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“Frankly?” She folded her arms and cocked her head. “No.”
His competitive instincts, never far from the surface, reared. “Then prepare to eat your words, little sister.”
Eric had enjoyed his dinner at one of Wilmington’s finest restaurants as much as he always did, and yet the only enthusiasm he’d seen from Holly had been for her crème brûlée. Throughout the rest of the meal, she’d appeared tense and uncomfortable.
He signed the credit card slip and rose. Apparently eager to leave, Holly sprang to her feet without waiting for him to pull back her chair, thereby proving his sister’s prediction true. Holly wasn’t enjoying the evening. Eric was determined to change that.
Keep the client happy. He’d decided the safest approach to this series of dates would be to consider Holly a client. They had a verbal contract, and she’d paid for his services even if he had a check for a one-hundred-percent refund in his pocket. He didn’t mix business with pleasure. The one time he had—his engagement to Priscilla—he’d been burned.
You’ve never seen any of your clients naked.
He locked the safe on that thought. Outside the building, he cupped her elbow. She stiffened. “Would you care to walk along the waterfront?”
Her hesitation shoved another splinter into his ego. “Sure. Why not?”
The moon ducked behind a cloud, but the streetlights illuminated the area well enough for a stroll. Holly wore flat shoes tonight, along with a simple black dress that in no way resembled Saturday night’s seductive number but that did nothing to erode the memory of how she’d looked wearing sinfully high heels and nothing else. Holly had an amazing figure. Not Rubenesque by any means, but not fashionably slim, either. She had curves, womanly, generous curves that begged a man to map her topography with his hands. With his mouth.
He ran a finger beneath his suddenly restricting collar and loosened his tie a fraction of an inch.
Holly’s long stride down the cobblestoned sidewalk would leave a shorter man in the dust. Eric kept pace beside her until she halted abruptly in front of a gift shop window. A Haunted Historic Wilmington Tours poster held her attention. He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for her to move on, but then she looked over her shoulder at him. The excited sparkle in her eyes knocked the wind out of him.
“Want to? It starts in ten minutes.”
He’d rather shred money. But his pride demanded he show Holly a good time and thus far he’d failed to deliver anything more than a fine meal and stilted dinner conversation. If this tourist fodder entertained her, then he would—what had she said Saturday night?—survive it. “I’ll buy the tickets.”
Thirty minutes later, Holly inched closer to him in the shadowy interior of the theater allegedly haunted since the 1800s. Since the tour began, she’d startled at every squeak and gasped along with the other gullible fools on the tour as they followed their guide through the drafty and dimly lit area beneath the stage. Goose bumps covered her skin. She shivered and rubbed her upper arms.
Who’d have expected practical Holly to believe in ghosts? Eric took pity on her and put his arm around her shoulders. A mistake, he realized an instant later.
Holly burrowed against him, her breast pressing against his ribs, and she stayed as close as she could and still walk the creaking floor boards. Her scent filled his lungs and her hair tickled his jaw. The warmth of her in his arms roused the specter of his libido and sent it drifting through his blood like a hot phantom breath. It took every ounce of concentration to focus on the guide’s macabre spiel instead of the woman plastered against him.
At the conclusion of the tour, he had to admit that if he’d been a more susceptible sort he’d have enjoyed their talented host’s shtick, but Eric was a cynic. Smoke and mirrors didn’t interest him. He preferred cold, hard, provable facts. But the excited flush on Holly’s cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes made the price of admission worth every penny.
On the sidewalk in front of the building, she took one last look over her shoulder as if she expected an evil spirit to chase after them from the theater, and then she grinned at him. “Thanks. That was awesome.”
Her wide, unrestrained smile reminded him of the girl she’d been back when they’d shot hoops in her driveway and of the idealistic fresh-out-of-university fool he’d been at the time. Was it only fourteen years ago that he’d first joined Alden’s? It seemed like a lifetime since he’d realized his father was a source of amusement to many of the bank employees—a figurehead who did whatever Eric’s mother told him to do like a well-trained dog. A man more excited by a good cigar or a round of golf than a P&L statement.
The day he’d heard the laughter in the break room, Eric had decided that he would never be the butt of jokes. He’d be man enough for both his father and himself, and he’d succeeded until Priscilla made a fool out of him. Now the reporter’s coverage of this damned auction package could sink him faster than rising interest rates could the stock market and with equally devastating results. What in the hell had his mother been thinking when she’d inflicted this on him?
“I’m glad you enjoyed the tour.”
Holly’s eyes widened at the unintended sharpness of his voice and then she averted her gaze. “I guess we should head back. I have an early start tomorrow.”
He led her back to his ’Vette and then pointed the car in the direction of her farm. Damn. Any points he’d gained with the ghost tour had been lost with one bitter comment. “Tell me about your business.”
Holly flashed him an I-know-what-you’re-up-to glance. “You mean you haven’t read my file?”
“You have accounts with Alden’s?”
Another hesitation. “Several. I work primarily with commercial concerns, but I also do windows for private homes. I teach stained glass classes once a week, not just because I enjoy sharing my craft but because those same women who take my classes often commission me to do windows for their homes, tell their friends about me or recommend me to the boards of the organizations to which they belong, which in turn leads to more commercial accounts.” Her entire body became animated as she discussed her work.
“Smart advertising,” he acknowledged.
“I think so.”
“You like making windows better than working at the Caliber Club?”
“Oh, yeah. No comparison.”
The nuances in her voice raised questions such as why would she leave a secure, well-paying job, one with limitless advantageous connections, for the financially risky venture of crafting stained glass windows? He turned into Holly’s driveway and spotted a dark sedan parked in the shadows beneath a large tree. His curiosity would have to wait. “You have company.”
“Great.” Her sarcastic tone implied otherwise. “It’s Octavia.”
The reporter and the photographer beside her in the front seat waved as they drove past, but made no move to get out of the car.
“What do they want?”
Holly stared at her knotted fingers in the dimly lit car. “To see the end of our date.”
Eric’s spine prickled a warning. “Pardon?”
Holly took a deep breath and then lifted her wary, toffee-brown gaze to his. “Women talk when they’re working on their projects in my class. Octavia believes the first kiss foretells the future of any relationship.”
He’d have to kiss Holly good-night. The news sent a rush of adrenaline through him.
Holly bit her lip and lifted her chin. “Eric, I realize you probably had no intention of kissing me good-night, and as much as I hate the idea of a mercy kiss, could you kiss me and make it look good? It’ll keep her off our backs. This week, anyway.”
Moisture flooded his mouth and his pulse pounded like a marching band headed toward the end zone located below his belt. He jerked a nod because the words on the tip of his tongue, my pleasure, were forbidden and just plain wrong. He exited the car, and for once Holly waited for him to open her door and assist her out.
With a hand at the small of her back, he guided her up the walk, the stairs and then stopped on her doormat. She turned toward him, and in the soft glow of her porch light she took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself to endure his kiss.
Bracing herself. As if she expected kissing him to be an ordeal. Eric’s pride roared in protest. He inhaled once, twice, willing his irritation away and his knotted muscles to relax. What he needed was technique. Smooth, controlled, seductive technique. He’d be damned if any woman would endure his kiss. He’d settle for nothing less than total capitulation.
He lowered his head until only a fraction of an inch separated their mouths and waited. Waited for Holly’s breath to sweep over his chin when she exhaled. Waited for his pulse to steady. And when his heart accelerated instead of slowing, he relented and brushed his lips over hers with a featherlight touch. The spark of electricity jolted him. Curious, he took another cautious sip, and current shot down to his toes. Judging by Holly’s gasp, the feeling wasn’t one-sided. He settled his mouth over hers, sinking into the lush softness of her lips. Her fingers clutched his waist and her tongue flicked against his and then quickly withdrew.
Any thoughts of controlled technique vanished. Eric banded his arms around her, molding the long length of her body against his as he delved deeper, stroking the satiny warmth of her mouth, tasting rich crème brûlée and even richer Holly. His fingers tightened on the curve of her waist, and his palms prickled.
Holly felt good—too good—in his arms. Her pelvis nudged his as she shuffled closer. His response was instantaneous and enthusiastic.
Unacceptable.
Unforgivable.
Embarrassing.
He was too damned old to get aroused from a dead-end kiss. His only hope was that Holly hadn’t noticed. He gripped her upper arms, lifted his head and put a few inches between them.
“Good night.” His voice sounded strained and no wonder. His lungs weren’t working.
“’Night.” She licked her lips and raised her lids to reveal slightly dazed eyes.
Instead of releasing Holly and stepping away the way his brain ordered him to do, Eric found his arms encircling her, pulling her closer. He kissed her again and again. He couldn’t help himself. Even as he consumed her mouth, his conscience shouted, “What are you doing?”
Her arms twined around his neck, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. His fingers glided upward from her waist. He had to feel her weight in his hand, to cup her fullness. Had to.
The sound of a car starting and crunching down the gravel driveway barely registered, but the barking dogs hurling themselves at the other side of the front door managed to infiltrate the haze clouding his mind. His hand stopped inches short of its target. He lifted his head and swore.
Holly stiffened, jerked her hands from around his neck and pushed against his chest. She looked past his shoulder. “Octavia’s gone. I, um, think that probably convinced her.”
She licked her lips again and need clawed at him, but Eric released her and stepped away.
What in the hell had just happened?
Whatever it was couldn’t happen again.
He, more than anyone, knew that strong emotional attachments made a man weak. If he ever needed a reminder, all he had to do was look at his henpecked father.
He backed away from temptation and left as quickly as he could and still maintain his dignity. Two miles down the road, he realized he still had Holly’s check in his pocket, but he couldn’t risk turning the ’Vette around. Until tonight, no woman had ever rattled him enough to make him forget that money and the power attached to it made the world go round.
Who’d have thunk it?
Holly leaned against the inside of the door and sank to the floor. Monet and Seurat crawled all over her, jostling for attention. She absently scratched them while willing her pulse to slow.
If anybody had told her uptight Eric Alden’s kisses held more sexual promise than the pages of the Kama Sutra, she’d have laughed. And darn it, she could not turn the page to see what the next chapter revealed.
How unfair that when she finally met a guy who could singe the toes out of her panty hose, he was the one man she couldn’t have. Not only had she tried and failed to fit into Eric’s world, she’d promised Juliana after the auction that there was nothing sexual about buying her brother’s date package.
Those melt-her-mascara kisses had made a liar out of her. Her body still hummed and her lips wouldn’t stop tingling, no matter how hard she bit them. If he’d been anybody but Eric, she would have invited him in for more than a nightcap, thereby breaking her born-again virgin vow. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t settle for anything less than happily ever after next time. If such a thing existed. And she had her doubts. Waiting for a prince—a prince who didn’t need fixing or financial assistance—to love her and all her foibles hadn’t worked thus far. Better to do without a man altogether than be disappointed yet again.
Holly shoved to her feet and dodged the dogs all the way to her kitchen. She’d have to do a better job of keeping her distance from Eric Alden. She sifted through the pile of magazines and junk mail that had piled up on the counter while she was finishing her current project until she found the bachelor auction brochure. She read over the eleven enchanted evenings promised in Eric’s date package to refresh her memory and groaned. “Talk about monotonousness. Jeez.”
As long as he didn’t kiss her again, then his offering of meals at stuffy see-and-be-seen restaurants where even the wait staff had condescending attitudes would make ignoring the chemistry between them easy. Each date would be a reminder of the world she’d left behind—the world that had turned on her when she’d dared to sully her hands at manual labor.
Juliana and Andrea were the only friends who’d stuck by Holly when she’d said to hell with being miserable doing what was expected of her, quit her job at the Caliber Club and moved to her grandparents’ farm. Being happy was more important than being accepted.
Eric thrived in society with all its restrictions, expectations and conventions, but Holly was a debutante dropout who’d suffocated until she’d escaped. He was a banker who lived by the bottom line, and she was a bleeding heart who’d given away more than she could afford, a situation illustrated by her current predicament. One she needed to address ASAP.
Despite the smoldering kisses, she and Eric couldn’t be a more mismatched pair—a fact she’d better not forget if he ever hit her with another one of those break-her-celibacy-vow kisses.
Three
Holly tried to ignore the coffee klatch going on behind her as she double-checked the measurements of the living room window she’d been hired to replace.
If she hadn’t left the Caliber Club behind, she could have been one of this group. But instead of designer duds and jewelry that cost more than her Jeep, she wore chain store jeans, simple gold stud earrings and a Timex. As usual, she didn’t fit in.
But you’re not here to fit in. You’re here to work at a job you adore.
“What made you bid on Eric, Holly?”
The metal tape measure retracted so fast it almost cut Holly’s finger. She faced her client, a woman a few years older than herself, and searched for an acceptable answer. The truth wasn’t an option. Finally, she shrugged. “Why not? He’s good-looking.”
“And good in bed,” one of the other women said.
Holly’s gaze zipped to the ultrathin, high cheekboned brunette. The woman scanned her friends’ faces. “Oh, please. I am not the only one of us who shared Eric Alden’s bed before marrying my husband. And Eric was absolutely fabulous between the sheets, wasn’t he?”
Three of the six heads nodded. Holly struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. These women had slept with Eric? Holly blew a floppy hank of hair off her forehead and turned back to the window to hide her consternation. Why was she surprised about the affairs? The upper class was its own school of predatory fish, inbreeding and feeding off one another. That was one of the many reasons she’d chosen to get out.
And Eric was…well, sexy in a take-charge kind of way.
“But why did you buy him, Holly? Handsome or not, he’s hardly your type,” her hostess pressed. Charlise Harcourt had been one of Holly’s students for the past eighteen months, so she’d met Lyle, the mistake who’d run off with Holly’s money.
Think fast. Why did women want wealthy alpha males? “Um…to be treated like Cinderella?”
The women nodded like bobble head dolls, and Holly struggled to conceal her disgust. As far as she was concerned, Cinderella and all her fairy-tale-princess cousins needed to get off their duffs and learn to solve their own problems rather than wait around for a guy to swoop in and do the job.
“Eric can certainly be Prince Charming as long as you remember the party ends at midnight. He isn’t the type to commit to any woman who can’t further his career.”
An unspoken, “And that’s not you,” hung in the air.
“That bank is his wife and his mistress, too,” the brunette said. “A mere woman can’t compete.”
“Look at his engagement,” a third woman chimed in. “That was no love match. Eric was willing to marry to cement the bank merger. Too bad Priscilla wasn’t smart enough to hold on to what she had. I’d take a lifetime of great sex and bottomless pockets over love any day. That’s what friends, personal trainers and tennis pros are for.” A suggestive laugh followed the words.
TMI. Way too much information. Holly quickly stashed her tools. “Ms. Harcourt, I’ll have a rough sketch of the design you described ready for your approval early next week.” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me.”
Holly turned her back on the women. “Rainbow Glass. This is Holly.”
“We need to set up our next date.”
Eric. Her heart clogged her throat and her back itched with the knowledge that a half-dozen pairs of eyes stared at her. “Twice in one week?” she whispered.
“The auction package stipulates two dates per week until this is done.”
Why hadn’t she bothered to read the fine print before jumping into this? Because she’d been certain she could get out of the dates, that’s why.
Conscious of the eavesdroppers behind her she carefully weighed her words. “I can live with that. But I can’t talk now.”
“I have your check.” He didn’t take the hint.
“That’s what you said last time.” As long as she deposited the money and transferred the funds before her credit card bill came due, she’d be okay. She nearly laughed aloud. A banker bought on credit. No doubt Eric would be appalled.
“Do you need it now? I can run it by your house during my lunch hour.”
“I’m not there. I’m working and I need to get off the phone.”
“Tonight, then. I’ll pick you up at six.” That sounded more like an order than a request, but she couldn’t call him on it with a roomful of gossipers behind her.
“Fine. Tonight. Whatever.” She hung up without waiting to see if he had more to say, and then turned to say her goodbyes. The knowing smirks on the women’s faces turned her cheeks into fireballs. “I’ll get back to you with the preliminary drawing. Have a good afternoon.”
