"I don't like action movies."
"It was just an example."
"But a bad one. Don't you know anything you could use as a good example?"
"All right." She studied him for a moment longer, decided she liked the view better without the steam, and lowered her cup to the table. "I find out that you had a difficult upbringing by your reluctance to talk about it."
True to her statement, he said nothing.
"The point is, people don't usually get to know each other by playing Twenty Questions."
"Couples."
She blinked. "What?"
"This time you said people. Earlier you said couples."
"No, I didn—" Scowling, she said, "Well, I didn't mean anything by it."
"Come on, Holly, you admitted we were a couple. 'Couples' are totally different from 'people.' Couples are romantically involved. People are just … people."
She sat back, folded her napkin neatly, and laid it on the table. "Apparently, I'm spending my free time this weekend listening to nonsense."
"Everyone in town thinks we're a couple." He gestured around the dining room. "Did you see their faces when we walked in together?"
"They wouldn't think a thing, if you would give up this ridiculous idea of our getting married."
He stared at her, his rugged features unreadable. "I want to marry you. I like being with you. When we're not together, I think about you. I wonder what you're doing, who you're with, if you ever think about me. I want you, Holly. What's so ridiculous about that?"
The delivery was stilted, the words certainly words she'd never expected to hear from him. But then she'd never expected a marriage proposal from him, had she? Even so, there was a part of her that would find it incredibly easy to believe his little speech. A part of her that wanted to believe it, that was tempted to throw caution, good sense, and intelligence to the wind, to let him tell her his lies, to let herself believe. Thankfully, her rational side was stronger.
"What isn't ridiculous about it?" she asked coolly. "It's all part of a game to you, Tom. Go into business. Check. Conquer the local business world. Check. Conquer the global business world. Check. Amass more money and power than you could possibly ever need. Check. What sort of challenge is left? Gee, find a wife. You don't have a clue what being married is about. You don't have a sentimental bone in your could, you don't give a damn about anything but yourself, your wealth, and your power, and you for damn sure don't have a heart, but what the hell. Get married anyway. Great. Wonderful. But leave me out of it."
His expression didn't change even fractionally, but somehow his eyes seemed darker, colder. The set of his jaw was harder. He sat there, motionless, looking at her. Just looking. For a moment she thought he might get up and walk away, or unleash the coldly devastating anger he was famous for and leave her in shreds on the dining-room floor.
She didn't think he might very slowly, very coolly, smile and softly say, in a tone sharp enough to cut, "And here I thought you didn't know me at all."
His sarcasm pricked. It made her face flush, and her gaze lower to the table. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that."
"Why not? It's true. I don't have a clue what being married is like. Where I grew up, the only married people were women who had been abandoned by their husbands. A lot of the women there, like my mother, had never been married. I've never lived with a woman, never shared any part of my life with one. I have certain expectations of marriage, I admit, but I have no idea whether they're at all realistic."
"What expectations?"
He studied her for a moment, as if debating whether to trust her. Then he shook his head and changed the subject. "What do you do on a Saturday afternoon after lunch?"
His conclusion that she couldn't be trusted stung. She felt as if she'd been offered something important, then lost it because of her bad behavior. Five minutes ago, she hadn't even known she wanted to know. Now she wanted it badly. "I give no peace to people who refuse to answer my questions," she teased gently. "Since I'm the one you have these expectations of, don't you think you should tell me what they are? Maybe they'll make it seem…" She was about to say "less ridiculous." Instead, she substituted, "More reasonable."
Before he could answer, or refuse to, two departing lunch guests interrupted. "Holly, Mr. Flynn," Miss Agatha said cheerily. "I do hope we're not intruding."
Holly forced an extra dose of friendliness into her smile. "Not at all, Miss Agatha, Bud. Did you enjoy your meal?"
"Oh, it was wonderful, as always. You might have heard the compliments flowing if you hadn't been lost in your own little world with your beau. You two make a lovely couple."
Under the table, Tom nudged her foot with his, and he lifted one brow in an I-told-you-so way. She kicked him and smiled sunnily. "That's one of the advantages of being beautiful," she said in a carelessly vain voice. "No matter which man you catch me with, we're always a lovely couple."
"Have you set a date yet?" Bud asked.
"We're not get—"
Tom grasped her hand in what appeared to be an affectionate gesture. Instead, it cut off the blood flow to her fingertips. "Holly wants to do it right away, but I think we should take the time to plan a proper wedding. After all, we're only going to do this once. There's also the problem of where to live. Her apartment's much too small for the two of us, so I thought we should build a house. Not far from here, of course. Perhaps beside her lake."
Indignance fled, and Holly stared at him. She was vaguely aware of Agatha's and Bud's voices and of their leaving, but she couldn't pull her attention from Tom long enough to say goodbye. The instant they'd turned the corner into the lobby, she demanded, "Who told you that?"
"What?"
"That I always wanted to build a house out there."
He shrugged as if it didn't matter. "No one told me, but it's a good location. It's close enough to the inn that you'd be able to keep an eye on things, and yet maintain your privacy at home. The site is basically cleared, it has easy access, and— Why are you looking at me like that?"
It wasn't a big deal, she told herself. So what if, out of the blue, he had picked the one place she would have chosen? It didn't mean a thing. He didn't have any insight into her. They weren't in sync with each other in any way.
In spite of the breath she drew, she sounded a bit shaky when she asked, "Is that an occupational hazard for you? I'm kissing you, and you're noticing ways to benefit from my property?"
He relaxed his hold on her hand, eased her fingers flat, and lifted her palm to his mouth for a lazy, innocent, intimate kiss. "For the record, I was kissing you. And I wasn't noticing anything except how good it felt."
She thought about freeing her hand from his, but if she did, he couldn't repeat that hot, damp kiss and would have to stop rubbing the pad of his thumb across her wrist. "You—" She cleared her throat. "You shouldn't have told Miss Agatha and Bud that I want to get married right away."
"I didn't. I said you wanted to 'do it' right away, and you do."
"But they thought—"
"Who cares what they thought?" He didn't kiss her hand again but clasped it firmly between both of his. It was amazing how his warm touch could raise goose bumps beneath her sweater and send a delicious shiver down her spine. "You never did tell me what you do on Saturday afternoons."
And he had never told her his expectations of marriage. But she let that slide for the moment. "How about watching a movie in my apartment?"
"All right."
"Damn. If I'd known you were going to be so agreeable, I would have suggested an afternoon of mad, wild passion."
"Not until the time is right, darlin'." Standing, he kept her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. She resisted being tugged around the table long enough to ask one reluctant question.
"What if the time is never right, Tom?"
He gave her a long, intense look that hinted at regret deeper than she'd suspected he could feel, and he quietly replied, "Then that would be
my great loss."
The words knocked her levelheaded, never-a-sucker-for-a-pretty-line feet right out from under her. He would consider losing her a great loss? Not a relief, not inconsequential, but a loss? No man in her life had ever thought such a thing, much less said it aloud. "Wow."
He smiled faintly. "Your favorite word?"
"No. I'm impressed. I never figured I'd be a great anything to you besides a headache."
"As I told you, you sell yourself cheap. You've got a lot more to offer a man than just pleasure and pain. Someday you'll realize that." He started toward the lobby, pulling her along behind. "Come on. Let's catch a movie."
* * *
The afternoon remained vivid in Tom's mind. On Tuesday he could still feel the totally unexpected stab of pain at Holly's words after lunch: You don't have a sentimental bone in your could, you don't give a damn about anything but yourself, your wealth, and your power, and you for damn sure don't have a heart… The fainter ache at her surprise that he would regret losing her. The incredible sense of satisfaction when the afternoon was over.
They'd done nothing—just watched movies, eaten chocolate, and talked very little. She'd pulled the shades, turned off the lights, and sprawled on the couch with him. At some point in the second movie, he'd fallen asleep, only to awaken to a blank screen in a dark room with her head tucked under his chin. There'd been no phone calls, no pages, no faxes, no interruptions whatsoever. He couldn't recall the last afternoon he'd wasted with such laziness.
Or accomplished so much. He'd watched movies and eaten junk food. He'd held Holly. Dozed off beside her. Kissed her awake. Endured her talented caresses in those moments before she awoke enough to understand that he really meant no. He'd spent the hours the way every man he knew might have spent them. Doing normal things as if he were in a normal relationship.
But how normal could it ever be when she believed he didn't give a damn about anyone but himself? And after spending much of his life not caring about anyone else, how could he convince her that now he did? She had said couples learned by being and doing things together, by observing and experiencing. But pair her insecurities with his inadequacies, and it would take a lifetime for him to make her understand.
"So we've decided to rebuild the Alabama factory at the North Pole, next to Toyland, so shopping for the baby will be easier."
As Ross's words filtered through his thoughts, Tom slowly blinked, then looked around. He was sitting in the conference room one floor below his office, where he had apparently zoned out halfway through a meeting. Water glasses and coffee cups were scattered along the length of the table, chairs pushed back haphazardly, and everyone else was gone except his boss, who sat across the table from him. "Huh?"
Ross laughed. "Thank you. That's the most profound statement you've made this afternoon. Wish you could have made it to the meeting. Things went pretty well. I'd ask where you were, but I've got a pretty good idea. How's Holly?"
"Stubborn."
"Most good businesspeople are. I hear you two are building a house."
That focused Tom's attention more fully. "We're not… I just said that…"
"The communication network in this town is amazing. However, a house isn't a bad idea. Her apartment's fairly small. If you choose an architect now, they should be ready to break ground by spring."
Tom scowled at him. "You think she's going to marry me? Because I have zero desire to live here if she turns me down."
"She's already turned you down. You mean if she does it in a way that you have to accept." Ross curbed his grin. "I don't know what she'll do. My first impulse is to believe she'll say no and mean it. But people can surprise you. You, for example. I never imagined that you would ever want to get married, and certainly not to her."
"Why wouldn't I want to get married? Everyone does it. Am I so different?"
Looking uncomfortable, Ross shifted in his chair. "It's just…"
"The coldhearted-snake thing. The unfeeling bastard. The shark."
"No," Ross said sharply. "It's not that. You can't be as tough as you are in business and not get called names. Hell, you can't be a lawyer without getting called a name or two. It's about your job, not you."
Except that every woman he'd ever had an affair with had called him bastard at one time or another, and the woman he wanted to marry believed he didn't give a damn about anyone, least of all her. That made it about him.
"Where does it stand now?" Ross asked.
"She's still saying no. So am I."
Ross looked surprised. "You mean, you're not—you haven't—sweet hell, everyone sleeps with Hol—" Abruptly he broke off and swallowed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"Have you?" The question came out colder than Tom meant it to be, not because he was suspicious or angry but because he made it a point to not pry into people's lives. Ross's personal business was his business. But for reasons he couldn't begin to understand—reasons that felt amazingly the way he thought jealousy and possessiveness would feel—he needed to know.
"No. I'll never give Maggie reason to leave me again. The breakup of our marriage, and putting it back together again, was the toughest thing either of us had ever been through. Trust me. We'll never go through it again."
Tom did trust him. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been having this conversation. Still, he hadn't discussed his sex life with another man since he was fifteen, and he hadn't had one then. Just comparisons with his buddies of how far they'd gotten and how much farther they had to go. "Look, I know Holly's history, and she's well aware of mine. Given that, it would have been normal for us to fall into bed the day we met, but we didn't. We haven't. We're … waiting."
"For what?" Ross asked. "Until you're married?"
"Until she realizes it's not about sex."
As he stood up, Ross gave a shake of his head. "I'm … impressed. After all those years of my knowing exactly what to expect from you, now you're surprising me every day. You're going back to Buffalo tonight?"
"In the morning. I've got a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the lawyers from the shipping company. I'll be back Friday night unless something comes up."
"Have a good trip. Be careful."
Tom stayed where he was long after Ross left. When he did finally leave the conference room, it wasn't to return to work. He walked upstairs, got his briefcase and overcoat, and told the secretary he was leaving.
"But it's only three o'clock," she protested.
He fixed a disapproving look on her. "I can leave early. Ross won't mind."
"Oh, that's not what I meant, Mr. Flynn! It's just that I've never seen you leave early."
"Things change. I'll be at the inn until morning, and then in Buffalo until late Friday."
"Have a good trip. And congratulations on your upcoming marriage. Ms. McBride is a lovely young woman."
"Yes, she is." He was beginning to understand how tired Holly was of telling everyone that they weren't getting married. Of course, there was an easy solution, as he told her twenty minutes later.
"And what would that be?" she asked dryly.
"Say yes."
"Ah, your favorite word."
"'Yes' is full of possibilities. 'No' takes them all away. How could I not like it more?"
They were walking through the woods on their way to Holly's Lake. He'd suggested it as soon as he'd arrived at the inn and she'd agreed, all the while grumbling about having to change the gorgeous blue dress that was to die for for trousers and hiking boots. He wondered if she had any idea that it wasn't the dress that was to die for, but her. She looked damned good no matter what she wore.
That's the sort of thing you should be telling her, a soft voice that sounded remarkably like Sophy's whispered in his mind. Just what he needed—Sophy dispensing advice to the lovelorn inside his head. That was what he got for confiding in a twenty-something girl.
They'd reached the slope where the trail narrowed. Holly scrambled up first, then bent to retie one boot. When she s
traightened, she turned to look down at him. "Aren't you coming?"
"I was admiring the view."
"What view? All you can see is dirt and a few trees and… Oh. Oh, yes, I look so lovely in these clothes."
It took him less than a moment to reach the top and stand beside her. "It's not the clothes that make you lovely, Holly. You're beautiful no matter what you're wearing."
For a long time she was silent, simply looking at him. Then she slipped her hand into his, murmured a quiet thanks, and said, "Okay, we're here. Now tell me why."
He started toward the clearing on the distant shore, pulling her along. When they reached it, he turned in a slow circle. It really was a good building site. With the water on one side and woods all around, they could be in the middle of nowhere. In reality, he would guess they were only a quarter mile from the houses that marked the edge of town. "What's your favorite architectural style?"
"Oh, so that's why you're holding on to me. So I can't walk away from stupid conversations." She tried to free her hand, but he held it tighter, then caught her other hand, too.
"What's stupid about it, Holly? You want a house here. So do I. If we get started on it now, we'll be ready to break ground as soon as it gets warmer."
"That's what's stupid. You can't have a house on my property. You can't just move in with me."
"I can if you'll marry me."
"No."
"Come on, everyone expects you to say no. Surprise them for once."
"If you'd kept your mouth shut, no one would expect anything because they wouldn't know anything!" She jerked loose, walked away a half-dozen feet, then turned back. "Why in hell would you want a house here?"
"Answer my question first."
"Greek revival."
The image of a huge white house with massive columns refused to form, and he didn't waste time trying to force it, because he knew she wasn't serious. Instead, he simply waited for her real answer.
After taking an unnecessary look around, she grudgingly said, "Log cabin. Elegant log cabin."
Wood, lots of soaring angles, glass, open to the woods, the water, and the sunlight. Peaceful, relaxing, home. That was better.
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