Nobody's Fool (10 page)

The dickhead of a boyfriend didn't deserve a woman like Holly. Just the thought of another man putting his hands on Holly had Josh's gut tightening in a feral ball of
mine, all mine.
If Stevie the Swinger was too fucking dumb to see what he had, he deserved to lose it.

Holly moved gently from side to side, dancing as if she inhabited the slow Latin rhythm.

Josh rolled his tongue back into his mouth.

And in that instant he was back in the school gym, watching Holy Holly Partridge move her body in a way teenage boys only dreamed about. It had lost none of its potency, and his libido responded with a
hell yeah!

Josh wrestled it back under control while he poured the wine and carried a glass over to her by the window.

She startled slightly out of whatever place she'd been lost in. Her sinful mouth kinked up in the corners. “Red wine? How did you know?”

“I guessed,” he said. Holly made him think of red wine: rich, understated, and improving on each taste. Fuck! When the hell had he degenerated to thinking in shitty poetry?

“And you guessed right.” She took the glass from him and raised it to her nose. She closed her eyes and took a long appreciative sniff before lowering the glass to her mouth.

He leaned against the architrave surrounding the window and tried not to stare too obviously at her lips.

“It's part of why the girls like you.” She moved away, putting physical distance between them.

Josh tamped down on the desire to follow.

She threw herself onto one of his large leather sofas. The cushions huffed air as she slumped into them. She put her head back and stared at the ceiling. “This waiting is driving me crazy.”

“Something will break,” he said. “We have enough lead in the air now, it's only a matter of time.”

She gave a rough bark of laughter. “Yeah, time we don't have.” She propped her feet on his coffee table. “If I think about Portia, out there alone, I think—” Abruptly, she sat up and pinned him with a gaze. “Let's talk about something else.”

“Okay.” Josh let his agreement hang out there and counted on Holly not being able to remain silent for long.

“You confuse me.” She didn't even last ten seconds. “The way you are with all the women.” She made an expansive gesture with her free hand. “It's like you're such a player and that's the way you are in my head, but . . .”

“But?” He hid a grimace behind his glass. Holly picked up on stuff way too fast for comfort.

She lifted her head to stare at him. It was more of a glare, but he kept his expression polite. “But I've been watching you today.” She dropped her head back down as if it was all too much effort. “These women, they're all over you. And you, you've got this great big hands-off sign over your head. It's not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” He sipped his wine and squirmed inside. He hated talking about this shit, but at the same time he sensed she needed to know. If nothing else, she might trust him a bit more.

“You always say the right thing, or do the right thing, and women . . . melt. How do you do that?”

Josh sensed a loaded question and weighed his answer carefully. “I like women,” he said. “I'm a mama's boy. Richard was almost a carbon copy of my dad. Thomas was always on his own mission. And I liked being with my mom. I think that's why I'm always easy in female company. Women sense that and are comfortable with me.”

She made a rude noise and pulled a face. “Oh puh-lease, you're still a player.”

“No, I'm not.” Laura had taken care of that.

Her eyes narrowed. “Those girls at the bar?”

“I explained about that. I did some stupid shit when I was younger. I know better now.”

Lips pursed, she studied him and sipped her wine.

“I'm not a player, Holly.” It was the truth, so help him God. “I like women; I'm not going to lie to you. I like women and I certainly was quite a boy when I was younger, but I don't need the thrill anymore. I'm not looking for the conquest.”

He took another sip of his wine and braced for the questions he could see building in her eyes.

“What happened?” She sat up and tucked her legs underneath her like she was settling in for a long chat. “Some woman break your heart and you saw the light?”

“No.” Laura's face slammed through his memory and he couldn't meet Holly's mocking stare any longer. “I broke her heart. Broke it in so many tiny pieces, I didn't think she was ever going to be able to put it back together again.”

“Oh.” Something flickered through her eyes and she stiffened.

He deserved all the judgment she heaped on his head and more. The old familiar pain grabbed his chest and squeezed. “Her name was Laura.”

“You going to tell me more?” She cocked her head.

No,
he wanted to yell. But his big mouth opened anyway and out it came. “My dad was furious with me. He warned me about Laura, that she was fragile, but I was so jacked up on my own arrogance and flying high, I didn't listen. I broke up with Laura, broke her fucking heart, and my dad found out.”

“And?”

“And he died thinking his middle son was a heartless prick.” Shit, his dad's eyes were branded into his brain. Disappointment, disillusionment, ashamed of his son.

“What happened to Laura?” Holly's voice, soft and soothing like a balm on the raw place.

He took a fortifying slug of his wine. He never wanted to forget Laura, his harsh reminder of how fragile another being could be. “She left Willow Park about a year after I broke up with her, moved to LA. I looked her up on Facebook. She got married, has a little girl now.”

“So she's all right now?” Holly's dark eyes bored right into the soul of him and he dropped his gaze.

“I think so. I never contacted her after—” He needed to change the subject, now. “Too much of a coward.”

Holly shook her head, her hair a dark cloud around her face. “It's probably better that way.”

He'd like to think so, but he knew different.

“And your dad?”

The regret scalded his throat in a dry burn. “The last conversation I had with him was the fight about Laura. He died thinking I was a selfish asshole.”

“No.” Holly took a sip of her wine. “I remember your dad; he loved his boys. He might have been mad at you, but I think he knew you better.”

The hold around his throat eased. “It's a nice thought.”

“Is that why you keep these women at a distance? Because you don't want to hurt one of them?”

He could lie, and damn, he was tempted, because the truth didn't cast him in a stellar light either. But Holly had this thing about her, this sort of rigorous honesty, and he didn't want to lie to her. “Now I'm more careful to be honest with the women in my life, but as for the others . . .” His face heated. “Women are attracted to the reputation.”

“Women like you because you're hot.” She snorted into her glass.

“That's part of it.” Women had been telling him they liked the way he looked since kindergarten. “The problem is, that's all they see. The way I look and the reputation and that's all they want from me.”

Another bark of laughter escaped her. “And you want more than that?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. He went still inside, some part of him hanging on to hear her answer.

Her eyes widened and she took a hasty sip of her wine. “No.”

“Even though you hated me?” The relief lightened his mood instantly.

“Not that again.” She groaned. “Anyway, I didn't hate you, I despised you.”

“My mistake.” His apology earned him a dry chuckle. Damn, he liked her laugh. He liked making her laugh even more.

“And you may as well be the first to know, I've downgraded despise to mild dislike,” she said with a prim nod.

“My life is now complete.” He got one of those boudoir laughs, like sunshine to the deepest part of him.

“I still think you're too smooth with women, though,” she said, lest his ego become totally overinflated in her presence. “But I am willing to concede you might have hidden depths.”

“I grovel at your feet.” He smoothed away from the heavy and into light.

Her eyes twinkled at him over the rim of her wineglass. “I can totally see how being beautiful is a heavy burden.”

The words carried no bite and he played the card she dealt. “Don't tell me you only like me for my looks?”

“I don't like you, I despise you.”

“Mildly dislike,” he said. “And if we're going to argue semantics, why don't you tell me what a git is?”

“What?” She raised her head. “Why would you want to know what a git is?”

“You said it the other night.” He eased onto the sofa beside her. “When you were swearing about your car being stolen. You used some other words, too, but that one stuck in my mind.”

Her cheeks went pink. “A git is a git,” she said. “There's no real direct translation. I think it originated as get, as in beget, but now it's used like dork or something.” She frowned as she considered the problem. “It doesn't really have a meaning; it doesn't refer to anything specifically, it just is.”

“Okay.” He leaned closer to her, closer to where he wanted to be. “So I could call you a bloody git?”

She gave a short huff of laughter. “You could, but it would be a bit of an overkill.” She turned her head against the back of the sofa cushions to look at him. “You would be more likely to say ‘you stupid git' or ‘you useless git.'”

“Uh-huh.” He turned his head toward her. “You stupid git.” He tried it out, using her accent.

She snorted laughter into her wineglass. Her face with its entrancing mouth was tantalizingly close, but not near enough to cause her to guess how much he wanted to close the distance.

Back off, tiger
. “And a wanker?”

“Oh, come on.” She grinned and went even pinker. “You have to know what a wanker is.”

“A git?” he guessed, and she chuckled.

“Nope.” Her dark eyes danced with the devil. “A wanker is—” Her face flamed with color. “You're messing with me,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You want to make me say it.”

“I swear to you.” He raised one hand and lied with a straight face. It was worth it, to see Holly without her constant worry for a few minutes. “I have no idea what a wanker is.”

She sat up and took a sip of her wine. “A wanker is someone who masturbates.”

She said it so primly he burst out laughing. She would say the word, but not cop to the meaning.

“That's an impressive vocabulary you've got there.”

She nodded and put her head back again.

Josh inched closer.

She smelled incredible, sweet and tart all at once. He needed to stop doing this shit or he would have to slap his own face.

“I came by it honestly.” She shrugged. “Being dragged around the world like we were. You learn all sorts of things they don't teach you in school.”

“Like what?”

“Like what a wanker and a git are.”

Josh let the silence stretch as she took another sip of her wine. He wanted behind those walls she built up around her.

“You also learn how much it means to have a home,” she said, surprising him.

It wasn't much, but it was another one of those tiny chinks in her armor. Through them he caught tantalizing views of the woman she kept hidden behind her ugly jeans and faded sweatshirts.

“Yeah.” His home life had been very different. His mother and father had, for the most part, had a good marriage. His father, Des, was the sort of old-fashioned man whose word was his bond, but it also made him a stubborn, intractable ass sometimes. Richard took after their father. At least he had been as stubborn and set in his ways until his recent marriage.

Josh was always closer to his mother. Like most middle kids, he was often cast adrift between his overachieving big brother and Thomas, the baby. Some baby. All six foot four of heaving bulk. Thomas had been home for Christmas, tanned like leather and almost blond from the Zambian sun.

Despite their differences, though, they had been well cared for and loved. Des and Donna had erred on the side of the old-fashioned when raising them, but Josh was grateful for it now. A man's integrity defined him, and his strength was a responsibility. It was why he still wished he could go back and redo that last conversation with his father. To assure Des that he got it now: women were to be nurtured, loved, and cherished. Holly would have his ass for even thinking it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I bet it does.”

“Still.” She pulled the corners of her mouth down. “I've seen some amazing places.”

“Like?” Outside the bank of windows, the sun made its way down and the soft pink light bathed her intense features, making her appear vulnerable. She did a good job keeping that part of her hidden, but it was there. “Where did you go after Willow Park?”

“First my father got some work on a project in Dubai and then we moved on to Malaysia.”

“Tell me.”

He nearly ground his teeth to stubs as the shutters came down and she disappeared from view.

“Dubai was hot and compound living. Malaysia was wetter, but still hot, and we lived in a small apartment.”

“I'm sure there was more to it than that.” He pushed to see if she would let him in again.

“I suppose.” She pulled a face. “My father got married again in Malaysia.”