If he didn't feel something for her, he would take her to his suite, screw her brains out, then forget she existed. Like all those men before him.

He also knew it was fear that made her say things like that. Fear of emotions she couldn't control. Fear of coming to care more for him than she already did. She wanted him. She missed him.

Now he needed her to need him. He wouldn't ask for her love. Those things would be enough.

"I'm coldhearted, Holly, not blind," he said quietly. "The first and last person to give a damn about me was my mother. But I see people. I know things. I understand emotions." Some of them, at least. Desire, hunger, anger, determination. Since meeting her, he'd become well acquainted with frustration, and since his birthday, he'd had a few run-ins with jealousy, greed, impatience, longing, and tenderness.

He didn't change his tone at all. "I know you want to be with me, and at the same time, you're afraid of being with me. You're trying hard to convince us both that all you want from me is sex, because sex doesn't involve emotions. But your emotions are already involved, and that scares you, too. You're afraid of caring too much, of falling in love with me."

For a moment she stared at him, speechless. The laugh she finally choked out sounded phony as hell. "Lack of confidence has never been a problem for you, has it?"

"No."

"You think I'm falling in love?"

"No." He felt a stab of regret as he answered. He wished she was falling in love with him. That would be ... incredible. "I think you're afraid of falling in love with anyone."

"I choose not to fall in love," she said sharply. "I don't want any messy emotional entanglements."

It wasn't so long ago that he'd thought the same thing. He'd actually worried whether Holly's emotional needs would be a burden he couldn't meet. He'd never imagined the day would come-and so quickly- when he would want that burden, would feel cheated without it.

"You never answered my question," he said, his tone mild, empty of all he was feeling. "Is love a reason to get married? If two people fall in love and want to spend the rest of their lives together..."

"Why not just live together?"

He shrugged. "There's no commitment. It's too easy to leave if you get upset."

"You think a marriage license will keep someone around who doesn't want to be there? For an intelligent man, Tom, you can certainly be naive."

He couldn't argue that point, so he didn't try. "Living together is no big deal. At least getting married requires a bit of effort and thought. And it's a hell of a lot more respectable. I'd much rather introduce you as my wife than as the woman I'm currently living with."

She rose onto her knees and slowly, sensuously, moved the length of the sofa until she was straddling his thigh and leaning close to him, with one hand planted on either side of his shoulders. "Why, Tom Flynn, are you saying that you care what people think?"

"I care what I think," he said awkwardly. He couldn't breathe without taking in the sweet, exotic fragrance of her perfume, couldn't move without touching her-and, God help him, he wanted to touch her. "And I think you deserve better than to shack up with someone you don't trust not to leave you."

And, yes, when it came to her, he did care what people thought. He already knew the looks she would get from everyone who knew him and the assumptions they would make-that she was just like all the others, that her place in his life was temporary, that he didn't care enough about her to marry her.

"Your concern is sweet," she murmured between kisses to his jaw. "Misplaced, but sweet." She lowered herself, bringing her could into aching, throbbing contact with his, and brushed her mouth tantalizingly across his. "You see, I don't care about effort and thought, or respect, or what other people think. I don't care about being shacked up, or what I deserve. What I do care about is getting what I want, and not getting suckered into a marriage that's doomed from the start, and not letting other people influence my decisions. What I really care about is you ... and me ... naked and doing all kinds of wicked things. It would curl your toes, Tom, and make you forget all about love and marriage and other such nonsense."

The slow, easy way she was touching him was almost enough to curl his entire could into one tight, hard knot. It was more than enough to make him impossibly hard and relentlessly hot. But it couldn't make him forget. Nothing could.

He slid his fingers into her hair as she left a trail of wet kisses down his throat, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing the fabric aside. When her mouth found his nipple, he groaned, held her there for one moment's torture, then gently forced her away. "Oh, Holly," he said with a chuckle, "whoever said you were easy couldn't have been more wrong. You're the most difficult woman I know."

Her smile was satisfied and erotic and taunting. "And you're the hardest man I know. Why don't we slip upstairs and lock the door and-"

When he shook his head, her amazing mouth settled in a pout that disappeared the instant he kissed her. It was a hard kiss, demanding a response that she was happy to give. He thrust his tongue in her mouth, tasted her, filled her with a familiar rhythm that made his blood hot, that made him throb where her hips cradled him. When, with a sigh, she went all soft and weak against him, he sent her tension level skyrocketing by sliding his hands underneath her sweater. Her skin was warm, soft as the finest silk, and her breasts were bare. He ended the kiss so he could watch her face as he pressed his palms to her breasts, then teased her nipples to aroused peaks. Her eyes were closed, her lips kissed free of color, and her breath came in short, shallow puffs. When he gently pinched one nipple, she gasped, then gave a great groan.

"Has anyone ever told you you have incredibly talented hands?"

"Most women aren't particularly interested in my hands." He moved, easily lifting her until she was reclining at the opposite end of the sofa, until he was leaning over her. First he gave her a kiss, a simple one, just lips, no tongues, then he kissed his way along her jaw. Her ear was sensitive. The kiss there raised goose bumps, and there was a place behind the ear that made her shiver.

He took his sweet time, caressing, exploring, teasing. He felt her skin grow hotter, felt her tension increase, then ebb, then increase again. He watched her eyes flutter shut and her nipples pucker under his touch, and saw the soft, warm skin of her stomach ripple when he tasted it, and he listened with satisfaction to her uneven breathing, her helpless gasps, her wordless pleas for more.

And then he stopped. "You like that?"

"Yes." The word was breathy, damn near soundless, erotic as hell.

"Good. We can finish when you give the word."

Her eyes popped open, and she sent him a look that should have cut him off at the knees. "Wh-what -? Don't stop- You can't-" Understanding set in, and she scrambled up, tugged her clothes into place, then glared at him. "That's not fair! You can't start something like that, then just stop! You-you- "

"All you have to do is say yes, and I promise, I won't stop." Not for a few days, judging from the tension humming through his could.

Grabbing a pillow, she swung it with a frustrated cry and smacked him, but he easily pulled it away, wrapped his arms around her, and drew her close. "I'm glad I'm back, Holly. I've missed you."

She breathed deeply a few times, and the tension slowly seeped from her could, leaving her soft and warm against him. Eventually she rested her head against his shoulder and admitted, "I've missed you, too."

A simple sentiment ... but they just might be the sweetest words he'd ever heard.

Tom was working in his suite Saturday afternoon when a knock sounded at the door. He saved the file, then left the computer to find Holly waiting in the hallway. She held a package in one arm and her coat in the other. "Are you ready?"

"Ready?"

"For the party. You already forgot, didn't you?"

He glanced at the package again, wrapped in white paper bearing pink Happy Birthdays all over, and remembered their conversation at breakfast. You want to be married and live in Bethlehem , she'd said, let me give you a taste of what that'll be like. The "taste" was a birthday party for her assistant manager's oldest daughter, and practically everyone in town would be there. She wasn't going to find it that easy to scare him away. "Give me two minutes."

"Why don't I come in and help you get ready?"

He pushed the door up to block her. "All I have to do is turn off the computer, and I've been doing it by myself for a long time. You wait here." Closing the door securely, he returned to the desk to shut down. All he needed was Holly in the bedroom with him. Instead of turning the damn computer off, she'd be turning him on, and after last night, he might not find the willpower to resist.

He was in the corridor with his coat in less than two minutes. The party was at the Winchester house, home to most of Bethlehem 's celebrations, it seemed. He hardly knew the two old ladies, couldn't even keep their names straight, but he'd had both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners there last year.

"It's Alanna's birthday," Holly said as he turned onto Hawthorne Street . "She's twelve, and she's Emilie's niece."

"And she lives with Emilie because...?"

"Because her mother's weak, self-centered, and not fit to raise her, Josie, and Brendan," Holly said tartly. After a moment, she continued. "Emilie's sister is a drug addict and an alcoholic who is in and out of rehab and jail on a regular basis. She had to make a choice between her habit and her children, and she chose her habit."

Tom could think of a number of comments he could make. Obviously, the sister had a problem; the kids were lucky to have Emilie; too bad Holly hadn't had a loving aunt to take over when her own parents failed. Instead he said nothing.

Cars lined both sides of the street near the Winchester house. At Holly's direction, he pulled into the McKinneys' driveway, and they walked across to the old Victorian. Halfway there, a tomboy with blond curls met them, flinging her arms around Holly's middle.

"Miss Holly, guess what? I'm learnin' how to ride a horse. Dr. J.D's new neighbor's got horses, and she's gonna teach me how to ride just as soon as it gets warm." Pulling away from Holly, she skipped ahead a few steps, then turned to walk backward. "I don't know why we have to wait. I've got a coat and gloves, and the horse has its own coat. It's not like it's gonna get cold or nothin' ."

"No, but maybe Dr. J.D.'s neighbor might get cold, and if she's doing the teaching, then she's got to be outside with you. Say hello to Mr. Flynn, Josie."

"H'lo, Mr. Flynn. I'm Josie Lee Dalton. 'Member me?"

"Yes, Josie, I remember you." She was the chattiest kid in town, with Grayson's little girl a close second. Neither Josie nor Gracie had ever met a stranger or, he suspected, had a thought that went unspoken.

"Ever'one says you're gonna marry Miss Holly," she said, unerringly climbing the porch steps without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "Is 'at true?"

"Yes," he said at the same time Holly answered, "No."

Josie giggled. "You gonna kiss her and have babies with her?"

Holly reached out to tug the kid's curls. "You gonna mind your own business, squirt?"

"Prob'ly not. When I grow up, I'm gonna be a cop like Uncle Nathan, 'cause then I get to ask all the questions I want and if anyone tells me to mind my own business, I'll slap the handcuffs on 'em and haul 'em off to jail."

The living room and dining room of the Winchester house were packed. A young boy took their coats to a bedroom while they worked their way across the room. It was slow going, with Holly stopping to chat with virtually everyone.

"Hey, Holly," someone called from the corner. "Have you set a date yet?"

Before she could reply, Tom did. "We're working on it."

Though her smile never flickered, she brought her heel down on his toe while politely saying, "We're not getting married."

"Yes, we are," he disagreed. To the man who'd asked, he winked conspiratorially and said, "She's just a little nervous. It's such a big step, you know."

She glared over her shoulder at him while continuing to the dining room. "Stop that!" she hissed. "Repeat after me-we're not getting married."

Once the crowd thinned, he moved beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. "But I want to get married."

"No, you don't. You don't get married just because you haven't done it before. Pick another goal. Go climb a mountain. Jump out of an airplane. Sail around the world. And let go of me!"

"I don't want to." It was an appropriate answer to any and all of the preceding.

In the dining room, they located most of her friends, as well as the birthday girl. Holly gave Alanna a hug, said hello to the others, and continued into the kitchen. Tom went with her. The Winchester sisters were there, fussing over the final details on the birthday cake.

Holly hugged and kissed both elderly women. "The cake looks lovely."

"It's carrot cake," one sister answered. "Can you believe Alanna wanted a carrot cake birthday cake? But the smaller cakes on the table are white and chocolate."

"Alanna's always been older than her years," the other added. She smoothed the last bit of frosting, then stepped back to study Holly. "You look lovely, dear. Being engaged agrees with you."

Tom watched Holly struggle for control. Her eyes narrowed, and a muscle in her jaw twitched even as she forced a smile. "I'm not engaged."

"Why, of course you are." Then the old lady gave him a chiding look. "Of course, it's customary for the prospective groom to give his prospective bride an engagement ring."

"He would," Tom said, "if he believed for a second that she'd accept it. Last night I gave her a necklace, and she wouldn't even put it on."

Both women looked at Holly for an explanation. Face flushing, she said defensively, "That necklace must be at least thirty carats! In diamonds!"

"Sounds lovely," one sister sighed. She was the one seeing J.D. Grayson's father-Agatha, he thought -and the more romantic of the two, because the other just harrumphed before adding, "Sounds extravagant."

Holly flashed him a smug grin. He didn't mind, since the dreamy one had sided with him.

With Holly leading the way, they returned to the dining room, where Emilie offered them drinks. As he stood in the background and sipped his, Tom tried to remember the last party he'd attended in the city where the strongest drink offered was fruit punch, or where children had been welcomed, or when he hadn't been bored out of his mind. He couldn't remember. Kids were never excluded from parties here, with the exception of the Sweethearts Dance, alcohol was rarely served, and he couldn't honestly say he'd ever been bored. He'd felt out of place, a stranger among friends, an oddity deposited into their midst, but he'd never been bored, because he'd always been with Holly.

"Holly, you know, the nursery starts getting a ton of really beautiful flowers in April." Melissa Thomas was trying to contain her smile to an innocent smile. Maggie and Kelsey, on either side of her, weren't succeeding as well.

"Yes, Melissa, seeing that the inn is your best customer in town, I'm aware of that," Holly responded. "Though I can't remember a single time in the past you felt compelled to point it out to me."

"Oh, I was just thinking that"-the smile was losing, and the big, teasing grin was winning-"you know, you might need extra flowers this spring. Some centerpieces and boutonnieres and ... oh, I don't know, maybe a bouquet, or five or six."

When Holly glowered at her, they all started laughing. J.D., standing behind his wife, leaned forward.

"Just for the record, Holly, the hospital staff is betting in your favor."

"But you've lost the police department," Nathan said. "And the sheriff's department. And the fire department."

"People are betting on me?" Holly asked indignantly.

"Well, most of us are betting against you," Kelsey replied. "We love you dearly, but ... Tom's the one known 'round the world for winning negotiations."

"But he's never negotiated with me." The look she gave him was a definite challenge, and he never backed down from a challenge.

He slid his arm around her waist, drew her against him, and used his free hand to tilt up her face. "I've already begun negotiating with you, darlin', and you know what?" He was so close that his mouth was brushing hers, that he could feel the soft, warm puffs of her breath on his skin. He moved even closer and murmured, "This is one deal in which losing is not an option."

Chapter 14.

"God, this place is dead on a Saturday afternoon as it was when it was my home." With too much dramatic flair, Margery collapsed into a chair, flung out a hand, and snapped her fingers imperiously. "Bring me a drink, any kind of drink, and be quick about it."

Bree looked up from the silver she was polishing in time to see the waitress, Kate, make a face behind Margery's back. She smiled faintly before lowering her gaze once more to the serving spoon she held. "You know, most people respond better to orders if you say please and thank you and don't snap your fingers at them."

"She's a waitress. It's her job to respond to orders."

"No, it's not. Her job is to serve people, not to jump at their very rude beck and call."

Margery straightened in her chair and glared haughtily. "You're calling me rude? You? A nocould from Rochester , of all places, whose idea of culture is carnivals and zoos?"

Bree gave no outward response, though inside she trembled just a bit. Margery might be rude, obnoxious, self-centered, and petulant, but she was still the boss's mother, and Bree was still just an employee who could be fired on a whim. She didn't honestly think Holly would fire her for being rude to Margery, but she really shouldn't be testing the theory-not yet.

"Where is my daughter?"

"Out with Mr. Flynn."