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 straightened, 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.

"Now answer my question. Why do you want a house here?"

He'd given her all the logical reasons on Saturday, and they hadn't impressed her. This time he opted for simple truth. "Because you would be here. Because I'd like to live with you here where you caught your first fish and drank your first beer."

"And slept with the first of many, many men," she said coldly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'd like to live with you here where you slept with your first man ... knowing that I would be your last."

She stared at him a long time before turning away, but not before he saw what looked like the gleam of a tear in her eye. "This is crazy," she muttered, covering her face with both hands, muffling her words. "I don't want to get married. Even if I did, men don't marry women like me."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm easy," she said with a harsh laugh. "I give them what they want without demanding a commitment first, and then they go away. If you would forget this whole marriage idea and just sleep with me, then you'd- Hell, you would forget this whole marriage idea."

Tom shoved his hands in his pockets to resist the temptation to give her a shake or two. "You think a couple of good orgasms is all it would take?" He smiled thinly. "I don't know if you're underestimating me or overestimating yourself. Considering what I've learned about you, I suspect it's the latter."

Her smile was equally thin and much more dangerous. "You think I can't make you change your mind about marrying me? Because-take my word for it-you'd be wrong. And just for the record, darlin', it wouldn't be merely 'a couple of good orgasms.' I'd make you forget your name."

"Maybe. But I wouldn't forget yours."

She looked stunned, panicked, and just a little bit ... He wasn't sure what. Was it wistfulness that turned her hazel eyes shimmery? Or wishful thinking on his part?

Once again she turned to walk away. Once again she came back. "If I decide to build a house, it will be my decision. My site. My plans. My house. The only say you'll have in the matter is if I choose to invite you over sometime. Now, I've got things to do. I'm going back to the inn. If you want to waste your time out here, go right ahead. I'm sure you can find your way back."

His first impulse was to let her go. It would be dark soon, and he wasn't so sure he could find his way back, but he could certainly find his way somewhere. But being with an angry Holly, he was quickly learning, was better than being alone, so he started after her, quickly catching up.

This goal was proving much harder than he'd expected. He should have realized it before. All his other goals had dealt with obtaining things-money, status, property. Obtaining a person wasn't nearly as easy, and obtaining this person ...

It would help if he were a different person. Someone like Nathan Bishop, described a lot as an all-around nice guy. Or Alex Thomas, the least snakelike of all the lawyers he knew. Like Ross, who'd been normal before he'd struck it rich and had never forgotten it. Or maybe someone like Holly's good friend J.D. As a psychiatrist, maybe he had some insight into Holly that Tom was lacking. Surely he knew ways to undo the damage her parents and years of meaningless affairs had done.

But Tom wasn't anyone else, and didn't want to be. He just wished he understood people better. Wished he were better with words, with feelings. Wished he were persuasive enough to change the way Holly saw herself, resourceful enough to change the way she saw him.

He wished he'd known how impossible this goal would turn out to be. He still might have chosen to pursue it, but at least he would have been prepared for the very real possibility of failure. And if he failed this time, there was no doubt the next time he would succeed.

Because if he couldn't marry Holly, then it wouldn't matter who he did marry.

* * * The sound of the grandfather clock marking midnight was so faint that Bree, in her room at the back of the house, might have thought she'd imagined it if she hadn't lain there in bed, watching the hands on her alarm clock. She'd gone to bed two hours ago, dozed a bit, and now was wide awake again.

Things had been a little awkward around the inn that evening. Tom Flynn had moved up his scheduled trip to Buffalo by about fourteen hours, and after he had gone, Holly had gotten all moody and irritable. Margery was drinking openly again-just one drink with dinner-and the sight had pushed Holly from being angry with Tom to being angry with the world. After nearly breaking a delicate plate and spilling half a bottle of expensive wine in the dining room, Bree had retreated to her room before doing any serious damage. She didn't want to lose her job just because the boss had argued with her boyfriend.

Now everything was quiet. Their only guests were somber businessmen, all there for meetings at McKinney Industries. The kitchen staff had gone home several hours ago, and she'd heard Holly pass her door earlier, too.

Deciding she wasn't likely to fall asleep anytime soon, Bree got up, pulled on her robe, and headed for the kitchen. The pastry chef seemed to like her when he wasn't busy being petulant over one thing or another, and that evening he'd set aside one of his special desserts for her. She would have just a taste of chocolate with raspberry sauce and whipped cream, then find a book or magazine to read until she could sleep again.

A few lights burned in the kitchen, showing long gleaming counters, racks of scrubbed pots ... and Holly. She too was dressed for bed, and her auburn hair, always so perfect during the day, looked as if it hadn't seen a comb in months. An empty dessert plate with traces of raspberry sauce sat on the table, along with a dozen sheets of paper. Clutching a pencil in one hand, she was bent over yet another sheet.

Bree was hesitating in the doorway, considering returning to her room, when Holly spoke without looking up. "Come on in. Get whatever you wanted."

With a deep breath, Bree found the dessert in the refrigerator, got a fork, and sat down across from Holly. "Hav-having trouble sleeping?" she ventured.

"No. I enjoy being up in the middle of the night when my work day starts around six."

Properly chastened, Bree took a few bites before curiosity got the best of her. "What are you drawing?"

Holly added one last line, dropped the pencil, and slid the paper toward her. It was a fairly good drawing of a lake with trees all around and a house in the foreground. It was built from logs, but there was nothing at all primitive about it. The lines were simple, elegant, with sharp angles and soaring peaks. Other sketches showed different views of the same house. Bree liked the back view best, where the deck extended ten feet over the water. "Is this the house you and Mr. Flynn are building?"

Sliding both hands through her hair, Holly said through gritted teeth, "We are not building a house. We're not building anything. And we're not getting married!"

So the argument, and Tom's leaving earlier than he'd planned, had been more serious than Bree realized. "You called off the engagement?"

"We were never engaged! He asked me to marry him. I told him no. He didn't listen."

Bree figured her boss was pretty close to taking off her head, but she swallowed hard and pushed on anyway. "Why don't you want to marry him? He seems-he seems to really care for you."

Holly's response was a snort, followed by a curt question. "How old are you?"

"T-twenty-two."

"Twenty-two. Ever been married?"

Bree shook her head.

"Then spare me the advice. Grow up. Live a little. Have a few relationships before you presume to advise me on my affairs."

Knowing she should keep her mouth shut-should take her dessert and flee to her bedroom-Bree hesitantly pointed out, "From what I hear, you do fine with your affairs. It's just the relationships that are impossible."

For a moment they were surrounded by utter silence. The refrigerator, the furnace, the wind dancing wildly through bare branches outside-all went silent. Even her own heart seemed to stop beating for a moment.

Then Holly slowly, regally, stood up and glared coldly down her nose. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough. Shut up. Mind your own business. Don't speak to me."

This time she made it almost to the door before Bree screwed up her courage again. She spoke quickly, hurling the words across the space, and prepared to take cover. "If you really, truly don't want to marry him, why are you so upset about arguing with him? Why do you care so much that he left early?"

Holly stood frozen. An eternity passed before she slowly turned. With her hair standing on end and the anger radiating from her eyes, she looked like the wicked witch in some twisted children's storybook.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why have you come here to torment me at the same time Tom has chosen to do so?"

"I'm not tormenting you."

"Oh yes you are. Trust me."

"I'm just curious about people and why they do things. When I was going to college, I thought I might be a psychologist someday. People interest me." It wasn't entirely a lie. She had taken one semester of college courses before deciding she couldn't handle work and study at the same time, and she'd aced the one psych course she'd taken. She would have taken more if she'd had the chance.

"Why did you quit school?"

"Money. The college wanted it. I didn't have it." She shrugged. "It was okay. I mostly wanted to go because it had been important to my dad. But he didn't prepare for it before he died." She shrugged again. "He thought he had time. He didn't intend to die so young."

"They never do." Holly came back, sat down again. She glanced at the sketches, then gathered them in a neat stack. "I was about to graduate from college when my father died. It was like I was a little kid again, awakened in the middle of the night by a nightmare. Only this time he wasn't there to hold me. I thought he would always be there. Even though I was grown and out of the house, I truly couldn't imagine that one day he might be gone."

The nightmarish feeling was one Bree remembered well. The day her father had died, she had gone home from school to find her mother sobbing brokenheartedly. Bree had questioned her and gotten no answers. Growing more frightened, she'd dissolved into tears herself before Allison had finally choked out, "Your father's dead."

Across the table, Holly dragged her hands through her hair again. "I-I'm sorry. I swear, I'm not normally short-tempered. But that man..."

For a moment, Bree concentrated on her dessert. After the last bite, she licked the fork clean, then said, "He's awfully handsome."

Holly grinned unexpectedly. "Yes, he is."

"Nice could, too."

"Uh-huh."

"Great mouth. Looks like a great kisser."

"The best." There was more than a little dreamy satisfaction in Holly's sigh.

It made Bree smile. "Of course, he's closer to my mother's age than mine."

"Gee, thanks for reminding me that you're a mere child." Holly gathered her papers and stood up once more. "Good night, Bree."

"Night." She sat alone at the table for a while, drawing patterns with the fork in the sauce that remained in her dish. When finally a yawn screwed up her face, she put her dishes in the sink and headed back to bed. This time she went right off to sleep.