Holly snorted softly. “Not much, no.”
Solitude was something he understood. It was the reason behind it that interested him. Dare he hope that she, like him, was past all the superficial bullshit with the dating scene? Nothing else made sense to him. She was adorable, witty, smart, and didn’t take herself too seriously. In other words, she was too good to be true. What was he missing?
“Why not?”
HOLLY SAT BACK, AN enigmatic smile on her face. Adam was so easy to talk to and to be around. She had already broken her first cardinal rule: talking about herself and her family issues. Generally speaking, there was no faster way to end an evening. Yet, he was still there, looking unfazed and even slightly amused. Most guys would have left skid marks within seconds of hearing words like “marriage” and “kids,” especially from a woman well on her way to spinsterhood who he had just met over coffee. Granted, it was some really great coffee, but still.
What the hell, she decided. She already liked this guy more than she should have at this point in the game. Best to break out the big guns now and save herself a lot of pain and heartache later. As soon as he found out how she paid her bills, there would be skid marks for sure.
“You seem like a pretty astute kind of guy, Adam.”
He inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment.
“What do you think I do for a living?”
One brow raised. God, that was sexy. She had never been able to pull that off, though she had once practiced for several hours with a hand-held mirror and a flashlight in her closet when she was younger.
“Is this a test?” he quipped. “Am I being graded?”
Her lips quirked. “More like a game show, really. Think of it as a chance to win fabulous prizes or go home empty-handed.”
“Empty-handed? Really? Most shows have at least a consolation prize.”
“I guess I could spring for one of those day-old scones over there for being a good sport.”
“And the fabulous prizes?”
“I’m still working on that part.”
He grinned, the look in his eyes suggesting what he would pick for a prize if she asked his opinion. She didn’t. Just the fact that he seemed interested was enough for her, no fishing expedition needed.
“Do I get a phone-a-friend? Ask the audience?”
Holly felt her lips quirking again. He was teasing her, and not in a mean or mocking way. She liked it. A lot. “No.”
“Oh, well, in that case, let’s see.” He sat back, crossed his arms, then brought one hand up toward his mouth in a classic thinking pose.
ADAM WAS FAIRLY CERTAIN he knew what she did for a living, but this was an opportunity to impress her. Normally, he didn’t go for that kind of thing, but he was enjoying himself too much not to play along.
“You seem organized and intelligent. Well-spoken. I’m guessing you went to college?”
She nodded, amused.
“Fairly confident despite your self-mockery. You live alone, which suggests competence and independence. You’ve already admitted you don’t date much, and I don’t get the impression you’re much of a party girl, so I’m guessing you went for something safe, respectable, and relatively quantifiable, like mathematics or science.”
He paused. “No, wait. Something with computers ... A programmer or an analyst, perhaps. How am I doing so far?”
Her eyes twinkled, but she said nothing.
He put both arms on the table and leaned forward, looking right into her eyes. “But that’s not the real you,” he said, his voice softer than before. “You could do that, and be very good at it, but you’d hate it. It’s not who you are.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. Her attention was absolute, focused only on him, and he liked the feeling.
“No, there’s too much passion in your eyes. Too much mischief to do anything so tedious. Given the clues you’ve already provided, it would have to be something more creative than that. Something”—he paused for effect, leaning farther forward and dropping his voice even lower—“not so respectable.”
He saw her swallow. The smile still played about her lips, but she was less sure than she had been. A bit of anxiety revealed itself in the tenseness of her shoulders. He had her now.
His voice was barely audible. “You’re a Dominatrix, aren’t you?”
For a moment, her eyes grew huge. Then she laughed. Not a polite chuckle, either; but a real, hearty, genuine laugh that had her shoulders shaking. It filled his chest with sunlight, making him feel as if he really had just won a great prize.
“Come on.” He winked. “You can tell me. What are you hiding beneath that sweater? A leather bustier? Lace corset? Whips? Chains?”
It made her laugh even harder until she had tears coming out of her eyes and she was gasping for breath. He loved a woman who could laugh like that. The fact that he was the reason behind it? Even better.
“Oh, God, Adam,” she said when she could speak again, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. Thank you for that.”
He grinned back. “So, I’m right, right?”
“Not even close.” She chuckled. “I’m a writer.” Next to Dominatrix, it sounded pretty tame, which was exactly what he’d had in mind. It didn’t take a mind reader to sense that she was worried about telling him what she did.
He snapped his fingers. “Damn. So close.”
In that moment, his mind snapped a mental picture of her—eyes sparkling, smiling at him, radiant. She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His heart even skipped a few beats to emphasize that thought. It shook him a little.
“So, what’s so bad about being a writer?” he asked, sipping his coffee, trying to regain his equilibrium.
“Nothing.” The laughter faded away and some of the uncertainty re-entered her voice. Adam didn’t like it at all. “Unless you write fiction.”
“Worked pretty well for J.K. Rowling, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. She looked down at her mug, tracing the handle with her index finger. He noticed she did that when she was feeling nervous. “But I don’t write about boy wizards.”
“What do you write about?” he prodded.
She didn’t want to tell him. He could sense it, practically see the battle raging behind those pretty green eyes. Finally, her features went carefully neutral, a self-defense mechanism if he ever saw one.
“Vampires. Shifters. Angels and dragons. Medieval Scottish Highlanders. Navy SEALs.” She exhaled, afraid to meet his eyes. “I write romance novels, Adam.”
Chapter 8
There. She had said it. Holly stared hard at the tabletop, braced for his reaction. A laugh, perhaps an awkward cough, followed by either a polite suggestion to call it a night or a poorly veiled offer to help her with some “research.”
Seconds ticked by in silence. He didn’t say or do anything.
Was he shocked? Stunned into silence because he had thought she seemed like such a nice, intelligent, sensible woman? Or maybe he had been taken aback by the fact that he could have been so wrong.
Holly felt the color creeping up her neck, hating that she still cared so much what other people thought.
No, not other people, she corrected. Him. Because, she realized, she really liked this guy, and for whatever reason, his opinion mattered.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and raised her eyes.
Adam was watching her intently, his face relatively neutral, but his eyes sparkled with ... something. What was that? Interest? Amusement?
HOLY SHIT, he thought. That look. Those eyes. Like those of someone already found guilty and awaiting sentence, knowing it was going to be bad yet determined to take it with dignity. She was waiting for his reaction and clearly wasn’t expecting it to be good. She didn’t strike him as the type of person to care too much what other people thought. Dare he hope that he was different in her eyes? That she might be feel
ing the same unexplainable spark he was and care about his opinion?
“Do you like it?” he asked.
She blinked, nonplussed. “Like it?”
“Yeah. Do you like writing romance novels?”
“Yes,” she admitted warily.
“Does it pay your bills?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are among the fortunate minority who enjoy what they do for a living. It’s not really work if you love what you do, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, but her voice still held a trace of doubt. That hint of vulnerability tweaked something primal inside him, something that appealed to his inner caveman. Without conscious effort, this woman continued to draw him in further and further, and she didn’t even know it.
“What about you?” she asked, tossing the ball back into his court.
“I, too, am pretty fortunate. I love what I do.”
“And what is that?” she asked, her eyes less doubtful now and sparkling with ... mischief? “You’re not a Dom, are you? A real-life Christian Grey?”
He chuckled. “More like Ty Pennington.” He would be lying if he said the idea of dominating this particular woman in the bedroom didn’t hold some appeal. It was an effort to remember they were in a public coffee shop and had just met.
“I renovate old houses. The older, the better. They-don’t-make-them-like-they-used-to types. Real stone from local quarries. Huge, hand-hewn beams. Hardwood floors instead of sheets of plywood. Plaster walls instead of drywall ...” He paused, giving her a sheepish look when he realized he was running on. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she told him, “I love old houses. So much so, I bought one.”
Adam felt another twinge deep inside, like a lock tumbler clicking into place. Had he discovered something else they had in common?
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. A small stone cottage. It was built in the late 1700s, or so they say, to replace the original building, which was destroyed in a fire in the late 1600s. I’m still doing the research on that. It used to be part of a much bigger estate.”
“Not the gamekeeper’s cottage on the old Penn estate?”
She nodded. “Yep, that’s the one. You know of it?”
He laughed. “I do. I was actually hoping no one would buy it and I could talk them down on the price.” He shook his head in disbelief. Any moment now, he was going to wake up. “Tell me. What’s it like? The inside, I mean.”
IS HE REALLY INTERESTED, or is he just being polite? she wondered.
Holly loved her place. Liz often told her that, when she talked about it, she got this dreamy look on her face. That was usually when Liz admitted to zoning out.
Holly didn’t want to bore the man to distraction, but he might as well know up front what he was dealing with. He had handled the “I’m a romance writer” thing better than expected, and he had admitted to a penchant for old houses, as well.
Of course, since he renovated old places for a living, he might be asking out of professional rather than personal interest. Inwardly, she shook her head. It didn’t matter. He was interested, and she liked being the focus of his interest, underlying motivation be damned.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said aloud. “It’s been upgraded over the years, of course—wired for electricity and fitted for indoor plumbing—but it’s retained its old-world charm. The house needs a lot of work, though. I’ve been there nearly six months and I’ve barely made a dent.”
An idea formed in her head. So far, this man had managed to ace every question on her mental male potential quiz, which was a first. Plus, she liked him enough to want to see him again. This might be the perfect way to do just that without actually asking him out. Whatever genetic trait predisposed her to alpha male type romance novel writing also prevented her from taking the initiative in situations like this.
“Adam, would you be interested in seeing it? Maybe you could offer some professional advice. I want to keep as much of the original look and feel as possible, and I’m afraid I’ve just kind of been winging it.”
He didn’t answer right away. Seconds ticked by in silence, feeling more like minutes, and with each one, Holly’s disappointment grew. Things had been going so well. She should have just kept her big mouth shut. Obviously, she had misread the situation. The only thing she could do at this point was backtrack and try to regain some of that easy back-and-forth they’d had going on before she had ruined it by pushing too hard.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“I’d love to.”
She blinked, her eyes snapping back up to his.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, they were intensely blue, darker than they had been just a little while ago. Those eyes were borderline hypnotic and blatantly powerful. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily lose herself in them.
“You would?”
“Absolutely.” Those blue eyes continued to bore into her, holding her captive.
He had said yes, which meant she hadn’t messed this up yet, and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see her again, too.
“That would be great!” she said, trying desperately to sound like the mature adult woman she was and not some crushing teen.
She mentally ran through her calendar for the week, which was kind of silly, really. The only thing that was ever on her schedule was her weekly girls’ night out dinner with Liz on Tuesdays. He didn’t need to know that, though. She could let him think she had a very busy, rewarding social calendar.
“What works for you?”
“Pretty much any night is good for me,” he said, apparently having fewer self-confidence issues than her. “Except for Wednesdays. I’m in a pick-up league at the YMCA with a couple guys I subcontract with.”
It was Sunday evening. Monday was too soon. She would seem too eager. Plus, she wanted a chance to clean the place up before he saw it. Living alone didn’t provide a lot of incentive to keep things spick and span. Tuesday and Wednesday were out. If she suggested Friday, it might sound more like a date. He seemed interested, but she didn’t want to push her luck.
“Thursday night?” she asked.
She felt the effects of his slow smile all the way down to her toes. “Thursday night it is.”
Chapter 9
As each day passed, Adam was convinced he must have missed something. No woman could be that perfect. Holly was close to his age, well past the silly girl stage, but not too old to have fun. On the quiet side, yet intelligent and funny. Beautiful and sexy with just the right amount of curves. Self-sufficient, but approachable. Willing to ask for, and appreciate, help. Plus, she liked kids, dogs, and historic homes.
That wasn’t all. They had sat in the coffee shop and talked for hours, and it had been so easy. He even liked the way she said his name. Her voice was pitched just a bit lower than average, and she tended to speak softly, so every time she said it, it sounded like a lover’s address.
She had bought the old gamekeeper’s cottage, which meant she had excellent taste and they shared a common interest. And ... the one thing that stole the breath from his lungs was that she had actually invited him over to her place on the premise of getting his professional opinion. It might have been purely professional, or it might not. Either way, she had managed to ask in a way that his inner caveman wasn’t offended.
Of course, there was the fact that she wrote romance novels and was apparently well-versed on vibrators, but he tried not to think about either of those things too much. She certainly seemed down-to-earth, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t seem to be holding him to any unrealistic expectations. If anything, she seemed even more cautious than he was.
He rubbed absently at his chest with one hand while he poured another bowl of cereal with the other. Yeah, he must have missed something, because no woman that good would still be available.
“Why not? You are,” Brandon asked, breezing into the kitchen.
Adam shot his nephew
a look, then nearly groaned when he realized he must have been muttering his thoughts out loud. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Normally, he tried to keep his private thoughts just that, but perhaps he could use the kid as a sounding board. Thanks to his own big mouth, Brandon had the gist of what was going on, anyway.
“What do you know about her?”
Brandon shrugged, snatched the milk, and poured himself a glass. “Not much. Her full name is Holly Noelle McTierney. Her birthday is December 25th, hence the name. She grew up about fifty miles southeast of here. She writes romance novels, and currently has five books published, available online. She’s never been married and has no kids, but she does have a dog, Max, that she rescued about a year ago.”
At Adam’s gaping stare, Brandon grinned wickedly, adding, “Oh yeah, and she has dinner with her friend every Tuesday at Applebee’s, is an excellent tipper, and doesn’t believe in the possibility of five-minute orgasms.”
“How do you know all this?”
A smirk. “Ever hear of Google?”
“You googled her?”
“Well, yeah. I knew you wouldn’t do it, and someone’s got to have your back, Uncle Adam. Oh, and she has a website and social media pages, too. Based on some of the comments posted out there, it’s pretty steamy stuff.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he finished off his glass of milk, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and snatched an apple from the bowl on the table. “You might want to check it out.”
“HOLLY?”
At the sound of the deep male voice, Holly gripped the phone tighter.
“Yes? Adam?”
“Yeah. Listen, about tomorrow ...”
Holly braced herself for what would come next. She had been expecting it, but as each day had gone by, she had allowed herself to hope a little more. She had made it all the way to Wednesday, but now he was calling to cancel, she just knew it.
Oh well, she lamented, searching for the positives. At least the cottage got a good, and much-needed, cleaning. The anticipation of seeing him again had done wonders for her creativity. She had finished off that historical she had been stuck on for two months and made significant progress on two or three others.
Five Minute Man_A Contemporary Love Story Page 4
