Unwrapping Holly(2)

“You aren’t in Texas anymore, sweetheart,” she whispered with a laugh, shoving her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat as she turned to The Tavern and ran smack into a hard body.

“Whoa there, sweetheart,” came the deep, rumbling male voice.

Holly rotated around and blinked at the man standing a mere two steps away, her jaw dropping at the pure heat he exuded despite the chilly winter night. At well over six feet tall, the hunky male transformed faded jeans and a dark jacket into the things fantasies were made of—her fantasies to be exact. The ones she’d been having when she should have been writing the next chapter of her book. She swallowed hard as she noted the snow dusting his dark, wavy hair. It was the kind of hair that a girl would want to run her fingers through while calling his name—or really just calling out, “Oh God.” Actually, any affirmation that indicated immense pleasure would do quite nicely.

Inwardly, she shook herself and cleared her lust-laden throat. “Sorry about that,” she offered. “I just got home and the snow, I . . .” She stopped herself. She was rambling. She was an attorney. She never rambled. Determined to gain some composure, she straightened her spine, standing taller. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

For an instant, Holly thought she saw amusement dance in the deep brown eyes staring back at her but changed her mind at his reply. “Yes. You should have been.” His square jaw was set firm, no humor in his ruggedly handsome face. “And I see only one way to solve this.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, not sure what he meant. “Solve this? Solve what?”

“The need for a proper apology,” he stated. “There is only one acceptable way for you to properly apologize.”

She narrowed her gaze on him, certain now that despite his stern expression, she detected a sparkle in his eyes. “What would that be?”

“You can buy me a drink.”

Unbidden, a fizzle of excitement zipped through her limbs. “I see,” she said with one long nod, her best courtroom mask in place. “I can buy you a drink.” She fully intended to press onward, when a sudden shiver chased a path down her spine. It seemed her blood had thinned a bit in those barely detectable Texas winters.

Responding instantly, the man pulled open the door and waved her inside. “Why don’t we finish this conversation inside before you freeze to death?”

Holly found the idea of going inside and overheating with this man immensely appealing. But guilt stabbed at her. She wasn’t here for play. She was here for family; she was here to work. Yet . . . she had promised herself a little slack time today. It was, after all, Thanksgiving. And it was just a quick drink. Plus, she had time to kill before returning back home.

Decision made, Holly stepped forward, but she didn’t immediately go inside. She stopped directly in front of her newly discovered fantasy man and faced him, butterflies uncharacteristically fluttering in her stomach. Their gazes collided, his brow lifting in expectation and challenge. She’d known many a smooth-operating male in her courthouse days, faced them down both personally and professionally, and none of them had affected her the way locking gazes with this one did. She felt like melting butter warmed her insides.

Thankfully, she’d long ago learned how to adopt an easy facade of steady, cool composure. “I don’t buy drinks for strangers,” she informed him.

A slow, sensual smile tugged on his full, kissable lips. “Then I guess we should introduce ourselves.”

“Better yet,” she countered, casting him a not-so-innocent look, a look that she would never have dared before this night. She was really enjoying their little exchange. “You can buy me a drink.” She didn’t give him time to respond, darting inside the warm inviting Tavern, his deep laughter following her.

Smiling to herself, she tugged away her gloves and stuffed them in her coat pockets, surveying the dimly lit bar as she did. People were mingling here and there, none of whom she recognized, and she found that a relief.

Holly quite enjoyed the idea of this little game she’d entered into with a stranger, a secret flirtation. Sure, it had to end quickly—her mom and dad would miss her soon enough. But for now, she wanted to enjoy herself, to lose herself in the moment, and in the man responsible for that moment.

Holly calculated her best position in this game, passing the booths lining the wooden walls, and the tables in the open L-shaped seating area. Instead, she headed for the short side of the bar, where a four-foot Christmas tree adorned the edge of the long, wooden counter.

The jukebox kicked into play, the sound of Dean Martin’s voice lifting in the air with “Baby, it’s cold outside.” The playfully sexy song fit her mood exactly. How long had it been since she’d simply had fun? She’d gone from workaholic to hermit. Not exactly inspiration for good writing. Living created inspiration and sparked creativity. The tingling awareness sparked by a stranger that she felt right here, right now, was the most alive she’d felt in far too long.