“Holly—”
“You can stay here until the insurance adjuster comes in, but only on the condition you don’t mention the Fortunes again.”
He sighed, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
“That’s more than fair, Blackwolf. But I figure since I’m the reason you’re here, I can at least give you a place to sleep for a few more nights.”
“Thanks.”
She brushed past him, paused at the doorway, then said quietly, “Ryan and Miranda Fortune are going to have to accept that I’m not going back to Texas, and so are you. There’s nothing for me there. There never was, and there never will be.”
He watched her go, heard the soft click of her bedroom door as it closed behind her, and wondered if she really believed that.
Seven
The annual Twin Pines School fund-raiser was the summer event. Locals, as well as people from all the neighboring towns, filled the large community center building. This year’s theme was Italian; the scent of oregano and garlic filled the cool, summer night air, along with the mouthwatering smells of bubbling marinara and ricotta-filled lasagna. Lively conversations and laughter mixed with the sound of a live band playing the theme song from The Godfather.
Holly took in the room and couldn’t help but smile. Red-checkered tablecloths, flickering candles, carafes of Chianti. All they needed to complete the picture was Marlon Brando and Al Pacino. When her gaze swept the room and came to rest on Guy, who was speaking to Ed Burton, Twin Pines postmaster, the smile on her lips faded.
She told herself this wasn’t a date. Or anything that even resembled a date. For the past four days, since that night in her kitchen, they’d barely even seen each other. Guy had spent most of his time down at the garage with Quincy and she’d been in meetings nearly every night with Lois and Lilah, the chairpersons for the fund-raiser. When Guy had volunteered his services to help out tonight, she could hardly turn him down. It was, after all, for the kids. Just because she and Guy had walked over here together, didn’t mean that they were “together.”
Still, as she watched Janet Mercer join Ed and Guy, then turn her baby-blue eyes on Guy, Holly’s fingers tightened around her glass of punch. The blonde, thirty-three-year-old divorcée was constantly on the prowl and no doubt she thought that Guy would make a handsome addition to her ever-growing list of bedroom trophies. When Janet laughed and leaned forward, her breasts threatened to overflow from the plunging neckline of her yellow blouse. Her leather skirt was tight, black and short, her heels high. With the black choker around her neck, Holly thought she looked like a bumblebee.
“Damn, but that’s one fine-looking man.”
Holly nearly spilled her punch at the unexpected comment from behind her. Holding a paper plate laden with antipasto, Bob moved beside her and stared at the trio across the room.
“I suppose so,” Holly said with what she hoped was a bored tone. Actually she thought Guy looked devastating. The charcoal-gray long-sleeved shirt he’d bought today deepened the gray of his eyes, and the black slacks fit over his bottom like a hug. Holly shrugged, then said facetiously, “If you like the ruggedly handsome, incredibly charming with a dash of dangerous, type.”
“Funny,” Bob said thoughtfully as she popped an olive into her mouth. “I never thought of Ed that way.”
“Oh.” Holly felt her cheeks warm. “I thought you were talking about…I mean, I thought—”
Bob grinned. “Just kidding. Everyone knows that Ed is a fine postmaster, but the poor man must have been out to lunch when the Good Lord passed out looks. But speaking of looks—” Bob looked her up and down “—you clean up real nice, honey. Something new?”
“Not really.” Holly had seen the black silk slip dress in a catalog and though she hadn’t been able to afford it and couldn’t imagine where she’d ever wear such a thing, she still couldn’t resist buying it. The dress had sat in her closet for almost a year, so technically, it wasn’t new, but she hadn’t worn it before, either.
She hadn’t planned on wearing it tonight, either. She’d already put on a simple white cotton T and long floral skirt when the black dress whispered to her, “Me, wear me.” It was silly for the dress to just hang there, after all. But she wasn’t wearing it for anybody but herself, she thought firmly as her gaze drifted back to Guy.
She’d just wanted to look nice. That’s all. Wanted to feel good about herself. That late-night chat with Guy had stirred up a lot of old feelings that she’d thought she’d long overcome. Feelings of inadequacy and being “less than.” Of being different from everyone else and never fitting in.
Feelings of rejection.
And Lord knew, on top of all that, what little confidence she’d had regarding her appeal to the opposite sex had been smashed to smithereens by Guy. When they’d stood in the dim light of her kitchen the other night, after she’d called a truce between them, she’d thought she’d seen something in his eyes. Something that had nothing to do with the Fortunes, and everything to do with whatever was happening between them. She’d wanted him to kiss her, had practically asked him to.
But he hadn’t. So once again she’d been wrong.
Still, when she’d come out of the bedroom this evening in this dress, there’d been a look of male appreciation in his gaze. A slow head-to-toe sweep of her body with those wolf eyes of his that had made her skin tingle with anticipation. Then he’d looked away and the moment passed as if it had never happened.
So obviously, nothing had happened, currently was happening, or was going to happen between them.
“Have a heart,” Bob said.
“What?” Holly glanced at the woman.
“Artichoke heart.” She held her plate up to Holly.
“Oh. Thanks. Maybe just a pickle.”
Bob stared curiously as Holly took a bite. “So you wanna tell me about it?”
“About what?” Holly frowned as two women from her book club, Elma Johnson and Helen Lindsey, joined the growing circle of females around Guy. Both single, attractive women who’d recently come to Alaska after hearing there was an abundance of available men. Holly liked them both.
So why did she have a sudden urge to scratch their eyes out?
“Holly.”
“Hmm?” She looked back at Bob.
“You’re eating an avocado with the skin still on.”
Holly stopped chewing, grimaced as she realized what she’d done. Yuck. “I always eat them this way.” To prove it, she continued to chew. “Lots of vitamins and minerals in the skin.”
Smiling, Bob handed Holly a napkin. “Lord Almighty, you do have it bad, don’t you?”
Holly delicately spit the hard skin into the napkin, then took a sip of her punch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Have it your way, honey.” Bob shrugged. “But I’ve had three husbands and five sons. I know a few things about the birds and the bees. And girl—” she popped a square of cheese into her mouth, then looked over her shoulder as she walked away “—you’ve been stung.”
Ridiculous, Holly thought. So maybe she did think Guy was sexy and maybe she was attracted to him. So what? That certainly didn’t mean that she “had it bad” or she’d been “stung.”
The only thing that had been “stung” when it came to Guy Blackwolf was her pride and she could live with that.
He’d be leaving next week. An insurance adjuster was flying in on Wednesday to check out the damages to Guy’s plane, and though he hadn’t said so, Holly knew that he’d go back to Seattle with the man. He had no reason to stay.
She took another sip of punch. No reason at all.
When she glanced back at him, she noticed that Ed Burton had left, but the circle of admirers around Guy had grown to five or six women. No doubt he was charming them all with grand stories of his life as a daring bush pilot. Describing his crash into the lake, in elaborate detail, and how he’d escaped the icy fingers of death’s hand.
The conversation was certainly animated,
she thought, annoyed with herself that she was interested at all. Guy was adamantly shaking his head, while Elma and the assistant manager at the lodge, Linda Thornton, were nose-to-nose in a heated debate.
In spite of herself, she wandered through the sea of people in the large room until she was close enough to hear.
“She saved his life, didn’t she?” Elma was saying to Linda. “He’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. Have you forgotten that?”
Holly froze. They were talking about her?
Linda pointed a finger at Elma. “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean she can just rip his heart out of his chest and stomp on it.”
I haven’t ripped out anyone’s heart, Holly thought and stared in disbelief at Guy’s broad back. What was he telling these women?
“She’s coldhearted,” Guy jumped in and Holly nearly gasped. “An Alaskan storm has more warmth than that woman.”
Oh, is that so? Narrowing her eyes, she moved closer. Maybe she would rip out his heart and stomp on it, she decided.
Linda turned on Elma. “She loves him. Anybody with half a brain can see that. Why can’t she just tell him the truth?”
Holly pressed a hand to her mouth. She didn’t love him. What was the matter with everyone? An infatuation maybe, a preoccupation, but love? She’d hardly call that love.
She was opening her mouth to set the record straight when Helen piped up, “How can she tell him the truth now, after the doctors told her she can never have children? She knows that he wants more children. It’s because she loves him that she lied to him.”
Confused, Holly simply stood there, mouth still open, and stared. The doctors never told me I can’t have children, she thought. What in the world were they all talking about?
“Hey, if you ask me, Gerald’s getting a raw deal,” Guy said. “I say he walks away now and cuts his losses.”
“Victoria dragged him from a burning building,” Helen said in the woman’s defense. “Why can’t he see she loves him?”
Guy shook his head. “Hey, Gerald can’t read Victoria’s mind. She needs to tell him what she wants and let him make his own decision.”
Guy’s comment created a flurry of discussion between the circle. Holly watched in stunned amazement.
They were talking about a soap opera, for heaven’s sake. She rolled her eyes, relieved that the conversation hadn’t been about her. So that’s what he did with his afternoons, she thought, shaking her head as a slow smile curved her lips. Watched Storm’s Cove. The man was unbelievable.
She moved in, slipped her arm in his and smiled at the other women. “Mind if I borrow him for a little while?” she asked sweetly. “Guy promised to sell Bingo cards at the raffle booth.”
There were groans of disappointment and several looks of longing from the women, but reluctantly, they relinquished him to Holly.
“Once again I owe my life to you.” He leaned close to speak quietly into her ear as they walked away. “It was getting ugly there.”
“My thoughts exactly. But I wasn’t trying to save you. I was saving the women.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes widened with innocence.
“Never mind.” She patted his hand. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” His gaze slid over her, and if only for a moment, that look—the same look he’d given her when he’d first seen her in this dress—was there again. A look of hunger that had nothing to do with food. She had to remind herself to breathe.
The band started a new song, something soft and sexy and slow.
“We should do something about that,” she murmured.
“Absolutely.”
Her breath caught when he pulled her into his arms, and the heat of his narrowed gaze shot like an arrow straight down to her toes. Without warning, he spun her. She gasped at the unexpected move, then suddenly found herself on the dance floor with the other couples.
When he eased her body close to hers, her pulse raced.
“I wasn’t talking about dancing.” But she held on, slid her arms up his shoulders and marveled at the feel of solid muscle under the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Neither was I.”
Dammit, why did this have to feel so good? Holly thought. All those nights, lying in her bed, knowing he was only a few feet away, she’d wondered what it would feel like to take it to the next level from the kiss they’d shared. Wondered what his hands would feel like on her, his mouth, his body. Bare skin to bare skin.
She breathed in the masculine scent of him, a blend of soap and aftershave as fresh as the Alaskan woods. When his clean-shaven chin brushed her temple, pleasure rippled across her skin.
No man had ever made her knees weak and her hands tremble. Made her ache with a need she didn’t understand. She’d felt physical attraction before, but nothing like this, nothing that even came close. Every feeling she’d ever had for a man paled next to Guy. Like a firecracker next to a keg of dynamite.
Why now? she thought in despair. Why did she have to feel this now, for this man, when they could never go anywhere, except maybe the bedroom. She’d planned her life carefully, knew exactly what she wanted, where she was going and how she would get there. It would be risky, as well as dangerous, if she strayed from that road.
She could be strong when she needed to be, she told herself firmly. When he pulled her body flush with his and slid his hand to the small of her back, when she wanted nothing more than to melt into him and give herself up to every feeling, every sensation, she knew this was definitely a moment that required strength.
She didn’t melt, but she didn’t pull away, either.
“So it’s soap operas, is it?” She forced her tone to be light.
“WWF and boxing don’t come on in the afternoon,” he defended. “And besides, Storm’s Cove is a well-written daytime drama that clearly demonstrates the human condition.”
She arched a brow. “What condition is that?”
Smiling, he wiggled his brows. “Sex and lust, of course. What else?” He twirled her a half-turn, then dipped her. “Did I mention how captivating you look this evening, my dear?”
She laughed at his foolishness, told herself that the compliment didn’t mean a thing, that she only felt warm from the physical activity of dancing. “Next thing I know you’ll be asking for bonbons and reading Life With Marcy Pruitt.”
“Now there’s a fine woman to catch a man’s eye.” He twirled her again, guided her through the other couples to the middle of the floor.
She missed a step. “Are you telling me that you read Life With Marcy Pruitt?” The monthly magazine was mostly cooking and crafts and sewing. Definitely not the kind of reading material that Holly would imagine a burly bush pilot sitting down with.
“No, I don’t read the magazine, but I’ve seen pictures of the woman. She’s hot. And Helen told Elma that there’s a how-to article this month on decorating pushpins and a recipe for homemade whole-wheat crackers. Now there’s a woman a man could come home to at night.”
“Marcy Pruitt?” The woman might be famous for her creme brulé or homemade party favors, but hot? “Are we talking about the same woman? Horn-rimmed glasses, Dutch boy haircut, too shy for public appearances?”
“That’s the one. Those glasses are sexy.”
“Now I know you’re putting me on.”
“Am I?”
He’d whispered the two words in her ear and the warmth of his breath made her heart skip. It took every ounce of willpower not to close her eyes and lean her head on his strong shoulder. When his hand dipped lower on her back, waves of heat coursed through her veins.
It was difficult to say exactly when the mood between them changed from teasing to serious, but one minute he was grinning and his eyes were laughing, the next minute, his gaze turned to smoke and his smile slowly faded. And neither one of them were thinking about Marcy Pruitt and her decorated pushpins.
His hand tightened at her waist. “Holly—”
“Guy Blackwolf, yo
u’re a big, fat fibber!”
Startled, both Guy and Holly turned. Lois and Lilah, arms folded, stood watching.
“Why, you can so dance,” Lois said, but it was a cheerful accusation. “May I cut in, Holly? Lilah and I tossed a coin and I get to go first.”
Smiling, Holly stepped out of his arms, not certain if she was relieved or disappointed. “He’s all yours, Lois.” Holly’s heart was still pounding against her ribs when she leaned down and whispered in Lois’s ear. “Watch out, though, the man’s hands tend to roam.”
Lois’s eyes widened at Holly’s warning, and so did her smile. She nearly knocked Guy over as she threw her arms around him. Guy glanced at Holly, an imploring look in his eyes, but she simply smiled back and walked away. At the edge of the dance floor, Lilah waited impatiently for her turn.
When Holly spoke to the band leader and requested the next song be another slow one, he was happy to oblige.
Suddenly famished, she headed for the pasta table. It was about time that Guy Blackwolf got his come-uppance.
Three hours later, when he saw Lois and Lilah, necks craned as they searched over the heads of the still crowded dance floor, Guy slipped out the back door of the community center onto a covered patio. He liked the two ladies well enough, and he hadn’t minded dancing with them a few times, but enough was enough already. One more giggle, one more, “Oh, you!” and he thought he just might have to jump back into the lake Holly had pulled him out of.
Outside, flames crackled in a patio fire pit, and the scent of pine and woodsmoke filled the cool night air. There were small groups of men and women standing around, laughing and talking, and though he nodded at a few people he’d been introduced to during the course of the evening, he kept walking. Inside the community center, the band played a hip-moving fast number and the Bingo barker shouted B-4.
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