Free Bachelor On The Prowl by Kasey Michaels Page B

Greco’s Storm Over Toledo, or some such work of art. It would be kind of difficult to munch hot dogs while in the presence of such a masterpiece. Of course, people who had masterpieces in their dining rooms probably didn’t eat hot dogs anyway.
    “You’re stalling when you should be moving, Rafferty, ” he said out loud, refolding the brochure and stuffing it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Transferring the green paper-wrapped bouquet to his left hand, he set out in the direction of the large inside courtyard, which rather dominated the area just inside the entrance.
    Magnificent. The courtyard was magnificent, all soaring columns and architectural touches that would have turned heads even in Paris.
    He’d have to come back here one day, when his mind was ready to concentrate on more than finding Holly, explaining himself to Holly. Groveling to Holly.
    And then he saw her.
    She was sitting on a stone bench at the far side of the reflecting pool, her back to him as she looked up at a group of columns with an intensity that made him wonder if she was thi nking of climbing one of them. She looked great. That probably had something to do with the fact that she w ore Sutherland designs—today, cocoa-colored, heavy silk slacks and a cream-colored sweater with a soft cowl collar. But mostly she looked great because she seemed so at home in her own skin. She wore her shiny cap of chestnut hair in a style that said, “If you don’t like it, don’t look.” He liked it, and he looked.
    Even as her back remained turned to him, he remembered how open and honest her huge green eyes looked as she’d told him bits and snatches of her life. He remembered tha t intriguing, slightly pointy chin that she kept lifting, jutting out, daring the world, or him, to say something that needed a rebuttal.
    She didn’t pose, or primp, or give any indication that she cared what anyone thought of her. And yet he knew, not just because Max had told him so, that Holly Hollis was not half as brash and secure as she’d like the world to believe.
    And he’d hurt her. He hadn’t needed Max nor Julia to tell him that, either. He’d seen the hurt in those huge green eyes as she’d said, “Hi, Harry,” and right before she’d belted him with her purse.
    He thought back over their date of the previous evening. What they’d said, what they’d shared. Her honesty, his deception. This wasn’t going to be easy, and he doubted one bouquet of yellow posies was going to cut it, even if coupled with his best “you know you love me” smile. Especially if he accompanied the flowers with the smile he’d used to such great effect with the ladies before he’d learned it wasn’t fair to do that, use the charm and face he’d been born with to unfair advantage.
    So he stood there, his feet all but nailed to the floor, scared to death of one small woman he probably outweighed by seventy pounds, towered over physically. Scared to approach her, scared to see her look at him, look through him, look at him in disgust for his dishonesty, his deception.
    Scared to see the hurt in her eyes again, knowing he was the cause of that hurt.
    And then it hit him. He knew she’d been hurt. She knew she’d been hurt. But it would probably be fatal to act as if he knew she was hurt. He had to think about her as being angry—rightfully angry, mad as hell. Because, if she was hurt, that would mean that her emotions were somehow involved, and Holly probably would rather poke a sharp stick in her eye than admit that Harry Hampshire, the louse, had the power to hurt her.
    At least that’s what Colin decided, then went with, quickly, before he could go over the thoughts in his head one more time, which probably would just confuse him. Tossing the flowers in a nearby trash can, he strolled to the end of the courtyard and sat down beside Holly. “Hi. Come here often?”
    “Go away.”
    “No, seriously. Do you come here often? Is this one of the places you’d