by Kim Law
Which hadn’t made a lot of sense either.
But as she continued to listen to his conversation now, she had to wonder if he wasn’t ashamed of the way he’d treated Nick and Cody before. Based on his capitulatory mutterings in the hall, she also had the sense that Mom might have given him more than an earful about the subject over the last two months.
“My cell next time, Mom,” she heard him say. Then he sighed. “Yeah, sorry. I had it on silent. I’m supposed to be relaxing while I’m here, right?”
She suspected that was sarcasm. She doubted the guy ever relaxed.
Silence followed as he listened.
“I don’t know when.” He blew out a breath. “I know. Soon.”
Pause.
“Me too, Mom. I’ll talk to you Sunday.”
He went silent and she glanced over her shoulder.
When he stepped to the door, her breath caught. He didn’t have on a suit jacket today, but still sported a white, starched button-down and a pair of black slacks. And as she’d noticed out in the hallway, he didn’t need the jacket to emit power.
Or sex appeal.
His dark eyes wore a haunted look as he held up the phone and put a question on his face. She motioned to the base hanging on the wall.
“How’s Mom?” she asked as he turned away to replace the receiver. She let her mouth curve into a grin when his shoulders went stiff. It was simply cute that his mother had been worried about him.
“My mother is fine.” His tone had her biting her lip to keep from laughing as he faced her, his eyes thin slits. “I let her know it’s not appropriate to call the house phone,” he said.
Holly shrugged. “I don’t mind. She can call every day if she wants. I told her that before you came down.”
A cold look whipped across his face, and just like that, she made another snap decision. He might be judgmental about her shoes—and yeah, she’d caught him frowning at them again that morning—but overall, she preferred being happy. Optimistic. She liked to find the good in people. And when the good wasn’t obvious, she enjoyed helping to uncover it.
Though Zack might well deserve it from his brothers, she wouldn’t hold him in disregard for something he’d done two months ago. Especially now that he was here, seemingly to right his wrongs.
Plus, Cody and Nick had walked in on him unannounced. That would be enough to throw anyone off their game.
He’d hurt her friends, yeah, but she could help him fix that.
It would make Nick and Cody happy in return. A total win-win.
She held up her spatula, plans already taking shape in her mind. “Pancakes?”
Zack’s mouth watered at the thought of hot pancakes drizzled in warm maple syrup. He hadn’t had a real breakfast in years. Weekdays, his mornings consisted of coffee and whatever pastry his assistant picked up in the first-floor coffee shop. Saturdays, he often didn’t come out of his apartment until well past breakfast—unless he was going into the office, which, again, earned him a pastry. Sundays, he skipped the meal altogether in anticipation of the large lunch he knew would be forthcoming.
“No need,” he said. Letting the cute blonde cook him breakfast didn’t seem like a good idea. “I’ll go into town.”
He needed to spend time in public anyway. Maybe he would run into one of his brothers.
She turned fully to face him and propped one hand on a hip. Her breasts jiggled with the movement and he had a new appreciation for cotton T-shirts. “Breakfast comes with the room, sugar. My mama will be back to take over next week, and she’ll have my hide if she finds out I haven’t been treating you right. I won’t take no for an answer.”
He eyed her from his spot by the door, telling himself to be adamant. He wasn’t a sucker for a sexy Southern drawl, and he wouldn’t be swayed by one.
Yet his mother had just spent ten minutes reminding him to enjoy himself while he was here. Make it a vacation, she kept saying. Relax. Do things you haven’t done in years—as well as talk to your brothers.
Pancakes would be one of those things.
As would a cute blonde.
He reminded himself that he preferred tall, lithe brunettes. Women who knew the score, and who were more than happy to leave his bed first thing in the morning. Most certainly not mouthy ones.
Who laughed at him because his mother called to check on him.
He needed to get out of this room. He was about to tell her no again, when she pointed at the table against the side wall.
“Sit,” she said. “We have things to discuss.”
No, they didn’t. Yet he found himself moving to the other side of the four-person table.
She turned back to cooking, and he ignored her to take in the room. He hadn’t been in here yet, but like the rest of the house, it was stylish and roomy. Sunlight flooded the space through the wide windows, and suncatchers hanging in the middle of the glass sent a spray of color in every direction.
Warm wood cabinets and stainless-steel appliances covered the two largest walls. A three-by-five-foot whiteboard hung on the wall to his left, with a week’s worth of breakfast menus written out in perfect penmanship. And the wood-block table he sat at took up the last of the space. The table matched the one he’d seen in the adjoining dining room, only it was a third of the size.
Holly remained at the stove, her back to him, the shape of her body outlined in pink and white. When she reached above her to one of the cabinets, her shirt rode up to reveal a thin strip of skin before flaring out to her rounded hips. He’d had both his hands right there as the two of them had ridden to the house on her horse. He’d wanted to slide his palms down over her warm curves.
He wanted to now, as well.
She glanced at him. “Do you want something in your pancakes? Chocolate chips? Blueberries?”
He frowned, thoughts of touching her forgotten. “Why would I want anything in my pancakes?”
She didn’t reply, just rolled her eyes as if his mere presence disgusted her.
He let another minute go by before he began feeling silly for sitting there and allowing her to wait on him. “Can I help?” he finally asked.
Not that he knew how to do anything in the kitchen. Other than pour coffee.
Once again, she eyed him. “Do you cook?” she asked.
“No.”
She gave him a quick smile. A dimple appeared in one cheek, and the sight sent a twitch straight to his groin. “Honest,” she murmured. She said the word in a way that made him want to sit up straighter and puff out his chest. As if being honest was important to her.
“There’s juice in the fridge and coffee in the pot.” She nodded her head to the opposite counter, where a white insulated carafe sat. “You can pour some for both of us.”
“You’re eating too?” He wasn’t used to women actually eating. And certainly not a stack of pancakes.
“Absolutely. I missed breakfast this morning because I was waiting on everyone else.”
She returned her attention to the stove, and they worked together in silence as she finished their meal. Then she turned with two stacks of fluffy deliciousness in her hands and her cheeks pink from the heat, and he paused in the middle of the room to simply stare at her. She looked so . . .
“How old are you?” he blurted out.
He really had to stop his perverted old-man thoughts if she wasn’t even of drinking age.
She smirked. “Old enough. It’s the lack of makeup. I look like a kid when I don’t wear much.”
The ponytail on the top of her head didn’t help. Nor the short shorts. But he wasn’t about to point out either because he liked them both. He also liked her innocent cuteness. It was refreshing.
She set the plates on the table and grabbed a small pitcher of syrup. Next was a platter of sausages from the oven. Berries and whipped cream followed.
&
nbsp; Finally, they sat. She doused her chocolate-chip-filled pancakes with syrup before dropping a handful of raspberries on top and adding a four-second squirt of whipped cream. Then she held the can out to him. “Try it,” she said.
“I like them plain.”
She made a face at him. “Of course you do. Boring.”
He wasn’t boring.
She cut off a hunk of her pancakes and slid it into her mouth. He watched until it disappeared. Then he noticed that his breathing had hitched up a notch.
His phone rang, jerking him out of his thoughts. Thank the heavens.
“Excuse me,” he muttered as he pulled the device from his pocket. It was rude to answer while at the table, but he needed a moment of escape.
He needed to quit thinking about sitting Holly on the kitchen counter and stepping between her legs.
When he saw who the caller was, though, he didn’t answer. She was the reason his phone had been muted when his mother had called earlier. Shelley hadn’t taken “we’re done” well.
Not that he’d ever given the impression it was more than sex, nor had she expressed the desire to have more. She just wanted the sex. Along with more of his cash spent showing her a good time.
“Not answering it?” Holly asked.
“Nope.” He shook his head and slid the phone onto the table.
Holly leaned forward until she could see the screen, and her brows went up. “Shelley,” she murmured. Her green gaze turned to his. “She one of your women?”
As she’d leaned forward, the underside of her breasts had pressed against her forearm where it rested on the table, pushing them up, and the neck of her T-shirt had gaped. He’d been given one hell of a view. Which he was no longer looking at because she was now looking at him.
But they were still there. Creamy and plump.
Just inches from him.
“What do you know about my women?” he managed to get out.
He knew his women didn’t have breasts like that.
She sat back then, and his breath slid from between his lips. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.
“Nick said the morning they came looking for you, some hoity-toity woman was leaving your place. Apparently you two hadn’t been in long?”
She left the sentence as a question. It was none of her business, yet he found he wanted to defend himself. Not that there was a defense. He often went out on Friday nights—which is why Shelley was calling now, because he’d cancelled their date last weekend—and yeah, he and his dates had been known to stay out until dawn.
Then the women left shortly thereafter.
What could he say to make it sound better than it was?
The better question was, why did he want to?
When he chose not to answer, Holly tilted her head to the side and he could see her thoughts churning. She suddenly looked older than eighteen, and his lust rocketed off again. This time not because she was a walking wet dream, but because she looked like an intelligent woman. One who would appreciate more than a good time or simply being showered with money.
That shouldn’t turn him on so much.
“Eat.” She wiped the intrigued look from her eyes and pointed her fork at his plate. He had yet to take a bite.
He poured syrup over his food and dug in. Then quickly followed the bite with, “Damn.” He looked up. “These are delicious.”
She laughed lightly, the heavy mood from the moment before lifted, and he became mesmerized yet again. Not only by the sound, but by the unguarded happiness radiating from her. He rarely felt that happy. That unrestrained. How did she do it?
Did she not have worries? Regrets?
“They’re my specialty, Mr. Winston.” She squirted another dollop of cream on her food and snuck a quick squirt onto his before he could stop her. “I learned from the best. My granny. The woman whose final resting place you desecrated the other day.”
“Zack,” he mumbled with his mouth full of sweet bread and spicy sausage. He swallowed. “Just . . . Zack.” He preferred to keep Mr. Winston in the courtroom. “And I fixed the marker already.”
Her green eyes watched him until he found himself looking down and breaking contact first. It felt too intimate to be sitting there with her.
And he didn’t do intimate.
“You fixed it yourself?” she asked. He could tell she expected the answer to be no.
He peered up from his plate, wanting to see her reaction when he told her that yes, in fact, he had done the work himself. He’d caused the damage; he’d taken care of it. It was a quality his dad had instilled in him early on.
“I had a rental Tuesday while I waited on my car to be repaired,” he explained. “And time on my hands. So I bought cement and tools.” He shrugged. “I fixed it.”
The surprise in her eyes made him smile. The awe made his chest squeeze. No one other than his mother ever looked at him that way anymore.
“You’re here to fix things with your brothers, right?” she asked.
And the moment was lost.
He lowered his gaze to his plate again and scooped up another bite. “Fix things” was a bit unrealistic. He was there to settle things. To . . . meet them. To not be an ass.
“Did your mom make you come?”
Laughter was back in her eyes now.
“My mother doesn’t make me do anything, Miss Marshall.” And she hadn’t. She’d merely strongly suggested it.
“Holly,” she said softly. The world slowed down a beat as her name slid between them.
“Holly,” he repeated.
The green of her eyes deepened, but her expression didn’t change.
“Answer the questions, Zack,” she said. “Your brothers?”
He nodded. Yes, he was there to fix things with his brothers. As soon as he could figure out where to start.
“And your mother? She sent you?”
“She . . .” Was he really on the verge of telling this woman that his mother was the reason he was there? Most of the reason. There was also his boss.
And if he were to be honest, he’d admit that he’d been thinking about coming well before either had pushed the point. Now that he knew the truth . . .
“You said we had things to talk about.” He changed the subject. He was not discussing his mother, his screwed-up job, or his brothers with her.
“We are talking,” she replied.
“And now we’re finished.” He scooped up the last of his breakfast, washed it down with juice, and stood.
“I know where you can run into your brothers,” she said before he could leave the room. She stared up at him from her seat. Her expression was blank, but he could read in her eyes that she had guessed what he’d been thinking.
He had no idea where to start. Or how to start.
He’d actually hoped that once his siblings knew he was in town, they’d make the first move. Again. Which was immature on his part, but he was more than slightly resentful for having to be there in the first place.
He would have been fine going the rest of his life without meeting them.
Only . . .
He felt his pulse thump in the side of his neck as he remembered his desire as a kid to have a brother.
He’d had great parents. His dad had been a doctor, and his mother adored him. He’d been given all the material possessions he’d ever asked for, and even more love. Yet he’d constantly felt alone in the world. A brother would have fixed that.
A brother would have made the years at school less—
“We have a movie in the park every Thursday night,” she said. “Your brothers will be there.”
“No,” he said immediately. “I don’t do movies in the park.” Who had time for something so frivolous?
“Why not?”
“Because I’m too busy.” There wa
s work to be done. He might be on vacation, but that didn’t mean his clients could wait. There were court appearances waiting for him. Depositions. Preparation was key. He wanted to show his boss, show the firm that he would not mess up again. He was going to be all business.
One blonde eyebrow lifted high on her forehead. She didn’t audibly point out the obvious, but he heard it loud and clear.
He was there for some reason. He’d booked a room for two weeks.
If it wasn’t to get to know his brothers, then what?
But a movie? In a park?
He swallowed. It was too . . . country.
Holly simply watched him as he worked through his thoughts, the expression on her face patient. Though he could spend all the time he wanted on his cases, it wouldn’t change the facts. He wasn’t in town to work.
He shook his head. He still wasn’t going to a movie in the park. “It’s not my style.”
If he went, he’d have to approach Nick and Cody in front of everyone. There would be no secrets. No . . . hiding. There would also probably be people listening in, eavesdropping on everything that was said. He didn’t need to be fodder for the town gossip any more than he assumed driving across the county line had already made him.
He shoved his fists into his pockets. He wasn’t going.
When Holly still didn’t say anything, merely eyeing him from her side of the table, he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. She had to realize what a bad idea it was.
He didn’t fit in there. No one would want him showing up for a cozy community event.
She just kept silently waiting.
He sighed. “I’m making no promises.”
A flicker of a smile crossed her face. “The park’s two blocks down Church Street,” she informed him as if he’d asked for directions. Then she softly added, “I could meet you there.”
Like he needed someone to hold his hand.
He took in her green eyes again, and he saw no judgment on her part. Simply the willingness to help. He didn’t understand. He was nothing to her.
“Why would you help me?” he asked. His words came out gruff.
She was the one to break contact that time. She stood from the table and took their plates to the sink. After a few seconds, she turned back to him. She gripped the edge of the counter in her hands behind her. “I know what it’s like to be lost in the middle of the crowd,” she said. The words were spoken softly, but they seemed to be weighted down with meaning.
