Bachelor On The Prowl (16 page)

“Absolutely,” Co
li
n said firmly. “I don’t want you taking unfair advantage of me just because I think you can.”

“Me? Take unfair advantage of
you?”
Holly shook her head. “I must be out of my mind to even be
dis
cussing
this. It’s silly, stupid. Impossible.”

“So we’ll leave tomorrow morning? Can you be ready by eight?” Colin asked.

“By eight,” Holly agreed, then picked up her fork and dug in to her fried filling. “First to church, and then to sin city
…
I mean, Ocean City.”

H
olly was still in a state of shock.

“Hi, Mom,” she’d said into the phone around seven Sunday morning, as she and her mother shared the habit of rising early, getting a good start on the day. “I heard you met Colin yesterday. Funny thing about that, Mom. We’re really hitting it off, but he’s got to go back to Paris next weekend, so we decided it might be fun to get away together this week. Ocean City, just for a few days.”

“I see,” her mother said, and Holly had known that, yes indeed, her mother “saw.” Her mother
saw
everything, which was why none of the Hollis children had
gotten away with much without being caught. “That sounds logical. We are a bit of a crowd, aren’t we? And Helen—she’s such a romantic—is already going all silly on me, talking about love at first sight, and showers and weddings and more grandchildren. I don’t know where that girl gets it, do you?”

Holly had bitten her bottom Up, wondering what side of the bed her mother had gotten up on—the silly side? “We’re going to have
separate rooms, Mom. No hanky-
panky, as Grandma would call it.”

“Well, that’s depressing,” her mother had said
…
which was pretty much when Holly had lost track of the conversation. She knew she’d apologized for missing Sunday dinner and asked her mother to pass along her apology to her dad. She was pretty sure she’d promised to wear her seat belt, and even to remind Colin that her mom said 1-95 could be a real speedway sometimes. But, other than that, the rest of the telephone call remained pretty much a blur.

Now here she was, sitting in the passenger seat—seat belt on—riding along the Atlantic City Expressway, agreeing with Colin that, yes, they should take Exit 7S
and head into Ocean City via th
e Ninth Street Bridge.

“I still can’t believe I said yes to this,” she told him, probably for the tenth time in two hours. “I am
not
an impulsive person.”

“No, of course you’re not You’re calm, collected, steady as a rock. Never panic, never jump to conclusions, never take things too seriously, never overreact.” He turned to her, grinned. “And I’m the King of Siam.”

Holly slumped down in her seat, pushed her chin
against her chest. “I d
on’t sound the least bit appeal
ing.”

“Oh, you’re appealing, Holly. Damn appealing.”

“Really,” Holly said, not in the least flattered. “I think I’m bossy, heads
trong, prone to exaggerate prob
lems, and
…
and short.”

“Petite. Isn’t that what you guys in the fashion industry call it? Petite?”

“Short is short. Not that I have a complex about it or anything. Except for those times I’m surrounded by all those tall, gorgeous models. I keep telling Julia that the world is not made up of skinny tall people. Thankfully she agrees, and designs her clothing for all shapes and sizes, although she still uses all those top models in her shows. People expect it, I guess. And I spend the day feeling like a small town munchkin in a land of glamorous giants.”

“You know, I didn’t notice a single one of those models. All I saw was you. The tiny human dynamo, center of the tornado, the real life and sparkle standing out so clearly in the middle of that madness. You blew me away, Holly. No kidding. Even if you hadn’t told me to drop my pants.”

She looked over at him, stared at him as he fished in his pocket, passed bills over to the toll taker. “I’m still insisting on separate rooms,” she told him, trying to convince herself.

Colin threw back his head and laughed as he pulled out of the tollbooth. “Oh, Holly, this is going to be a great couple of days.”

H
olly stood in front of the full-length mirror in the narrow hallway of her motel room, wondering if her
Rod Stewart-type spiky hairdo went well with a fairly romantic, ankle-length sundress.

“Maybe not a real great look for Rod, but you look pretty good,” she assured herself, then headed into the bathroom
behind her, to find her Perfectl
y Plum lipstick that matched the dominant color in the floral-design cotton dress.

They’d been in Ocean City for two days—it felt like two minutes. Or two lifetimes.

Sunday, they’d pretty much spent the day traveling, finding a suitable hotel, unpacking and eating a clam dinner that had left Holly stuffed, and sleepy, and ready for an early night Surprisingly Colin had agreed, and gone off to his own room, on a completely different floor of the hotel, without more than a single kiss goodnight.

The fact that this kiss had lasted for a good two minutes probably meant something. It certainly had to Holly, who was still trying to figure out why Colin was attracted to her
…
and why she still asked herself why.

Was she really that unsure of her own attraction to men?

Was her experience with Richard, to name one, still keeping her wary of men—especially the Greek god type?

Was she afraid to fall as fast and hard as she knew she was falling?

What of her career, her life-plan, her firmly stated resolutions? One pretty face and they all went out the window? Was she that shallow?

Or was Colin Rafferty so wonderful, so
right,
that it was only the rest of her world that was wrong?

The lipstick slipped in her hand, sliding a Perfectly Plum streak onto her chin as Colin rapped three times on the motel room door. “You ready yet, Holly? Because I’m starving.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she called out, grabbing a handful of tissues and wiping at the smeared lipstick. She glanced at her watch, saw that he was five minutes early. They’d had a late breakfast after a walk on the beach, then spent the afternoon at the zoo in Cape May.

Colin had held her hand, playfully talked back to the monkeys, and bought her a bottle of insect repellent before he’d allow her to walk the paths that wandered through an area heavily populated with deer, just so she wouldn’t be bitten by a deer tick, get Lyme disease and never forgive him for it.

“And because I’m getting a real kick out of rubbing this stuff on your back and neck,” he’d told her, then turned her in his arms, kissed her long and hard, until a peacock strolling by screeched, probably in protest at seeing someone more beautiful than its feathered, manly self.

So now, showered and changed, they were off to the boardwalk for dinner. Holly grabbed her huge shoulder bag, hefted its weight, then tossed the thing onto the bed. She was on vacation, and didn’t need her cell phone or her daily planner, or anything else.

“Ready to go,” she said, opening the door, then handing him her key card, because there were no pockets in her sundress. “I’m not carrying my wallet, so dinner’s your treat.” Then she looked up at him, her
eyes wide. “Glasses. You’re wearing glasses? I didn’t know you wore contact lenses.”

“You didn’t?” he asked, putting his arm around her as they walked to the elevator. “I guess we haven’t gotten that far in our immersion-aversion exchange of information. I wear contacts, but I thought I’d give my eyes a rest tonight. Why? Do you mind?”

She danced ahead of him in the hallway, walking backward as she looked at him. “Yes, I think I do mind. You’re still gorgeous. Can we maybe attach a fake nose and mustache to those glasses?”

“
And I could blacken out my two front teeth?” Colin asked her as he jabbed the button to call the elevator. “You know, I’ve never had this problem before. Women—other women, not y
o
u—have always appreciated my looks.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” Holly assured him, then watched, smiling almost generously, as the doors to the elevator opened and a middle-aged woman all but stumbled flat on her face exiting the car, her attention all on Colin.

They stepped inside, the doors closed and Holly exploded into giggles. “Did you see that? That poor woman. You’re a traffic hazard, Co
li
n. Even in glasses.”

“Does it count that I winked at her?” he asked, leaning against the side of the elevator car.

“You
…
you
winked
at her? Why?”

“To drive you crazy, why else?” he answered, then grabbed her hand in his as the doors opened once more, led her through the hotel foyer and through the exit that led directly onto the boardwalk.

The sun had already moved across the sky far enough
that the buildings lining the land-side of the boardwalk blocked some of its brightness, although Holly still wished she’d grabbed her sunglasses, because she’d rather Colin couldn’t see the expression in her eyes.

“You enjoy it, don’t you? Oh, you say you don’t see what the fuss is all about, but you enjoy it. Women goggling at you, tripping over themselves. I mean, it’s not that women are idiots, because we’re not. But we’re used to seeing really,
really
handsome men on screen, posing in magazines. Not walking out of an elevator in Ocean City, New Jersey. You’re a shock to the system. Max is the same way. He doesn’t just walk into a room, he
dominates
everyone in it, just by showing up.”

“Max is in a whole other league, Holly. Max
is
Majestic Enterprises. I’m—” he pulled her close, grinned at her “—well, I’m just another pretty face. Although, if this face of mine is going to keep bothering you, come between us, I could maybe try to break my nose or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, embarrassed. “I like your face. I’m crazy about your face. I—oh, hell, let’s find something to eat so I can put something other than my foot in my mouth.”

“Here we go,” he said after they’d walked another long block, gulls laughing overhead, the incoming tide creeping up the sandy beach on the water-side of the raised boardwalk. “My old stomping grounds. Hey, Giovanni! Remember me?”

A rather large—and definitely
wide
—man dressed all in white, wearing a paper chef
’
s hat and a stained white apron, looked up from his current job of ladling pizza sauce onto an uncooked crust. “Colin!” he exclaimed,
wiping off his hands on his apron as he walked up to the wide counter separating the boardwalk from his pizza shop. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Colin. “You still owe me ten bucks for that pizza cutter you broke.”

“Hey,” Colin said, shaking the older man’s hand, “I was trying to unstick that junk drawer of yours for you, remember? I’ll bet you never did get it open.”

Giovanni shrugged eloquently. “The drawer remains one of life’s little mysteries. Another is where you’ve been all these years. And who is this lovely lady with you?”

Cotta did the introductions, then asked if they could have one of
Gi
ovanni’s special pizzas.

“Sure, and
y
ou
can make it, just the way you like it
.
Come on,
come on,” he said, motioning for Colin to go around the L-sh
aped bar and enter the cramped work area. “And you, Miss Holly. You sit right here and watch the boy work. We’ll see if he remembers, or if he’s soon going to be wearing dough all over his face.”

Colin laughed as he grabbed an apron from a shelf under the large worktable, then washed his hands in a stainless-steel sink fitted under the serving bar. “Ten bucks says I haven’t forgotten a thing you taught me, Giovanni.”

Holly climbed up on one of the green, imitation leather stools, and rested her chin in her hands. She looked at Colin, who now wore a paper chef
’
s hat just like Giovanni’s, and tried not to laugh. He looked
so
adorable. “Okay, Chef Colin,” she goaded him, “do your magic for us. Pretend I’m sixteen, and just
drooling
over the handsome pizza tosser. Unless that makes you nervous?”

“Nervous, him?” Giovanni said, sliding a wooden paddle beneath the pizza he’d just made, then slipping it into the brick oven. “He was my best, the best
.
If I had fifty cents for every slice of pizza those young girls bought—wait! I
do!”
And then he laughed, his round belly jiggling.

Holly smiled at the man, then watched Colin as he selected a softball-size ball of dough from a large
pl
as
tic
bowl on the worktable. He dusted
the wooden table
with flour, dusted his hands
an
d forearms as well, then pounded on the ball of dough, flattening it until it was a thick, six-inch-round disk.