Tell her what he felt... Not a bad idea, if he knew exactly what that was. If he had any experience at all in feeling anything, or in identifying feelings. If he was convinced he wouldn't be placing himself in a position of weakness. Any businessman worth a damn knew you couldn't negotiate effectively from a position of weakness.

"Holly's not a very sentimental person," he remarked.

"Maybe not, but she turned down your levelheaded business-merger proposal. If you really want to marry her, try something a little more personal. A little more human. Does she like flowers?"

"I don't know."

"Chocolates? Jewelry? Perfume?"

He shrugged again.

"Well, find out. Give her gifts that are unbearably romantic. Let her know that she means more to you than simply closing your latest deal. Let her know you ... like her."

Long after Sophy left, her words kept echoing in his mind. Finally that night, he picked up the phone in his home office, dialed the number, and curbed the impulse to hang up before it rang.

She answered in the voice that had fueled his fantasies and fevers. He had to swallow hard, had to force his fingers to loosen their white-knuckled grip on the receiver. "Holly, it's Tom. I, uh ... just wanted to say, uh ... I've missed you... "

Chapter 11.

H olly's Friday lunch routine with her female friends was in full swing by twelve o'clock . She sat between Emilie and Maggie and listened to the latest gossip, as well as watched her friends graciously tiptoe around the preceding weekend's fiascos. No one mentioned either her mother or the marriage proposal, for which she was grateful, though she wouldn't hazard a guess on how long they would avoid the subject of marriage.

Not long, it turned out, though the lead-in came from a different tack. "Kelsey, I saw Bud's car parked in front of the Winchester house twice this week," Maggie remarked.

"And I saw him at the hospital yesterday, hanging around the Information desk during Miss Agatha's shift," Melissa added.

"He's moving kind of fast, isn't he?" asked Shelley.

Holly snorted. "At their age, they have to move fast."

"Yeah, they don't have the time for a leisurely courtship like some people," Emilie replied with a sly grin.

"I'm not being courted," Holly said sternly, daring any of her friends to argue with her. Even her fiercest scowl didn't deter them.

"Of course you are," Maggie disagreed. "Tom wants to get married, and he's spending time with you to try to change your mind. Sounds like a courtship to me."

"Tom doesn't know what he wants. As soon as I get through that thick skull of his, he'll see that." Holly indulged in her most seductive of smiles. "And then I'll get what I want."

"Tom Flynn has known what he's wanted since he was sixteen," Maggie argued. "He's the most decisive, reasonable, logical man I know-after Ross, of course. And what he wants, Holly dear, is you."

Holly wanted to argue, wanted to say, Oh, yeah, then why had he made what must surely be the most unromantic proposal on record? Why had he spoken of things like money and reason instead of commitment, emotion, and forever?

Why hadn't he said even once that he loved her?

But she didn't say any of that, even to her best friends in the world, because ... truthfully, she was embarrassed. It was a sure bet not one of their husbands had made such a cold, unemotional proposal. They'd talked about love, happiness, growing old together, about sharing each other's lives, about wanting no one or nothing more than they wanted their wives. Each of her friends had gotten the hearts-and-flowers routine, while she'd gotten a business proposition.

Of course, there was a very simple explanation for it. Tom didn't love her. His happiness didn't depend on spending the rest of his life with her. She couldn't make his life complete, and there were plenty of things that were more important to him than she was.

She didn't want hearts and flowers. She was way beyond all that. But something personal ... That wasn't too much to ask, was it? Some little something that indicated she was special, not interchangeable with any other woman he could find who wasn't after his money?

"Speak of the devil," Shelley murmured, her soft tone drawing Holly from her thoughts.

She followed their gazes across the dining room to the lobby, where Tom stood amid a pile of luggage that would do her justice. She'd known he was coming for the weekend-he'd booked the suite during their phone conversation the night before-but he usually traveled light. One small bag was all he'd ever needed, along with his laptop computer, of course, and his briefcase. So what was up with all the rest?

"Excuse me." Holly stood, letting her napkin fall to the floor, and went to the lobby, stopping a few feet behind him. Once Janice finished her usual welcome-to-McBride-Inn spiel, Holly cleared her throat, and Tom turned to look at her.

She didn't want hearts and flowers, but she was a sucker for butterflies and shivers and long, lazy looks from incredibly dark eyes. Her mouth went dry, her palms grew damp, and her temperature rose a few very warm degrees. She opened her mouth, and her suspicious question about all the luggage disappeared, to be replaced by a sappy, silly, "Hi. You're here."

"You sound surprised. Did you forget I was coming?"

Janice snorted indelicately, and Holly shot a warning look that her employee pretended not to see. "No, I didn't forget. I just didn't expect you until sometime this evening ... and I certainly didn't expect all this luggage."

"I told you I was staying awhile, didn't I?"

"You said through the weekend."

"Hm. I guess I didn't specify which weekend."

Her suspicions doubled. "I guess not. Why don't you do that now?"

"Actually, I don't know. Your assistant,"-he nodded toward Janice-"and I agreed it would be best to book the suite for a month, then go from there."

A month? Holly tried to shriek, but her voice wouldn't work. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and took a few quick breaths to stave off the panic that tightened her chest. Aware of Janice watching from behind the desk and all her friends from the dining room, she clenched her jaw and forced a smile and a few words through her teeth. "Let's go someplace private and talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. I've already paid for the first thirty days."

"I don't like renting my rooms by the month."

He grinned, something he rarely did, and it didn't please her that it was in response to her annoyance. "You're a smart businesswoman, Holly. You like renting your rooms any way you can. Now, where's the bellman to help with the luggage?"

Instead of calling the handyman, who doubled as a bellman when he was available, Holly shouted Bree's name with enough force to make the air vibrate. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of a crash in the library. To Tom, she said, "I hope she manages to set it all on fire between here and your suite-and don't laugh. She could do it." Then she stalked away-through the kitchen, into her own apartment, out the back door, and toward the woods. She knew he was following her, but as long as he was willing to be ignored, she was perfectly happy to do the ignoring.

That lasted ... oh, maybe three minutes. Then Tom caught up with her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to a stop. "What are you so upset about? We agreed that I would spend some time in Bethlehem ."

"Some time," she agreed, none too gently jerking free. "Not a month. Not living in my house."

"Where would you suggest I stay?"

"You have a perfectly good home in Buffalo . How about there?"

He studied her a long time as if she were something foreign to his experience. She felt foreign to herself. Why should she care that he planned to spend the next month at the inn? She should be glad. Seeing him was infinitely better than not seeing him. Being able to talk to him in person was much more satisfying than relying on a telephone. And as for seducing him ... well, it might be difficult in person, but it was downright impossible long distance.

But a month seemed so long. So serious. So unexpected. Yes, he'd said he would spend time in town, but, after all, this was the man who'd turned down his boss's request that he move to Bethlehem with the rest of the company because he preferred the city. The man who'd persisted for months in describing her town in a sardonic voice as a little burg, who had tolerated his time there and always looked forward to returning to the city.

Until he'd gotten the crazy idea to marry her. And suddenly there he was, willing to spend an entire month there, maybe even longer. For her. Because changing her mind about marriage was damn near impossible long distance.

He truly was serious about this marriage thing. Which meant she truly had to get serious about this seduction thing.

"Do you want me to go home?" he finally asked.

She turned her back to him, filled her lungs with the pungent, woodsy scent, then exhaled loudly. "No."

"I've got to tell you, your managerial style leaves a little to be desired. I've stayed at hotels all over the world, and this is the first time the owner or manager wished for my luggage to catch fire, then ran away."

She faced him again, stepped closer, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Is it also the first time you've been greeted like this?" Rising onto her toes, she brought her mouth into contact with his, but before she could go any further, he did, sliding his tongue between her lips, slipping inside her mouth, greedily, insistently stroking, exploring, tasting.

She'd been kissed countless times by countless men, but not like this. Sensations spread through her with every thud of her heart-heat and need and an ache that threatened to become unbearable. She was grateful for his hands at her waist, because without them, she thought she just might collapse at his feet, weak, dazed, needy. It was just a kiss, but oh, what a kiss. The start of a slow burn that could consume them both.

Too soon Tom ended it and caught her hands, holding them firmly between his. She hoped she didn't look as shaken as she felt-wished he didn't look so damn smug. He knew that kiss had turned her on more than any kiss should have, and he was amused by it.

She would teach him to be amused. Leaving her hands in his, she moved seductively against him, using her sexiest, sultriest voice to suggest, "Let's go back to the inn."

"And finish this in private?" Grinning, he unplastered her could from his and pushed her away again. "Not yet. Not until the time is right."

Backing away, she folded her arms across her chest. "What's to stop me from saying the time is right, then admitting in the morning that I lied?"

"Trust me. When it's right, we'll both know." He watched her for a moment, then gestured in the direction they'd come. "Still want to go back?"

She shook her head. "You go ahead if you want. I've been inside all week. As long as I'm out here, I might as well take a walk."

"Then I might as well come with you."

She looked him over, from his well-worn leather jacket to khaki trousers to deck shoes that had probably never seen any deck. "Have you ever taken a walk?"

"Of course."

"In the woods?"

"Never."

"We could get lost," she teased.

"You've never been lost a day in your life. Go on. I'll follow."

She found the narrow trail that led to the pond and set off, considering how wrong his last words were. She'd been lost plenty of times. In fact, she was feeling lost right at that moment. Years ago she'd set a path for herself, one consisting of shallow friendships and shallower affairs, without commitment, love, or trust. In the past few years she'd found herself making real friends, but the affairs had remained meaningless. Now Tom wanted more. She'd told him there wasn't any more, but there he was, trying to prove her wrong. And there she was ... hoping to be proven wrong.

She was crazy. Sex had stood her in good stead for her entire adult life. She shouldn't tamper with what worked, on the slim chance of finding something better. She should be satisfied with what she'd had. She always had been.

"Do you like flowers?"

Holly needed a moment to collect her thoughts before tackling the slope that would reveal her lake. "Yes, I like flowers," she said as if it weren't an odd question. " That's why I spend so much of the inn's profits at Melissa's Garden."

"Do you like chocolate?"

"Of course. I'm breathing, aren't I?" She started up the slope, her loafers slipping on the bare dirt. With his hand on her bottom, he gave her a boost to the top, where she stood motionless for a moment to let the peace start to seep in.

"What about jewelry?" He joined her at the top and apparently found the view quite interesting, because he certainly wasn't looking at her.

"Well, let's see ... I'm wearing one emerald pendant, two emerald earrings, one diamond and emerald ring, and one watch. And that's just for an average day at work. Yes, I think it's safe to say I like jewelry. Why do you ask?"

"I believe it's called getting to know you, and it was one of the requirements you put on marrying me."

She gazed from him down the hill to the water's edge. "Don't give me cause to push you in the water," she warned. "The fact that we don't know each other very well was one of the many reasons I gave for refusing to marry you. And we agreed not to discuss that any more, remember?"

"We didn't agree. You suggested it, and I ignored you." He slipped his arm around her waist. "And you can push me in if it'll make you feel better, but I'm taking you with me."

In need of a subject change, Holly indicated the pond with one hand. "Welcome to Holly's Lake ."

"You named it after yourself?"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "My father named it for his favorite daughter."

"Who also happened to be his only daughter."

"I was also my mother's only daughter, but I wasn't her favorite, by any means. This place holds a lot of memories. I caught my first fish here, drank my first beer, and even lost my virginity right over there." She pointed to a clearing on the far shore. "I was fifteen. He was sixteen and clumsy, and the sex was a disappointment."

Tom watched her gaze at the clearing and wondered if she had a clue how vulnerable she looked. He'd never seen quite that expression on her, and it made him feel ... inadequate, because he didn't know how to make it go away.

"I was probably twenty before I found out that sex could be good for the girl, too. I'd already finished with the high school and college boys and had started on the grad-school boys. They knew a lot more tricks than the younger guys did."

"If it wasn't good, why did you keep doing it?"

She smiled faintly as she moved away from him. "Because the sex wasn't the point for me. What I wanted came before. Sex was just the trade-off for it."

The kissing, the holding, the affection. Her mother had been a miserable, abusive drunk; her father had been gone a lot, and dealing with his own unhappiness when he was home. Maybe they had loved her and simply hadn't shown it, or maybe they'd had no emotional energy to spare for her. Either way, she'd gone looking for affection elsewhere, and she'd found it with every boy willing to trade a few kisses and embraces for sex.

You want to go out with me, spend time with me, get to know me, she'd said, but you don't want to have sex with me. Well, you're the first male in twenty-two years to say that. At the time, he'd thought she was referring only to the sex part. Now he knew she meant all of it-the going out, spending time, and getting to know her.

"What about you?" she asked as she made her way to a rock near the water. There she sat down, then drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The defensive posture made her look even more vulnerable.

He leaned against a boulder near her. "I was seventeen. We went to school together, and her family attended the same church my mother had." He didn't mention that he'd been in church every Sunday, too, for his first sixteen years. "She was the youngest of six daughters, and her parents, having failed to produce a son for the priesthood or to get a single nun out of the older five, were determined that she would dedicate her life to the church. She was equally determined to be the first girl in our school to have sex with every guy in the school. She succeeded, too."

"What became of her?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought of her in years. A lot of the kids I grew up with aren't around any longer. Some are dead, some are in prison. All are pretty much forgotten."

"Except you. You made a name and a few fortunes for yourself."

"I did okay."

"Did your mother have great hopes for your becoming a priest?"

"If she did, she never mentioned it. It was all she could do to get me in church once a week. I was never much interested in following other people's rules, soul searching, or doing penance."