He retrieved her bag from the ground and motioned her forward. “Will the couch work or do you need a table?”
“The couch works great,” Holly said as she walked down the few short stairs. “I love the sunken living room.”
“My dad and I built my place,” he said, setting her bag down on the oversize, square coffee table. “Then about two years later, we built the one next door for my brothers to share.”
More and more, she liked this man. His way with people. His way with family. His way with her, for that matter.
“Sounds like you’re all very close,” she said appreciatively. She wondered about his mom and dad, but didn’t ask.
He shook his head. “Yeah. We are. Losing my dad was rough. He had a heart attack a year ago.” He pulled open the iron fireplace curtains. “Mom died of cancer a year before that. Honestly, I don’t think my dad wanted to live without her.” He shoved some wood into the fireplace, arranging kindling and logs.
“My grandmother died this past summer,” she said. “Same kind of thing. My grandfather went and she was ready to go with him.”
Dusting his hands off, Cole reached for a long lighter, and paused with a thoughtful look. “Hard to imagine that kind of love.” He flicked the lighter to life. “But my parents certainly had it.”
Pondering the concept of love, Holly typed in her password on her computer, while Cole finished setting the fire. Flames flickered, rich with shades of blue and red, and she lost herself in thought, wondering about that kind of love. She’d never yearned for love. Never felt incomplete without it. But lately, she had been empty inside in an unfamiliar way and assumed it was the seclusion of writing.
Suddenly, Holly blinked and brought Cole into focus, realizing that he was sitting on the edge of the hearth, watching her.
“It’ll be warm soon,” he said, tilting his head slightly, studying her. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Holly glanced at his corner desk and back at him. “Wondering what you’re working on?” she asked, and silently added, And when you are going to kiss me. “Looks like you have quite a stack of papers.”
“Oh,” he said, weariness slipping into his expression. “Yes. A never-ending pile, it seems. We just sold the family business to a Manchester firm, and they want every job we’ve ever done logged in a spreadsheet.”
“Wow,” she said. “That’s a big step.”
He nodded his agreement. “But not a big decision. I was ready. Most of our work was in Manchester, despite our efforts to find enough here in town, which had been our plan. The drive back and forth was killing profits and time.” He ran his hands down his powerful thighs. “Once I finish this spreadsheet, we’re done. We move on.”
Disappointment jabbed at Holly. Was he leaving Haven right when she was thinking of returning? Not that she really thought she would return. In fact, most likely she would not. But still. She wanted to know. “What will you do now?”
“What I intended in the first place,” he commented. “We’re already working on that. We bought a house a few miles away to convert to a bed-and-breakfast. With all three of us focused on making it a success, we hope it will be one of several ventures in the future. Three brothers, three operations—that’s the goal. But, of course, only after we master success with the first one.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she said sincerely. “And daring. Leaving behind an established business.”
“Like leaving a law career to write novels?” he inquired.
Her stomach twisted a little at that comparison. “Yes. Exactly. I just made the big leap recently, and apparently I have performance anxiety.” She laughed, but not with humor. “It’s scared me into writer’s block.”
His brows dipped. “If you were successful enough to write full-time, why be nervous now?”
It was a question that she’d explored over the past few days and had come to a conclusion, one she was surprisingly comfortable sharing with Cole. “It’s all I have now. The only source of income. I can’t fail. . . .” The vulnerability of starting that sentence and finishing it with the reality of her situation, twisted her in knots.
Cole pushed off the hearth then, and Holly’s heart raced as he moved closer. Cole knelt beside her, the coffee table and his body enclosing her against the couch. He reached out and brushed hair from her eyes, the barely there touch charging her with awareness.
“You won’t fail, Holly.” His expression filled with tenderness rather than lust, desire rather than demand. “You won’t. In fact, I won’t let you. How long are you here for?”
“A month.”
“How many pages a day do you have to write to get the book done?”
“Including time off for the holiday, twenty good pages.”
“How many have you written today?”
“Ten.”
“Were they good?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think they were.” Which was a miracle in and of itself.
He leaned closer, dipping his head, his breath a warm rush of tantalizing promise. She could almost taste his kiss, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. “You need ten more pages,” he repeated.
“Good pages,” she whispered, thinking more about his mouth than about the keyboard begging for her fingers.
His lips brushed hers and she shivered. “I want you, Holly,” he confessed, a moment before his tongue caressed past her teeth and drew her into a spellbinding kiss. She melted into the connection like warm chocolate near a hot flame. It was a long, sensuous kiss, a kiss of passion, a kiss of promise.
When he pulled back, Holly wanted to hold him, to tell him to keep going. But he framed her face with his big hands, held the control with that gentle touch, as he might hold a key.
“Ten more until I can do that again,” he murmured. “Ten pages until I strip every inch of your clothing off and feel you next to me. That’s torture, Holly.” He kissed her forehead. “So get to work before I explode into flames.” And then he was gone, pushing to his feet and leaving her feeling cold. The kind of cold no fire could warm. Only he could. Only Cole.
Holly watched as he settled those long, powerful legs behind his desk, and she drew a deep breath, her nostrils still alive with the fresh male scent of him. He flipped the desk light on and glanced her way. Their eyes connected, and they shared a smile. And then Holly went to work. Ready to finish those ten pages, to reach her career goals. Cole was right. She would not fail. Failure was not an option.
Holly had been punishing herself for not reaching page count, depriving herself of any form of pleasure, and it had paralyzed her. There was a lesson in all of this, no matter what happened with Cole. And thanks to Cole, she realized now that success and pleasure were best served in combination. She’d start with her part, the success, the page count. Then, move on to the part with him—the pleasure.
***
HOURS AFTER INITIATING THEIR WORK challenge, Cole sat back in his chair and watched Holly diligently typing, deep in concentration. The faces she made, smiling or frowning, were adorable, as if she were living out the scenes on her pages.