Unwrapping Holly: Read Free Page B

sensed pushing her now would send her running for the hills, and that wasn’t where he wanted her. In his bed was where he wanted her. If not tonight, later would do. It was time to ensure the game advanced to round two.
    “I have to go,” she repeated. Gone was the sensual, sexy woman of seconds before, her primness fast returning.
    “One last kiss,” he said, sliding his hands into the silky strands of her hair and brushing his lips over hers. “I’ll be here tomorrow night,” he said. “Same time.” He released her, didn’t give her time to say good-bye. “I’d really like it if you were here, too.”
    She inhaled, pulling her coat around her. “I . . . might. . . . I’ll think about it.”
    Knowing he could do nothing more than hope she really did think about it, rather than running scared, he cast her a lingering inspection and then inclined his head. “Happy Thanksgiving, Holly.” He turned away then, ready to find a cold shower, which he hoped like hell he wouldn’t be repeating tomorrow night.
    “Wait!” she called after him.
    He turned to her and she stared at him as if she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. Then she said, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
    Between now and the next evening, she could certainly talk herself out of seeing him again, but right now, in this moment, she wasn’t willing to turn him down. He smiled, satisfaction rumbling through him.

Chapter Two
    Upon arriving home from the bar the night before, Holly had been greeted at the door by her parents, who were eager to tuck her into Grandma Reddy’s cottage for her monthlong writing sabbatical. There had been hugs and kisses, and promises of peace and quiet to help her meet her deadline. They hadn’t mentioned their hanky-panky in the pantry, and Holly certainly hadn’t mentioned the naughty encounter in the bar.
    But Cole wasn’t so easily dismissed. Holly’s bed had seen far more action last night than any bed she’d graced in a good long while. Too bad it was all fictional. Well, fictional, except for a little self-satisfaction. After all, the man had left her near orgasm, and needing release. A girl had to do what she had to do. Orgasm hadn’t been hard to achieve either, with a plethora of hot images filling the fantasy cinema in her mind. Cole holding her, kissing her. Touching her nipples. Oh yes, touching her nipples. She remembered all too well how he’d stroked them with his fingers. How he pressed that hard body of his close to hers, his hips nuzzled against hers, his thick erection pressed against her stomach. She could only imagine what it would be like to have that hot, hard man inside her. And so she imagined it, over and over.
    Holly sighed and rested her elbows on the wooden kitchenette counter, ignoring the notebook computer in front of her. The decadent acts of pleasure that the imaginary version of Cole had performed on her had been far-reaching and spectacular, and had occupied her evening with anything but sleep. The last time Holly had glanced at the clock, it had been four a.m., and that had been a good thirty minutes after she’d thrown a blanket over the display so she would stop watching the minutes click by.
    Still in her pj’s and slipper socks, Holly fidgeted with one of the red-and-white floral place mats, rather than with her keyboard. Her gaze lingered on the fireplace only a few feet away with its crackling red-and-blue flames—far easier on the eyes than the white page of a nearly blank document.
    With a frustrated grumble, Holly shoved her hands through her already rumpled hair, and murmured, “What is your problem?” But she knew the answer, the reason for her distraction—at least for today’s lack of production. She had no excuse for the many other unproductive days. Cole’s kiss, his touch, his invitation to see him again tonight—all were wreaking havoc on her mind.
    A knock sounded on the door, saving her from the reality of the keyboard. Her mother poked her head in the