Unwrapping Holly

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Put it on,” he said, his gaze flickering over her puckered nipples, his dick daring to throb again, as if he hadn’t just been inside her. “We have to figure out what is going on between us, and believe me, if you don’t get dressed, we won’t figure out anything but how I can get back inside you anytime soon.” He didn’t hold back the truth. He didn’t hold back one damned iota. The truth was, he was hurting. Holly, the only woman he’d ever opened up to, spoken to of the past, of his pain over losing his mother, had nothing but scorn and, apparently, sex to offer him.

  She blushed and fumbled with the robe, and he didn’t miss the slight shake of her hands, or the puckering of her nipples beneath the creamy silk of the robe. She hugged herself, and Cole leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, studying her.

  “I need to understand what’s going on, Holly.”

  THE BATHROOM WAS TINY, ESPECIALLY with Cole occupying most of it with his big sexy body. Holly wanted to slide off the counter and hug him so she could feel his arms around her again. But the implacable set of his jaw, along with the steely stare, said it was time for answers. And she wasn’t sure she had them. She barely understood her own stupid behavior. It had been raw panic. Fear. A control thing that being with him again made her see as pathetically silly and unimportant.

  “I feel like no matter what I say, I can’t make this right,” Holly finally admitted. “And that scares me almost as much as you do.” She expected him to say something, but he didn’t. She shifted a bit on the counter, tied the sash around her waist, pressed her hands to the surface beneath her. “When I thought you’d betrayed me, I was crushed. Then I found out you hadn’t, but I couldn’t seem to let go of how that betrayal felt.”

  “The one that wasn’t real.”

  “But don’t you see?” she pleaded. “It felt real. If I count on us and then we fall apart, what happens to me? And the family-home thing—I’d been thinking of moving home. For that, I need a foundation. I’ve always planned for things. I couldn’t plan for any of this. I couldn’t plan for you.” Everything about the man had her crazy, out of her mind. Good Lord, she’d almost had crazy, wild sex with him in the front of his truck. “It’s like a spinning ball, and I keep rolling faster. I can’t even drive my damned car without needing you to rescue me.”

  His lips thinned, and he pushed off the wall. “I just realized something I was a fool to miss. I’ve taken the risk and made myself clear. I’ve told you, you’re the real deal for me, Holly. I’ve said I want you in my bed, where we both know you want to be, too. But in my life? You don’t even want me in your house. Not unless you can write me on your planner first. And baby, we both know that isn’t how this thing with us is. It’s all or nothing, and you just don’t have it in you to give it all.”

  “I can. I will.”

  He moved toward the door, rigid, unwilling to listen. Helplessness overcame her but she knew she had to do something or he’d be gone. Holly jumped off the counter. She plastered her hand on the hard wall of his chest. “Don’t go.”

  Cold eyes met hers, eyes that said he’d made up his mind. He was leaving. “I can’t make this right, can I?” she whispered painfully.

  “At the moment,” he said, “it doesn’t appear that way.” He removed her hand from his chest. “I need to think, Holly, and I can’t do that when I’m with you.” He walked out of the room, and she followed, her stomach roiling, as she watched him open the front door and exit without looking back.

  Holly resisted the urge to run after him. Words weren’t enough to convince him she was past her temporary insanity. She had to find another way.

  THREE DAYS LATER, COLE STOOD inside The Tavern with a beer in his hand, and an empty shot glass on the bar. He reached for his beer and swallowed a long slug. After all, he was celebrating. And somewhere up in Manchester, so were his brothers. They’d signed the papers, sold the company, yippee ki yay, and all that stuff. Tomorrow they’d seal the deal on Holly’s family home. He’d talked to the Reddys that day. They were thrilled. His brothers were thrilled. Cole, well, he wanted another drink.

  “Another, Joe,” he yelled at the bartender, breaking through the jukebox tune of Garth Brooks’s “Shameless,” a reminder that did nothing to help his grisly mood. Joe arched his brow as if he considered denying him. Cole scowled. “Give me another damned shot, Joe.”

  Joe stalked the few steps dividing them and poured the liquor, his lips a thin, hard line. “Drinking away a woman, I take it.” It wasn’t a question, rather a well-versed bartender’s expert assessment.

  Cole scowled again and Joe said, “Thought so. Won’t work.” He turned and walked away.

  Cole downed the tequila and vowed to make Joe a liar. What insanity had brought him to The Tavern of all damned places, he didn’t know—the place where he’d first spiraled into the abyss, otherwise known as Holly.

  He hadn’t heard from her. Told himself it didn’t matter. Told himself the ripping pain in his gut was nerves over the sale of the business. But he knew better; he knew it was her. He’d overwhelmed her, charged at her like everything else in his life. He got that. So he’d backed off, hoping space was the answer.

  “You got an answer, all right.” He grimaced, downing the rest of his beer. “Just not the answer you wanted.”

  He was about to order up another shot—Joe’s scowls be damned, he’d take a cab home, even walk if he had to—when Joe appeared and poured him one on his own, then discreetly nodded toward the door. “That’s the guy your brother two-stepped with.” Contempt thickened in his face. “Up to his same no-good crap.”

  Cole turned to inspect the guy in question who was more punk kid than man. Tall but lanky, hair too long, jeans ripped, shirt hanging half over his belt—a style statement gone wrong. He looked more sixteen than twenty-one as the sheriff had pegged him.

  In the corner, trapped by the kid, was a woman curled back against the wall, body tense, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Suddenly, the kid jerked the woman by the hand and started charging toward the door with her in tow.

  “Oh no,” Cole said, downing his shot. “This shit’s stopping here, tonight.” Cole and Joe shared a look.

  “I’ll call the sheriff,” Joe said.

  Cole charged toward the door, a heartbroken man with adrenaline and tequila pumping through his blood. He pushed open The Tavern door about the time the punk kid reached his truck. Long strides led Cole behind the kid as he reeled back to slap his wife. Cole grabbed the kid and started walking back to the bar, him in tow, shouting, while bystanders hooted and hollered. The kid squirmed but he was the weaker of the two, no match for Cole. A fortysomething female opened the door for them. Cole gave her a short salute. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Inside The Tavern, Cole rotated the kid around, then lifted him with two hands. Bingo, he hit his mark. The kid’s belt hooked on a coatrack just low enough to leave his feet dangling.

  The kid spat at Cole, spraying a disgusting mess all over his face before blustering a collection of curse words, some of which Cole doubted Webster’s had yet to define. Somewhere in there was a promise to press charges. Grand. Just. Fucking. Grand.

  Someone handed Cole a napkin, and he wiped his face off, sauntering back to the bar as Joe filled his glass. “Figure you’ll need that one when the sheriff gets here.”

  “Can always count on you to tell it how it is, can’t I, Joe?”

  IN HER PARENTS’ HOUSE, HOLLY sat at the kitchen table, talking with her sister and her mother about her brother, Mason, arriving the next day, but her mind was elsewhere. Because tonight was the night she was going for it—she was going to show Cole how much he meant to her.

  She had everything all planned out perfectly. She’d called Abe and found out today the sale of their business had been made final. She knew the sale of the house was being finalized the next day, thanks to her mother. She had something planned for later that evening when Cole arrived home from Manchester; waiting in her car was a bottle of
champagne, his favorite chocolate cake from the bakery up the road—the one he drooled over every time he passed it—and balloons. All to celebrate the sale of one business and the purchase of another.

  But there was more. She’d given notice at her apartment in Houston. She had a sealed envelope with proof she was moving back to Haven at the risk of having no place to live—on the promise that Cole wanted her in his bed every night. If he still wanted her.

  “What do you think, Holly?”

  Holly blinked, realizing she wasn’t paying attention. What had Rachel said? Something about a town skating party.

  “When is it?” Holly asked.

  “Tomorrow night,” her mother inserted. “Your father and I will be gone for a little romantic dinner we’ve planned. It would be great if you kids could go out together. It’s always quite a lovely event, dear. You’d enjoy it.”

  Holly smiled to herself, aware they’d be celebrating the sale of the house despite their arrangements to stay an extra month but allowing renovations to begin. The idea of her parents traveling and enjoying life had grown on her, once she’d set aside her own selfish need for stability. A house wasn’t the basis for happiness. It was the people inside.

  “It would be great if you could go,” Rachel chimed in, peeling away the plastic wrapper on a candy cane. “I mean, I know you have that deadline and all, but it would be nice to have you along.”

  Holly sighed regretfully. “I need to stay focused right now, so I can be free the week of Christmas and enjoy you guys.”

  The phone rang and her mother crossed the kitchen to answer it and then returned almost instantly.

  “Holly,” she said. “It’s for you.”

  Holly frowned, her heart lurching at the discomfort she noted on her mother’s face. Holly crossed to her mother’s side and reached for the phone, but Margaret held it tight, covering the receiver with her palm. Margaret eyed Rachel over Holly’s shoulder. “Give us a minute, honey.”

  Rachel didn’t ask questions. They all knew when to scoot, and when Mom wanted time alone with one of them, the others made a fast exit. Of course, Holly would have to deal with Rachel’s questions later—much later, she hoped.

  “What is it, Mom?” Holly asked.

  “It’s Abe Wiley. Is there anything I should know?”

  She shook her head, bit her lip. Her nerves jangled wildly. Her cell was at the cottage. But why would Abe call her here?

  “It’s personal, Mom. Nothing to do with the house.” Her mother didn’t look satisfied, and judging from the way she clutched the phone, Holly wasn’t getting it without offering up some answers. “I’ve been seeing his brother. That’s why the house thing hit me so hard. I thought he knew who I was. I thought—” Holly touched her temples. “Mom. Something could be wrong. Abe wouldn’t call me here if there wasn’t.”

  Her mother handed her the phone. “We’ll talk later.”

  Holly nodded and slid the phone to her ear. “Abe?”

  “Holly,” he said. “Cole had a run-in with that kid who was harassing Jacob. He’s in jail, and Jacob and I are in Manchester. We’re on our way, but can you—”

  “I’m on my way,” Holly said, handing her mom the phone. “I have to go.” Her mother called after her, but Holly kept going. Cole needed her.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, HOLLY SLAMMED her car door shut outside the sheriff ’s office and rushed to the door. She stepped inside, shivering in nothing but a pink sweater and jeans, and found herself staring straight into Cole’s shocked expression.

  “Holly?”

  Her teeth chattered, the coldness seeming to reach to her bones. Or was that emotion? Either way, she couldn’t control the shaking.

  “I rushed over. I—”

  “Good Lord, woman,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and then pulling it around her shoulders, rescuing her even as she tried to rescue him and, damn, it felt good. “Where is your coat?”

  His coat swallowed her whole, but it smelled like him—spicy, masculine, perfect. She didn’t ever want to take it off.

  “I didn’t think to grab it,” she said. He still held the coat lapels, his warmth encasing her with courage. The shivers started to subside. “I heard you were in jail. It’s that guy that Jacob had issues with, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He was roughing up his wife again. I grabbed the guy and hung him up on a coatrack to wait for the sheriff to arrive.”

  Holly shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. Surely she didn’t hear that right. “What do you mean, hung him on a coatrack?”

  Cole never got the chance to answer. Sheriff Jack, who stood at least six foot three with broad, muscular shoulders, walked into the lobby and did it for him. “Stuck his belt over the notch, just like you would a coat.” He tossed some paperwork on the desk, and Cole let go of the coat.

  Sheriff Jack continued, “It was priceless. The best Christmas present you could have given me.” He shook his head. “You’re lucky he didn’t press charges, though. Good thing the wife flexed some muscle and threatened the guy. You should have waited for me, and you damned well know it.”

  “I was waiting for you,” Cole countered. “I just wanted to make sure he did, too.”

  The sheriff chuckled, and Holly couldn’t help joining in herself. “About ten more minutes on that paperwork and we’ll get you out of here,” the sheriff said.

  Holly found herself laughing and sitting down next to Cole. “I just can’t imagine what that would have looked like.”

  Cole fixed his attention on her, his eyes a dark abyss, his lips a grim, hard line. Then abruptly, he pushed to his feet and grabbed her hand. A minute later, they were in a private office, with the door shut. “Holly, why are you here?” Apparently, he was done with small talk.

  Holly struggled to secure the giant coat hanging heavily on her shoulders. But that weight was nothing compared to the weight of his confrontation. “I thought you needed me. I . . .”

  He gave a slow, hard nod, his lips flattening. Then he reached for the door. She grabbed his arm, instant awareness between them, electricity darting up her arm.

  “Cole. Please. If you walk out of this office, it will kill me. Maybe you didn’t need me, but I need you, and I won’t say that doesn’t scare me. But being without you scares me more.” Her heart sputtered and then raced wildly. “This isn’t exactly how I planned this, but . . .”

  The energy in the room shifted, but still he was stiff, unyielding. “You planned this?”

  “Yes,” she confessed. “Well, not this, now. Later. At your house. I was going to be waiting for you when you got home. I had a cake, and champagne, and . . . It was to celebrate. One business gone, another starting.” He didn’t so much as blink, and she started to ramble, nervous, afraid this was a mistake, a mess. “Then Abe called and I rushed over here, and all that went out the window. I mean, everything I’d planned . . . and see, I plan, Cole. It’s me. I like that you make me more spontaneous—no, I love it. I—”

  He kissed her, his arm sliding around her waist, his tongue coaxing her lips apart. Holly clung to him, reached on her toes and flung her arms around his neck.

  A knock sounded on the door a moment before the sheriff said, “You’re free to go, Cole.”

  Holly clung to him, tilting her chin up and letting him see into her soul. “No. No, you’re not. Not this time.”

  A FEW DAYS LATER AT Cole’s house, Holly and Cole lay naked on top of the bed, big fluffy goose-down blankets beneath them, and a fireplace crackling in the corner.

  Holly had gone to the contract signing to support both her family and Cole’s. They’d all agreed that they’d keep the bed-and-breakfast a secret until the time was right, and Cole had offered her parents a permanent room at the house, in between travels. After all, it would be Holly’s home, too, as far as he was concerned, and every holiday could be spent there as if nothing had changed.

  Holly scooped a bite of chocolate cake off the plate in front of her and sighed
. “I love this cake. I love this room.”

  He took her plate and set it on the nightstand, and then pulled her beneath him. “I love that it’s our room now. So how much notice do I have to give you ‘to plan for a proposal’?”

  Holly smiled, feeling the hard proof of his arousal settle between her legs. “I’m quickly learning to enjoy your spontaneity. Go with what feels right.”

  “You feel right to me,” he said, brushing his lips over hers and then sliding inside her, burying himself deep within the recesses of her body.

  She sighed with pleasure and wrapped her arms around his neck. Right had never felt so good.

  About the Author

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed Inside Out series: If I Were You, Being Me, and Revealing Us. The series has been optioned by the STARZ Network for a cable television show.