Bachelor On The Prowl (12 page)

He sat on the edge of the couch, the guitar balanced on one knee, the thick braided strap slung around his neck. “I’m sure there is,” he agreed, then winced as he ran his thumb down the strings. “And there it is—this thing is
way
out of tune.”

“That’s because I don’t play it,” Holly told him,
feeling herself getting peevish. That was a good thing. She needed to be peevish, because she was liking this man entirely too much. And, according to her theory, if she showed that she liked him, if she appeared even slightly interested in him romantically, he’d run from her as if the hounds of hell were after him.
“
Now put it back, okay?
”

“Why do you have it, if you don’t play it?” Colin asked, working to adjust the strings, bring the guitar back into tune. He had his eyes closed, his head bent as he listened to each sound, made adjustments on those pegs or whatever they were called at the skinny end of the guitar.

He was strumming the guitar now, just running his hand over the strings, and the sound was so familiar, so haunting, that Holly could feel her chest tightening. “It was my grandfather’s. He used to play it for me all the time. Mom
…
well, Mom said I could have it.”

His head still bent over the strings, Colin turned his head, looked at her, his blue eyes soft, full of compassion. “Good memories, huh?”

Holly nodded. “Very good memories. Grandpop used to play, and I’d sing. Not well, but I was loud. He said it was one of the miracles of nature that such a big voice could be stuffed inside such a small body. But,” she ended, sighing, “I never did learn how to play. Except for ‘Pop Goes The Weasel.’ I played one note in that one.”

“‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’ huh?” Colin said, shifting slightly on the couch. “And I’ll bet I know the note you played. Let’s try it, okay?”

Holly nodded, then watched as Colin picked out the
simple tune on her grandfather’s guitar. When it came to the “Pop!” part of the song, he lifted his hands from the strings and she reached over, plucked the proper string, then sat back as he finished the chorus. Three times, she reached over to pluck that single string, make that musical “Pop!” and by the time the song was done, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Colin said, putting down the guitar as he reached for her, drew her into his arms. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Holly protested against his chest, trying to sneakily lift a hand to her face to wipe away her tears. “It’s just
…
it’s just that so many good memories of Grandpop just washed over me.”

She pushed herself away from his chest, but he held onto her arms, not letting her sit back against the cushions.

“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” she asked him, sniffling. “I try not to be so emotional, but I’m not very good at it. Happy, sad, I just seem to
feel
everything. But I could close my eyes while you were playing, and just
see
myself sitting on the floor at Grandpop’s knee, trying to be still but just about jumping out of my skin, waiting to pluck the string.” She closed her eyes now. “He always smelled so good, like shoe polish and pipe tobacco, and he always had candy for me
…
”

Co
li
n reached in hi
s pocket and pulled out a snow-
white linen square, used it to wipe at the tears on Holly’s cheeks. “You’re very lucky, Holly. One, to have known your grandfather. My grandparents were all gone by the time I was bo
rn
. And, two, to be able to
feel
the way you do. Not everybody can, you know. I think it’s healthier. Feeling, that is.”

Holly took the handkerchief from him, pressing it to her cheeks as she stood up, stepped away from the couch. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m going to go wash my face.”

“Okay,” Colin said, once more strumming the guitar, obviously understanding that, at least for now, the subject was closed.

She hated that he was so understanding, so
nice.
She hated that just having him here, in her living room, was doing things to her that probably could keep a shrink busy for months and months.

She was happy.

She was sad.

She was attracted.

She was angry.

She was confused.

She, if pressed, would probably have to say, “Wait a minute, let me think,” if someone asked her her middle name.

“Marie,” she said as she stomped down the hallway to her bedroom. “My middle name is Marie. And his middle name is mud, because I’m not going to let this guy get to me, then walk away, fly off to Paris, do whatever it is he’s bound to do. I’m just not!”

That resolve, heartily meant, lasted until she’d washed her face free of makeup, tossed her slacks and sweater onto the bed and dressed in sweats and an old University of Pennsylvania sweatshirt, and opened the door to the hallway once more.

Because that’s when she heard it Colin was sitting
in her living room, e
xpertly playing “Girl from Ipa
nema,” and quietly singing the words in a voice that sounded like expensive scotch poured over velvet.

Was there
anything
this guy couldn’t do?

She hung back in the hallway until the song was over, then flounced, barefoot, back into the living room and all but threw herself down on the couch. “It’s late. You should go.”

“You look terrific,” he said, and she touched the tip of her nose, which she knew to be shiny.

“I look twelve,” she countered, then helped the image along by pulling her legs up onto the couch, sitting there cross-legged, her hands on her knees. “Seriously, you have to go. I need to be at work really early tomorrow. You do have a hotel room, don’t you? Or are you planning to drive all the way back to New York at this hour?”

“Nope, I’m not going back to New York. I’m here for the duration.” He patted the couch cushion. “Is this a sleeper sofa by any chance?”

It was, because sometimes one of the nieces or nephews would come over, spend the night. “No, it’s not. And, even if it was, you can’t stay here.”

“I can be harmless, Holly,” he said, using that damn sexy smile on her again.

“Sure. So can hungry alligators,” she countered, reaching for her soda can. “Seriously, Co
li
n, you have to go.”

“Because I scare you?” he asked, strumming the guitar strings again.

“No!” Holly exploded, hopping off the couch. “You
do
not
scare me. Although you should, because you’re nuts, you know. Crazy. Wacko.”

“Wacko? Why? Because I said I’m going to marry you? Because I followed you here to Allentown and sat outside your door for hours, like some lovesick schoolboy?”

“All right, that’s good for starters,” Holly agreed, pacing in front of the coffee table like a caged lioness. “And why did you do that?” she asked, stopping, turning to point a finger at him. “Why?”

“Why did I say I’m going to marry you?”

“Yes, why did you say you’re going to marry me. And stop smiling at me!”

Colin propped the guitar against the side of the couch, sat back, looked up at her. “To tell you the truth, Holly, I don’t know why I said it. I just opened my mouth, and it came out. Shocked the hell out of me. I’m still trying to deal with it myself, which answers your second question, which is, why am I here.”

“And I thought I was the only one who’d gone crazy this week,” Holly muttered under her breath. “Okay,” she said then, “I’ll help you. You’ve got a crush on me. Oh, yes, don’t shake your head. You’ve got a crush on me. I know, because I’ve had crushes myself, although not since college, I will admit that. Except maybe for Richard, but we won’t discuss him, either. But that’s it—a crush. You probably never had one before, considering the fact that you’ve always been the one that was chased, not the one who had to do the chasing. And don’t deny that one, because I wasn’t bo
rn
yesterday, you know.”

Co
li
n shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said,
beginning to rise from the couch, so that she stuck out her arm, motioning for him to stay where he was.

“A crush, Colin. A
crush.
An unexplainable, heart-
pounding, stomach-flipping, I can’t sleep or eat
crush.
A yearning for the unattainable, based on all kinds of things, none of them having anything to do with logic. A transitory madness, but one you’ll get over, just to wake up one morning and say, ‘My God, what was I
thinking?
’
”

“And that’s what’s happening here? I have a crush on you? Interesting. So that’s why all I want to do is kiss you until your toes curl up and you sigh into my mouth and melt against me, whisper my name over and over as I make love to you until we’re both limp and spent and fall asleep in each other’s arms—just so we can wake up and do it all again? Because I have a crush on you?”

Holly tried to swallow, couldn’t. The man could inspire one hell of a mental picture. She looked down at her bare feet, appalled to see that she’d been curling her toes into the plush carpet. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice rather broken. “That’s it
exactly. A crush. Maybe a little more
…
a bit more
advanced
than the sort of crushes I’ve had, but you’ve got the general idea. Believe me, it’s transitory. It will go away as quickly as it came.”

He stood up, somehow filling the room, making it difficult for her to breathe. “I don’t think so. That it will go away, I mean. This crush is pretty intense.”

Holly whimpered, struggled to get a grip on herself. “Look, Colin,” she said, backing up until her calves were pressing against the facing couch. “Let me explain
this to you in more detail, okay? We met, under rather
…
well, rather unusual circumstances.”

He nodded. “All right. I’ll concede that one. You in a boa, me without my pants.”

“Gee, thanks for the reminder,” Holly said, allowing some sarcasm into her voice, because she really was operating under a strain here. “Anyway, I was honest with you.
Too
honest. Blunt, even. I told you I’m not attracted to male models—translation, men so handsome they should be outlawed, or licensed, or something. Maybe come with warning labels. In other words, I told you, right up front, that there was no way—no way—there could ever be anything between us.”

“Yes, you did make that rather clear.”

“Thank you, I tried,” Holly said, his bland expression and careful attendance to what she was saying coming very close to pressing her Giggle button. The man really was some
thing else. Good-looking—great-
looking—and with a sense of humor, a love of the ridiculous. From his Tom Cruise eyebrows to the way he attacked a hot pizza, there was nothing about him that didn’t appeal to her.

Which was why she had to get him out of her life, before he walked out of it on his own.

“Now here’s the thing, Co
li
n,” she said, pacing again, pushing a hand through her hair, making it more than just a little spiky.
“
Women fall all over you, right? Except I didn’t. I’m the only one who didn’t—and don’t tell me that’s not true, because you’d just be lying What woman in her right mind wouldn’t fall all over you?”

Co
li
n held up his hand, one finger raised as he at
tempted to interrupt her. “Just for clarification here, and my own personal edification—does this mean you’re not in your right mind?
”

Holly frowned, mentally reviewed her last statement. “Scratch that.
Most
women in their right minds would fail all over you. I was—am, I mean
am
—the exception. And, man, did that ever rattle your cage, didn’t it, Colin?”

“Rattling, rocking and rolling,” he agreed, taking another step toward her so that, this time, it was her turn to hold out her hand, raise a finger to get his attention.

“But here’s what you don’t know,” she told him quickly. “I figured it out. Not at first, definitely, but I figured it out, and decided on a small experiment tonight. If I wanted you to chase after me, all I had to do was keep telling you to go away. Be nasty, even rude. And you’d eat it up, keep coming back for more. And, damn, Co
li
n, here you are. You’re still here.”

“Because I have a crush on you. Are you sure that’s it? Maybe I’m a masochist?”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just being normal. Everyone wants what they can’t have. You just never
couldn’t have
before you met me. Admit it, Colin. Was there ever a woman you couldn’t have?”

He mumbled something under his breath.

“What? What was that?” Holly asked, lifting a hand to her ear. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said, Miss Bartenski. My fourth-grade teacher. I had a crush on her.”