated the humid night air.
“Not the ramshackle hovel you expected?”
His gaze landed on hers. “It’s nice.”
Pride filled her chest. Her maternal grandfather had built the house for his bride back in the 1930s. Since moving to the farm seven years ago, Holly had steadily made upgrades both inside and out as money permitted. She’d turned the barn where cows and horses used to take shelter into kennels with dog runs and converted the carport behind the house into her work studio. A local farmer leased all but ten of the five hundred acres and kept her supplied with all the corn, cucumbers and tomatoes she could eat.
She paused beside Eric at the base of the stairs leading to the wraparound porch. “I know what they say behind my back, you know. That I live out here in disgrace, exiled to my grandparents’ farm because I don’t know how to behave in polite society.”
Moonlight played off the sharp planes of Eric’s face, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones. “This doesn’t look like exile.”
“It isn’t. It’s home. C’mon in.” She climbed the steps and unlocked the front door.
She’d had men in her house before, but usually they were misfits like her. Eric, according to his sister, lived in a professionally decorated place in an upscale Wilmington waterfront community. Holly had learned from the wealthy housewives who’d taken her stained glass classes that even her extensive renovations couldn’t bring this old house up to yacht club neighborhood standards. But she loved her home, her refuge.
The front door opened into a miniscule foyer with stairs leading to the unfinished attic space directly ahead. When her grandparents had built the house, they’d intended to finish off the upstairs as the children and the need for additional bedrooms arrived, but they’d only had one child, Holly’s mother, so the expansion had never happened. Holly’s living room lay to the left and her bedroom immediately to the right. “Would you like coffee or something while I change?”
“No thanks.”
The sound of canine nails clicking on hardwood floors approached from the kitchen and then the mutts surrounded them. “Down, Seurat and Monet.”
“You named your dogs after painters?” Eric bent to scratch each dog’s scruff.
“Yes. Seurat is dotted and Monet’s colors blend with no defined lines. They’re staying inside while recovering from surgery. They need homes if you know anyone who’d love a mutt.” Fat chance of that. Eric’s contemporaries preferred purebreds.
“And you have them because…?”
“I live in the country. People dump their unwanted pets out here all the time, and then, of course, others have heard that I’ll foster unwanted animals, so…” She shrugged. “I have the vet check them over and neuter them and then I try to find someone to adopt them.” She gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Have a seat in the den. Give me a minute to get into some dry clothes and then we can work out the date details.”
Holly stepped into her bedroom, leaving Eric to find the den on his own, and pushed the door almost closed. She peeled off her damp, clingy dress and then draped it over the corner of her grandmother’s cheval mirror. The ceiling fan overhead stirred the air, causing chill bumps to rise on every inch of her body. She scrubbed her upper arms while she debated whether or not she had anything clean to wear. When had she done laundry last?
“I have to confess, Eric, that until the MC described your auction package I didn’t even know what your dates would be.” She raised her voice to be heard through the quarter-inch door gap as she bent over her T-shirt drawer. With her booming, un-ladylike voice—a curse, according to her parents—Eric would be able to hear her from the den.
And then she heard a familiar creaking hinge and straightened abruptly. Her gaze darted to the mirror. Seurat had pushed open her bedroom door, and Eric was not in her living room. Instead, he stood exactly where she’d left him, and right now he was getting an eyeful of her naked backside and a clear view of her front side reflected in the mirror.
Holly snatched the wet dress from the mirror, clutched it to her chest and spun around. But the wet fabric bunched and stuck and refused to cover what needed covering. Eric, damn him, didn’t look away. In fact, his dark gaze raked over every exposed inch of her skin.
Her heart stuttered like a jackhammer. “Excuse me.”
Holly lunged forward, shut the door, forcing it past the sticking upper corner and leaned against it. That hadn’t been revulsion in Eric’s eyes. Worse, the heat swirling in her stomach like a water spout didn’t remotely resemble shame or disgust.
The only thing worse than getting involved with another needy man would be getting involved with a man who came from a world where she’d been a complete failure, a world to which she’d have to crawl back amidst a chorus of “I told you so’s” if she couldn’t locate the ex-lover who’d suckered her into borrowing against her trust fund and loaning him money.
Oh, man, why hadn’t she broken her promise to buy Eric and bolted when she’d had the chance?
Promises were the pits.
Eric’s sister stormed through the office door early Monday morning without bothering to knock. “What are you doing?”
“Good morning, Juliana. I’m working on an account analysis to determine which of the branches we’ll have to consolidate when the merger goes through.” His sister had a vested interest in the Alden Bank and Trust-Wilson Savings and Loan merger—an interest she’d jeopardized Saturday night by buying the wrong bachelor. “One of us needs to think about the merger.”
Anger darkened Juliana’s complexion and glinted in her eyes. “I meant with Holly. Besides the fact that she’s my friend and therefore off-limits to you, how dare you take advantage of her generous nature by conning her into buying you? She deserves a man who’ll sweep her off her feet and treat her like the special person she is. You don’t know anything about romance.”
Her verbal stiletto nicked his ego. His ex-fiancée had shouted similar words and a few other choice phrases at him instead of the traditional “I dos” in front of their wedding guests right before she’d stormed back down the aisle. Alone and unwed.
“And what about you? You should have bought Wallace Wilson, your fiancé, instead of that bartending biker. You know what a tight-ass Baxter Wilson is and how concerned with appearances he can be. He’ll be offended that you didn’t buy his son. Did you even consider the ramifications of your actions before you chose unwisely, Juliana?”
“Wally isn’t my fiancé yet, and this is not about me. This is about you. You go through women faster than you go through neckties. I do not want Holly to be one of your discards.”
“I have no intention of becoming involved with Holly more than superficially. Neither of us wants to go on the dates, but her reporter friend is pressing the issue. We’ll go through the motions until Octavia Jenkins loses interest. My goal was to avoid vicious gossip which could be detrimental to the merger, and I thought Holly would be a safe alternative to a marriage-minded female.”
And he’d never been more wrong in his life. Even though Holly had pulled on jeans and a baggy T-shirt Saturday night, once more camouflaging her generous curves, he’d kept seeing her naked and his usual razor-sharp concentration had taken a hiatus. As much as he disliked loose ends, he’d been relieved when the phone rang and Holly had had to rush out to pick up his sister before they finalized the date details.
He’d called Holly this morning and scheduled a date for tomorrow night. It had taken him promising to bring her a reimbursement check for the auction cost to get her to agree.
“Holly? Safe?” His sister had the nerve to laugh. “You don’t know what you’re in for.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, big brother, that Holly isn’t one of your usual dimwitted debutantes. She’s not going to be impressed with your stock portfolio or the fact that you play tennis with the mayor and golf with a judge. She’s more interested in what’s on the inside than net worth or connections, Eric, and you, like our mother, have a calculator for a heart.”
Surprised by his sister’s unusual vehemence, he rocked back in his executive chair. “You don’t think I’m capable of showing Holly a good time.”
