by Carrie Elks
“Maybe our parents didn’t know they were here.” Everley looked at the papers again. “Do you understand a word of this?”
“Some. They’re the rules for who can live in the town and the usage of the land. But I’m not a lawyer, I don’t really understand them. I guess I could send them to my lawyer friend and get her to look them over.”
“Do that.” Everley handed Holly the pile of papers and replaced the box they’d removed, somehow managing to shove the crate shut. “But first we need to find me a costume and fast, because you can’t go to dinner with hair like that.”
“Hair like what?” Holly touched the back of her head, and grimaced at the frizz she could feel there. “Oh.”
“You need to go wash it,” Everley told her. “You’ll thank me for it later.”
13
Josh was wearing casual clothes again. Jeans and a black shirt, unbuttoned at the neck so she could see a tantalizing hint of his chest, and a smattering of hair that made her mouth feel dry.
“Come in.” He gave her a smile. “Let me take your coat.”
Holly unhooked her scarf and unzipped her padded parka, handing it to him. His eyes raked over her, taking in the gray wool dress that hugged her curves, and the sheer stockings that did nothing to keep out the cold.
“Did you drive?” he asked
“I did.” She lifted a brow. “I figure if it snows I’ll be safer driving than walking home.”
“You could stay here.” It sounded like a throwaway comment, but it made her body react anyway.
“I think I’ll chance it with the roads.”
He led her into his kitchen, and she took a seat at his breakfast bar. Damn, it smelled good in here. “What are you cooking?” she asked, as he opened the refrigerator, pouring them both a long glass of water.
“Boeuf en daube.” He passed her the glass, taking a long, cool sip from his own. “With winter greens and sautéed potatoes.”
Holly blinked. “From scratch?”
“Yep.”
“So you can cook?”
“You sound surprised about that,” he murmured, propping his chin on his hand and smiling at her.
“I guess I thought you’d be too busy taking over the world to learn life basics. Most guys I know prefer takeout.”
“I’m thirty-two years old. It’d be a sad life if I only ate takeout.” He blinked, his thick lashes sweeping down. Did he have to be so damn handsome? “Anyway, I like to cook when I get the chance.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Do you cook for women a lot?”
Josh looked down, smiling. “No.”
“So you don’t invite them around and seduce them with the smell of boeuf en daube?” Holly raised an eyebrow. “Shame, because it’d definitely work.”
“I don’t invite women to my home as a rule.” His eyes flickered to hers.
“Why not?”
“Because it gives them the wrong idea.” He sounded guarded.
She leaned forward, her gaze still captured by his. “What kind of wrong idea?”
“That I’d make a good boyfriend.” There was a lightness to his voice. “I hate to disappoint people.”
“You invited me to your home,” she pointed out, looking around the modern, white kitchen.
“Technically, this isn’t my home.” He took another sip of water.
Holly shifted in her seat, taking in his smooth masculinity. He had an ease to him that invited people in.
She wondered how many women had gotten the wrong idea about him despite his efforts.
“You like to hide behind technicalities a lot,” she observed, her voice casual.
“I do?” He blinked again, a half smile ghosting his lips.
“The theater is technically yours, yet you let us have our meeting there anyway. This house is technically yours while you rent it, yet inviting me here isn’t like inviting me to your home.”
“I didn’t say that.” He put his glass down, running his finger over the rim.
“So you’re not hiding?”
“Oh, I think we’re both hiding, Holly. We just choose different things to hide behind.”
“You think I’m hiding?” She tipped her head to the side.
“I think you’re afraid of being too open.” He turned his smile up a notch, as if to take the sting from his words.
“Maybe I’ve learned from past mistakes.”
The oven timer beeped. Josh walked over and opened it to check the food, then closed it again. “Another five minutes,” he murmured. “Would you like some more water? Or a glass of wine?”
“Water’s fine.” She looked down at her half-empty glass. “But a top up would be lovely.”
He pulled the bottle from his refrigerator, this time walking around the breakfast bar to top her up. As soon as he was close she felt her body react to him. Her nerve ends danced beneath her skin as she breathed in his warm, deep cologne.
“Why did you lie about not remembering me?” he asked her.
Holly swallowed. She wasn’t certain she knew the answer herself. But she was so glad she’d stopped playing that game. Her body had felt lighter since she’d admitted the truth to him in her old cabin.
“I guess I didn’t want you to think I’d been pining after you all these years.” As soon as the words escaped she knew they were true. And she didn’t like how vulnerable they made her feel.
Josh chuckled. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t sitting by the telephone for eight years waiting for my call. After all, you almost got married.”
“You heard my mom say that.” Of course he did. Another truth she didn’t want to admit.
“Yeah, but I knew before.”
She did a double take. With her on the stool and him standing, the height difference between them was exaggerated. “When did you know?”
He shrugged.
“I answered your question,” she pointed out. “Maybe you could answer mine.”
“Quid pro quo.” He nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “I guess we could play that game. But only if you promise to be open and honest.”
“Like Clarice and Hannibal,” she murmured.
“Which one are you?” His eyes sparkled as he looked at her.
“I’m not sure yet.”
He raised a brow. “I call shotgun on eating you first.”
She shook her head, amused. “You like playing games, don’t you?”
His smile was devastating. “Yes I do. And I think you do, too.”
“Okay then.” She nodded. “It’s on. Answer my question.”
His gaze caught hers. “I knew about your engagement when it happened. But I didn’t realize you didn’t go through with it until recently.”
What? He knew about it all those years ago? She opened her mouth to ask another, but he held up his hand.
“My turn,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you marry him?”
“Because I realized I wasn’t in love with him.” She let out a low breath. She hated thinking about that time in her life. It felt like she’d been a different person, living a different kind of life. “My turn.”
“Go ahead.” He was enjoying this.
“Why didn’t you contact me again after you left Winterville?” she asked him.
He grimaced, as though embarrassed. “I flew straight to England and it was a shit show of a project that meant working eighteen hour days for a year. And I had it in my mind that if I couldn’t be a good boyfriend, then I should just leave you alone until I was more available.”
“An occasional email would have been nice,” she murmured.
“I know. I was an idiot. A young, self obsessed idiot who thought that he had something to prove. And I was willing to give up everything to prove it.”
“Even me.”
Their eyes connected. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “And if it makes you feel any better, you dodged a bullet with me. I’m still work obsessed. I still spend too many hours in the office. I’m not boyfriend
material.”
It was like he was warning her off. “Another technicality,” she said.
He put his hand on the breakfast bar, next to hers. All he had to do was reach out and they’d be touching.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his smile bemused.
“It’s something else to hide behind. You tell people you’re not boyfriend material because you’re afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” His voice was thick.
“Afraid of intimacy. Of being vulnerable. Of playing the game and losing.”
He looked at her for a minute, his eyes considering her words. His lips were soft, his jaw hard, and she felt a fresh flood of warmth envelop her body.
“What makes you think I’m afraid of that?” he asked.
“Because I’m afraid of those things, too.”
He moved his hand, weaving his fingers into hers. “I’ve forgotten whose turn it is to ask questions,” he said, three tiny lines forming above his brow.
“Maybe we’re out of questions.” She squeezed his hand, amazed at how excited she was just from the slightest of touches.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be out of questions with you.” With his free hand, he reached out, cupping her face, and stooped until their brows were touching. “If we do this, somebody’s going to get hurt. Maybe both of us.”
“I know.” Her chest clenched.
“And if we don’t do this…” He ran his tongue over his lip. “It’ll hurt, too.”
She tipped her head to the side. “That’s what we like to call a no-win situation.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t like those.”
“Nor do I,” Holly said. Their faces were so close she could see flecks of green in his blue-gray eyes, forming a halo around his darkening pupils. “Maybe we can call it a no-lose situation.”
“Potayto-potahto.” He moved closer to her, until his hips were between her thighs. Her heart was hammering against her chest, the need to touch him flooding her body. Her head was in line with his chest, and she could see the outline of his muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Holly.” His voice was a breath. She felt the warmth of it on her face. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she reached out to steady herself, her palms pressing into his sides, feeling the warmth of his taut skin through his shirt.
He exhaled more heavily this time. It sounded strangled. He stepped closer, still, and she could feel the hard ridge of his excitement pressing against her.
Then he kissed her. Softly, at first. A maddening brush of his mouth that made her ache for more. With a slow moan, she parted her lips, inviting him in. He slid his tongue against hers, making her body pulse and contract. Her thighs tightened around his hips as though to cage him in. He was delicious and talented, filling her with desire, as his hands cupped her face gently and his mouth took hers again and again.
When they finally parted, they were breathless. He looked down at her, his gaze soft.
“Stay tonight,” he asked.
She nodded. She wasn’t going to fight anymore. She was out of reasons to push him away.
A slow smile pulled at his lips as he moved toward her again, his gaze intense. But then the oven timer went off again, and he stopped, his eyes crinkling as he laughed.
“Saved by the bell,” he said, tracing his finger on her lips before walking around the breakfast bar to the oven. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Yes she was. In every way.
14
Electricity hung in the air as they ate at the small table overlooking the mountains. Sure, they were chatting casually, but every now and then their eyes would catch and he’d feel the pleasure of her stare through his body, making him ache with need.
She looked beautiful in the soft lamplight, her wool dress hugging her curves in all the right places, her long dark hair falling in tumbling waves down her back. But what captured his attention was the way she held herself, so strong and proud. She had a confidence to her that was innately sexy.
He loved that she’d opened up to him. Her vulnerability only made him want her more.
Since she’d decided to stay, he opened a bottle of wine. Holly lifted her glass to her lips, closing her eyes as the cool, crisp Sauvignon Blanc slipped down her throat.
“You know the first time we met, I wasn’t old enough to drink,” she said, putting her glass back on the table.
Josh winced. “You make me sound like a cradle robber. You were twenty, I was twenty-four.” Though truthfully at the time, he’d thought she was older. Even then, her cool beauty had captured him.
She smiled softly, looking down at her plate. “So when did you learn to cook?”
“A few years ago. I got so sick of takeout and ready made meals. I started with those food boxes that companies send out, then graduated to my own recipes.”
“Maybe you could teach me.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m still at the takeout stage.”
“It’s a challenge when you work all day. By the time I get home, I’m usually exhausted and starving. I bet you are, too. It’s easier just to pick up your phone and order.” He shrugged. “But I find it relaxing, standing in the kitchen and making dinner. A way to decompress from the day.”
“You can decompress with me any time.”
He laughed at the innuendo of her words. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant cook for me. I love home cooked food. When we’re in the middle of a case I usually end up eating at the office. Somebody calls for pizza or Chinese and we wolf it down while staring at our computers. I’m shocked I’m not the size of a house.”
He ran his gaze over her perfect curves. “If you’re anything like me, it’s feast or famine. There are days when I don’t have time to eat at all.”
She lifted her fork to her mouth, letting out a soft moan as she ate a piece of the succulent beef. “If you cooked for me every day, I’d eat constantly.”
Damn if that didn’t make his chest pound. Not just the moan, but the idea of cooking for her. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Explain your job to me,” he said, trying to push that weird thought away. “I get the forensic accountant part, but how did you end up working for a divorce lawyer?”
She didn’t seem surprised that he knew all about her job. “I started out working for an accounting firm. I was moved to their forensic team almost right away. I have this weird knack of being able to look at a sheet full of numbers and immediately hone in on the number that looks wrong.”
“Wrong?” he asked, his brows knitting.
“When somebody shows me accounts that have an error, it’s like the wrong number is red and flashing in my eyes. I can scan a spreadsheet with ease and see it. Then I investigate where that number originated and follow the trail. Usually I find out what the person or company is hiding.”
“Like one of those spot the difference pictures?”
She smiled. “Exactly like that. Numbers have patterns. When they don’t follow it, it’s jarring.”
There was something so appealing about the way her face lit up. She loved her work and it showed.
“So you were working for an accounting firm,” he prompted. It was weird how he wanted to know so much more about her.
“And I was called in to consult on a divorce case. The guy was hiding three million dollars and it was my job to track it down. He’d created a whole chain of shell companies in an attempt to cover up what he was doing. It took a long time to track it all down. But eventually I did and the judge made him pay.”
“You sound pleased about that.”
“There’s usually such a power imbalance to most of the divorce cases I work on. I like working for the underdog. Helping people escape bad marriages with a hope for the future. And yeah, there’s a little schadenfreude in sticking it to the bad guys.” She shrugged.
“Would you feel the same if it was a woman hiding the money and the man being the underdog?”
&n
bsp; Holly nodded. “Yeah, I do. Right now, the imbalance is firmly in one direction, but things are changing all the time. Human nature is human nature. Rich women are just as likely to hide their money from the courts as rich men. I’ve worked on a few cases like that.”
“You’re a modern day Robin Hood.”
She laughed. “I’ve been called worse. Someone once described me as a crusader without a cape.”
He grimaced. “Sorry. I was an asshole.”
Her eyes softened. “It’s probably a good description. I like helping people break out of relationships that hurt them.”
He thought about his grandma. About all the times he’d tried to persuade her to leave his grandfather. How much more confident would she be with somebody like Holly on her side?
“How about you?” Holly asked, looking at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Do you enjoy what you do?”
“Sometimes.” He half-smiled, his gaze holding hers. “I like making money.”
She leaned forward. “But there has to be more to your life than money.”
“It’s a family business. There’s never been any question that I’d end up running it. That’s what I was brought up to do.”
“Is it what you want to do?” she persisted, as though she didn’t understand his answer.
His stomach tensed. “It’s not about want. It’s about duty. You of all people must understand that.”
Her smile was tentative. “We’re all products of our upbringing. And I guess that’s why we’re both here. Fighting against each other to keep what our family created.”
He didn’t like that they were on opposite sides. “What if we didn’t talk about that?”
She frowned. “About what?”
“About the whole fiasco involving this town. What if we don’t mention it at all? I don’t tell you what I’m doing, you don’t volunteer what you and your family are up to?”
Holly tipped her head to the side. “Don’t you want to know?”
No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to be her enemy. He wanted to be her friend. Her lover. He wanted to make her smile, not cry.
