Page 65 of Suzanna's Surrender
“I’m lighting candles.” His nerves were stretching like taffy. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
She did sit and steepled her hands. “Since you’re so cranky, I have to assume that you do know something.”
“You don’t have to assume anything except that you’re ticking me off.” He stalked to the stereo.
“How close are you?” she asked as a bluesy sax filled the air.
“I’m nowhere.” Since that was a lie, he decided to temper it with part of the truth. “I think he’s in the area because he broke in here and took a look around a couple of weeks ago.”
“What?” She catapulted out of the chair. “A couple of weeks ago, and you didn’t tell me?”
“What were you going to do about it?” he countered. “Pull out a magnifying glass and deer-hunter’s hat?”
“I had a right to know.”
“Now you know. Just sit down, will you? I’ll be back in a minute.”
He stalked out and she began to pace. Holt knew more than he was saying, but at least she’d annoyed a piece from him. Livingston was close, close enough that he’d known Holt might have something of interest. The fact that Holt was wound like a top at the moment made her think something more was working on him. It shouldn’t be difficult, she thought, now that she already had him irritated, to push a little more out of him.
The candles were scented, she noted, and smiled to herself. She couldn’t imagine that he’d bought jasmine candles on purpose. Especially a half a dozen of them. She traced a finger over the calla lilies he’d stuck—not very artistically—in a vase. Maybe working with flowers was getting to him, she thought. He wasn’t pretending so hard not to like them.
When he came back in, she smiled then looked puzzled. “Is that champagne?”
“Yeah.” And he was thoroughly disgusted. He’d imagined she’d be charmed. Instead she questioned everything. “Do you want some or not?”
“Sure.” The curt invitation was so typical she didn’t take offense. After he’d poured, she tapped her glass absently against his. “Now, if you’re sure it was Livingston who broke in, I think—”
“One more word,” he said with dangerous calm. “One more word about Livingston and I’ll pour the rest of the bottle over your hard head.”
She sipped, knowing she’d have to be careful if she didn’t want to waste a bottle of champagne and end up with sticky hair. “I’m only trying to get a clear picture.”
He let out what was close to a roar of frustration and spun away. Champagne sloshed over his glass as he paced. “She wants a clear picture, and she’s blind as a bat. I shoveled two months’ worth of dust out of this place. I bought candles and flowers. I had to listen to some jerk try to teach me about wine. That’s the picture, damn it.”
She’d wanted to irritate information from him, not infuriate him. “Holt—”
“Just sit down and shut up. I should have known this would get screwed up. God knows why I tried to do it this way.”
A light dawned, and she smiled. He’d set the stage, but she’d been too focused on her own scheme to take note. “Holt, it’s very sweet of you to do all of this. I’m sorry if I didn’t seem to appreciate it. If you wanted me to come here tonight so we could make love—”
“I don’t want to make love with you.” He swore, viciously. “Of course I want to make love with you, but that’s not it. I’m trying to ask you to marry me, damn it, so will you sitdown!”
Since her legs had dissolved from knees to toe, she slid into a chair.
“This is perfect.” He gulped down champagne and started pacing again. “Just perfect. I’m trying to tell you that I’m crazy about you, that I don’t think I can live without you, and all you can do is ask me what I’m doing and nag me about some obsessed jewel thief.”
Cautiously she brought the glass to her lips. “Sorry.”
“You should be sorry,” he said bitterly. “I was ready to make a fool of myself tonight for you, and you won’t even let me do that. I’ve been in love with you nearly half my life. Even when I moved away, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You spoiled every other woman for me. I’d start to get close to someone, and then... they weren’t you. They just weren’t you, and I’d never even gotten past your back door.”
In love. The two words reeled in her head.In love. “I thought you didn’t even like me.”
“I couldn’t stand you.” He raked his free hand through his hair. “Every time I looked at you I wanted you so much I couldn’t breathe. My mouth would go dry and my stomach would knot, and you’d just smile and keep walking.” His dark and turbulent eyes locked on hers. “I wanted to strangle you. Then you ran into me and knocked me off my bike, and I was lying there bleeding and—and mortified. You were leaning over me, smelling like heaven and running your hands over me to see if anything was broken. One more minute of that and I’d have dragged you onto the asphalt with me.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Lord, you were only sixteen.”
“You swore at me.”
His face was a picture of anger and disgust. “Damn right, I swore at you. You were better off with that than with what I wanted to do to you.” He was calming, little by little. He sipped again but kept pacing. “I talked myself into believing it was just an adolescent fantasy. Even a crush, and that was tough to swallow. Then you came walking across my yard. I looked at you, and my throat went dry, my stomach knotted up. We were both past being adolescents.”
He set his glass down, noting that she was gripping hers with both hands. Her eyes were huge and fixed on his. Cursing both of them, he fumbled for a cigarette then tossed it aside.
