There was a pause, then a blast. “What! Dammit, B.W., I sent you there to bring the woman back to Texas to meet her family, not jump into her bed.”
Guy settled back, decided to let Flynn stew for a bit. “I’m only human, pal. Before I could even think to say no, she had me out of my clothes and between the sheets.”
While Flynn went on to rant at him, Guy sort of peeked at the rest of Holly’s mail. An unopened letter with Ryan Fortune’s return address in one corner and another bill from the electric company, also late.
After a couple of minutes, the other end of the line went quiet. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” Flynn said with a heavy sigh. “And I fell for it.”
“Hook, line and sinker.” Guy grinned, noticed a small, fat pillow on the sofa that said Home Sweet Home. “But I’m actually the one who fell. Out of the sky, into Twin Pines Lake. Miss Douglas graciously pulled me out of my plane before I became fish bait.”
He went on to give details as best he could, including the twist of fate that now had him sleeping in the bed of the woman who had brought him here. And though Flynn argued, Guy told him that he wasn’t leaving Twin Pines until Holly Douglas agreed to come back to Texas with him.
“You better tell her the truth soon,” Flynn said. “As it is, she might ship you back here in little pieces with a bow on top, just to emphasize the point that she wants nothing to do with the Fortune family.”
“I’ll tell her. I just think it’s something I should ease into, rather than jump with both feet.” Guy heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Gotta, go, pal.”
He had the phone back on the hook and just managed to make it to the kitchen when she walked in the front door. She’d done something different with her thick chestnut hair, he noted, casually piled it on top of her head and secured it with a large tortoise-shell clip. She wore a light blue denim jacket over a snug white top, jeans that hugged her slender hips and black suede lace-up hiking boots.
There wasn’t one item of clothing that by itself would remotely be considered sexy, and still he felt his pulse jump. He couldn’t help but wonder what he might find under all that smooth denim and cotton. More cotton? Lace?
Silk, he decided, watching her close the door behind her. Something in the way she moved. Smooth as silk.
She caught sight of him in the kitchen and hesitated, then narrowed those golden lady-tiger eyes at him.
“You better talk fast, Blackwolf,” she said tightly and advanced on him.
Guy’s gaze dropped to the black leather sports bag she held in her left hand. His bag. He hadn’t needed it before, but she’d obviously retrieved it from the plane. He struggled to remember what he kept packed in there. A couple of T-shirts, fresh pair of jeans, some toiletries. A paperback, but he couldn’t recall which one. Nothing he could think of that would give him away.
She set the bag on the kitchen table and folded her arms. “You’ve got some explaining to do, mister, and it better be good.”
Three
“I should toss you out of here on your butt right now.” Holly pressed her lips into a stern line. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
“Uh…” He stared at his sports bag on the table, then remembered the letter he’d shoved in there before he’d left. It was from Flynn, on Fortune stationery. Guy knew that if Holly had seen it, he was a dead man. He hesitated, then looked back at her. “I’m sorry?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “Typical male response, spoken with typical lack of sincerity. I want to know what you were thinking?”
He paused, then said carefully, “I wasn’t?”
“You got that right.” Pulling a kitchen chair from the table, she thrust a finger at it. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sat.
“And don’t use that tone with me, either.”
“No, ma’am.”
“You got up and took a shower by yourself.”
So that’s what she was upset about, he thought with a mixture of relief and surprise. It wasn’t really anger he saw in her narrowed gaze. It was concern.
When was the last time a woman had fussed over him? he wondered. His mother had run off when he was eleven. Other than his sister, no one had really worried about him since he was a kid. And even she was gone now.
But this was hardly the time to think about Susan. Those thoughts he saved for late at night, when he was alone with a bottle of whiskey and the few photographs of his sister that he kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser.
He turned his attention back to Holly, felt a strange ripple of pleasure that the distress in her eyes was genuine. “Well, shoot, Miss Douglas.” He reached for her hand. “I would have waited for you if I’d known you wanted to join me. But I’m sure I missed a spot or two. I wouldn’t mind taking another one if it would make you happy.”
“The only dirty spot you missed was your mind.” She yanked her hand away. “For two days you’ve barely had the strength to get out of bed and make it ten feet to the bathroom. What would I have done if you’d passed out in the shower?”
“Holly, I’m fine.” He took her hand again, even though she resisted. “I appreciate your concern, but really, I’m okay. I’m not going to pass out.”
“See that you don’t,” she said firmly, but her words lacked heat. “I promised Doc I’d make sure you didn’t crack that head of yours open again.”
Her fingers were long and slender, her skin warm and smooth against his palm. “The last thing we want to do is upset Doc.”
“Absolutely,” she murmured. Her gaze dropped to their linked hands. “That’s the last thing we’d want to do.”
“Holly,” he said her name softly, tugged her down to sit on the chair beside him. “I do appreciate all you’ve done for me. Fishing me out of the lake and taking me to the doctor, bringing me home. Letting me sleep in your bed. For all you know, I’m a serial killer or an escapee from a mental ward.”
“How do you know you aren’t the one taking the chance?” she said, and he saw the smile in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to his. “Did you see the movie, Misery? For all you know, my back garden is filled with the bones of all the men I’ve brought home. The calcium is wonderful for roses, you know.”
“Your hands don’t feel like you’ve been digging in dirt.” He traced the ridge of her knuckles with his thumb. “They’re much too soft and delicate.”
She swayed slightly toward him. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
He hesitated at her words, felt the first prick of guilt that he hadn’t been completely honest with her yet. But he hadn’t lied to her exactly, either. He’d simply withheld information.
“Holly,” he said softly. “I want you to know that you can
