Читать книгу Bachelor on the Prowl - Kasey Michaels, Kasey Michaels - Страница 9

Colin Rafferty leaned into the mirror as he adjusted the Windsor knot on his maroon-and-navy striped tie.

Funny, he didn’t think he looked like a Harry Hampshire.

A Harry Hampshire would wear a silk ascot, or maybe carry a pipe, and have an ugly pug dog that brought him his slippers each evening when he returned home from his job in the moldy recesses of the trust department of the family bank.

Not that it mattered. Today he would be Harry Hampshire. Good old Harry ought to get out more anyway, live a little, see the sights…have some fun with Little Big Mouth, or whatever Julia’s employee’s name happened to be.

“Hey, excuse me, please,” he said, stepping away from the mirror as he saw a semifamiliar face go by. “What’s your boss’s name?”

“Julia Sutherland,” the woman answered. “What else would it be?”

Colin shook his head. “No, I meant the little one—the one with the motormouth.”

“Holly?” Irene Collier dropped her chin slightly, “Oops, she wouldn’t like it much if she found out I could identify her from that particular description. Still, you’re looking for Holly? Holly Hollis. She’s number two man—woman—in Sutherland’s. She holds us all together.”

“Really?” Colin answered, one expressive eyebrow raised. “Well, I don’t know about that, Ms.—?”

“Irene, you may call me Irene.”

“Irene,” Colin repeated, smiling his best “I know I’m bad but you love me anyway” smile. “As I was saying, I don’t know about that, Irene. I may not have been here long, but I’m willing to bet today’s pay that this whole thing would come tumbling down around everyone’s ears if it weren’t for your calm head and steady hand.”

Now Irene’s face turned red, straight up to the thick salt-and-pepper bangs on her forehead. “Well, aren’t you perceptive. Okay, what do you want?”

“Nothing much, Irene. Just a little information on our Ms. Hollis?”

Irene hugged the ever-present clipboard to her breasts. “Look, I know she was angry, but it’s over now, and forgotten. She isn’t going to report you to your agency. In fact, I’ll bet she suggests to Ms. Sutherland that we use you again. You were a real hit out there.”

“No, that wasn’t what I was going to ask you about, Irene,” Colin told her. “Ms. Hollis has agreed to join me for a meal, and I thought perhaps I should know a little more about her. That’s all.”

Her eyes opening wider, Irene said, “You two have a date? No, you don’t. Holly would never—never mind.”

“Ms. Hollis doesn’t date the models?”

“Ms. Hollis,” Irene said, rolling her eyes, “thinks male models are a curse and an abomination. Actually she just says they’re too pretty and bigheaded for their own good.”

“So, what you’re saying, Irene, is that if I want to score points with Ms. Hollis, I should go find a bag to put over my head?”

“Oh, you’re charming,” Irene said, the blush still burning in her cheeks. “She’s going to hate you. But, hey, before you go, I want to check through my head shots to find yours, go over the information on the back with you to make sure it’s current. We will use you again, I’m sure of it.”

Colin slipped into his suit jacket, ran a hand over his collar to be sure it was in place. “Oh, there’s no need to do that. It’s current. Just send the check to the agency listed on the back. Ah, here comes Ms. Hollis now. Thanks for the information, Irene.”

“Sure, anytime. Good luck…” Irene said, already searching through a thick folder of eight-by-ten glossies, looking for Harry Hampshire’s photograph.

Colin caught up with Holly as she was thanking the dressers and other backstage help. “Purse, coat and out of here,” he whispered into her ear as he took hold of her elbow.

“Hey! What’s the rush?” Holly asked him even as he began steering her toward the door. “I’ve got to talk to Irene, make arrangements for meetings tomorrow. Go find a corner and sit in it, okay?”

“I can’t,” Colin told her, doing his best to look physically ill. “I’m hypoglycemic. I need meat, protein.” He held out one hand, spread his fingers. “Look. See that? I’m starting to get the shakes.”

“Oh, for crying out—okay, okay. Maybe it’s nice to know you’re not quite Mr. Perfect. My coat’s the navy one over there on the rack. The one that’s shorter than all the others. My purse is looped over the hanger. Just let me talk to Irene for a—hey!”

Colin dragged her along to the coatrack, grabbed the navy wool coat, snagged the large tan purse and aimed Holly at the door precisely five seconds before Irene, paging through her packet of photographs, lifted her head and called out, “Hey! Where’d he go? Hey, did anyone see where that good-looking model went?”

Irene’s question was answered by the laughter of two dozen good-looking models….

“So, may I call you Holly? Irene said your name’s Holly.”

“Sure,” Holly said, her head still bent into a strong autumn breeze on the windy streets of Manhattan.

“Okay, and you can call me Harry.”

“Well, duh,” Holly sniped, shooting him a quick look. “I wasn’t going to call you Mr. Hampshire, if you’re going to call me Holly. God, that’s a lot of H’s, isn’t it?”

“I think we’ve pretty much cornered the market, yes,” Colin said, then sort of sighed as Holly bent her head once more, kept walking at a fast clip that had more to do with getting her where she was going than taking a leisurely stroll and getting to know each other better as they walked along. “Are you in some sort of hurry, Holly?” he asked as she couldn’t seem to stand still at the corner, waiting for the light to change so they could head across the avenue. She kept looking up at the light, sort of dancing in place.

“You’re hypoglycemic,” she reminded him. “You’ve got to eat. Last thing I want is for you to keel over here on the pavement. I’d get trampled by all the women wanting to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Oh, right,” Colin said, smiling slightly, trying to look sick. This was pretty hard to do, considering that the last time he could remember being ill was in the fourth grade, when he’d broken out in spots and couldn’t play the second king in the school’s Christmas pageant. He’d always thought he’d missed a great opportunity to launch a stage career.

“So, are you feeling any better?” Holly asked as the light turned and they headed across the intersection along with half the population of Manhattan.

“A little better. I…I, um, must have just needed some air.”

“But you’re still hungry?”

“Still hungry,” he answered with a smile as Holly turned into a small restaurant tucked between two up-scale shops.

He looked around the restaurant, saw that customers put their orders in and collected them at the same service bar, then carried them to one of the small tables lining one side of the long, narrow room. “Hamburger? Mustard and ketchup? You go find a table, and I’ll bring everything to you.”

“No, you go find a table and sit down before you fall down. I’ll order for both of us.” She held out her hand, palm up. “You’re paying.”

“I admire a woman who can still accept money from a man, even while she’s ordering him around.” Colin fished in his front pocket, pulled out a twenty. “Hamburger, fries, ice water and no onions. Just ketchup and mustard. I’m hoping to get lucky later, maybe steal a kiss from a lovely lady.”

Holly took the twenty carefully, using only the tips of her fingers to touch a corner of the bill. “Yeah, well, good for you. Me, I’m having onions.”

Colin opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but Holly was already gone, running to get to the counter before a group of six men who had just come in behind them. That left Colin to locate and commandeer the last free table in the restaurant.

He sat down, used a paper napkin to wipe crumbs from the cracked and scarred wooden surface of the table, then propped his elbows on the wood, rested his chin in one hand.

What in hell was he doing here? Hell, what the hell was he doing, period?

Colin hadn’t been back to the States for more than a quick visit in nearly three years, enjoying his job setting up one of his second cousin Max Rafferty’s overseas holdings, sticking with it until it was up and running properly. Since that holding was in Paris, being overseas hadn’t been much of a sacrifice, although he did miss Max’s second wedding to Julia, and had only met her later, when she and Max had flown to Paris for a belated honeymoon.

He’d liked Julia immediately, as anyone who could keep Maximillian Rafferty in line had to be one very terrific lady, and his first stop after going through customs at JFK had been to drop in at the Rafferty condo on Park Avenue. Max had already left the building, and the housekeeper had told Colin that Julia wasn’t home, either, so he’d gone off to his hotel, unpacked…and saw the notice for the Sutherland showing in the main ballroom of that same hotel.

A few smiles, a few General U.S. Grant’s greasing the right palms, and Colin had been directed to the staging area, where he’d hoped to surprise Julia.

Okay, so that’s how he’d gotten there. Now he had to figure out how he’d gotten from there to here, here being sitting in a dingy dive, waiting for his first uniquely American hamburger in too many months.

He was also sitting here waiting for Ms. Holly Hollis, just about the least likely woman he’d ever thought he’d be attracted to, even notice.

But there was something about her. Maybe he’d always harbored a secret fantasy for being bossed around by a pint-size female dictator. Maybe it was the way she’d looked as she stood on a stool to tie his tie, that crazy pink boa wrapped around her neck as she blew at the feathers to keep them out of her mouth, her eyes crossing slightly as she tried to get the knot set correctly.

Or maybe he just wanted to get a little of his own back because she’d mistaken him for some no-show boob named Harry Hampshire. A male model? Did she really think he was a male model?

Good old Harry was in for a surprise, when he got his paycheck for a day’s work he didn’t do. That was rather amusing. What wasn’t amusing was that someone might see him on that television show next week, going by the name of Harry Hampshire, parading around a runway in a tux, kissing women.

He’d have to tell everyone he’d lost a bet. Or won it.

Colin half stood up as Holly approached, balancing a full tray holding several paper-wrapped hamburgers, two bags of French fries and a pair of plastic bottles of spring water.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, taking the tray, placing it on the tabletop. Then he held out his hand. “My change?”

“Change? I had to kick in five bucks. What do you mean, change. We’re in Manhattan, Harry. The lousy water cost three bucks a bottle.”

“Sorry,” Colin said, fishing into his pocket for another bill. “I guess I lost my head.”

“Along with your watch,” Holly said as she unwrapped a hamburger, lifted the top of the bun to check for onions, then passed the thing over to him. “I’m waiting, you know. What excuse are you going to give me for almost not making the showing?”

Colin shrugged. Keeping as close as possible to the truth would probably be best. “I’m sorry about that, Holly. I just got in from Paris this morning. There was a slight holdup in Customs.”

Holly sat back in her chair and glared at him. “You just got back from Paris? And your agent accepted a booking for the same day? What is he, nuts?”

Colin considered launching into a long story about having been bumped from one plane only to have the second develop engine trouble before they took off, but decided he’d like to get the whole subject gone as quickly as possible, before he slipped up. “Yeah, that’s my agent. Nuts. So, do you live here in Manhattan?”

Holly held up her index finger as she finished chewing, swallowing, her first huge bite of her hamburger. “Um…no, I don’t. I’d go nuts myself, if I had to live in Manhattan.”

“You don’t like big cities?”

“Oh, I love them. I love Manhattan. I’d just go nuts here. Visiting museums, taking in all the Broadway and off-Broadway and off-off Broadway shows. Shopping, lots of shopping. Vintage clothing, old books, and we won’t even talk about the diamond district. I’d end up being as late for work as you were today, and get myself fired in a month. I mean, a person could make a career out of seeing big cities. Like Paris. I’ll bet you did as much sight-seeing as you could?”

“I managed to see a little of the city,” Colin answered, reaching for a French fry. “But I sure missed these. How come Americans make better French fries?”

“We use older cooking oil, and more of it,” Holly supplied, smiling. “Seriously, you missed American food?”

“Seriously, I did. So, where do you live if it’s not in Manhattan?”

“Pennsylvania,” Holly said, unscrewing the cap on her bottled water. “Allentown, to be precise. Did you know that the lead actress in 42nd Street was supposedly from Allentown? The city’s used in a lot of songs, books, TV shows. I don’t have the faintest idea why. It’s just a town. My town, but just a town. Still, with all the new highways, I can be in Manhattan in two hours, so it’s still convenient for Julia to check on the plant, or for me to come up here to visit her.”

“Julia? That would be Julia Sutherland?”

“Mm-hmm,” Holly said, nodding, as her mouth was full once more. For a little person, she sure could eat, and didn’t seem to mind letting him know she had a healthy appetite. He bet that Jackie, the model, hadn’t eaten an entire hamburger in years, and Holly was already unwrapping her second.

Colin picked up a paper napkin, reached across the table to wipe some ketchup off Holly’s chin. “Irene says you’re Julia’s second in command.”

“Irene says a lot, doesn’t she?” Holly said, clearly bristling. “What is this? A couple of hamburgers in exchange for whispering in Julia’s ear that you want to be headlined in her next showing? Maybe do some print ads in her catalog, even on her Web site?”

Colin sat back, scratched the side of his nose. “What kind of question is that? Do you have that low an opinion of me, or of yourself? Why couldn’t I have asked you to dinner because I thought we might enjoy each other’s company?”

“Yeah, right,” Holly said, poking through the French fries on the hunt for a dark one. “So what’s next? You want to take a walk in the park, hold hands, maybe catch a movie?”

“Okay,” Colin heard himself say as he crumpled the hamburger wrappings into a ball and stood up, picked up the tray. “The park first, while it’s still got people other than muggers walking the paths.”

Holly tipped back her head, looking up at him. He smiled down at her, liking the way she looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown another head. “You really want to make this a real date? Why? I’ve been rude, obnoxious…”

“Don’t forget bossy. Although I have to admit it, I really liked it when you told me to take off my pants.”

Holly stood up, shrugged into her coat, then grabbed one last French fry from the tray. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Colin corrected her. “And you were on your knees when you said it.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it,” Holly told him quickly, following him back out onto the pavement. “I mean, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Colin stopped, turned around, put his hands on her shoulders. “I know,” he said, then leaned down, kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides, it was the pink boa that got to me. You looked like you were playing dress-up, a little kid in a land of giant dolls.”

“I can’t help being short,” Holly told him as he took her hand, led her across the street and into Central Park. “All us Hollises are short. Mom, Dad, my sister, Helen, my brothers Herb and Harry.”

“You’ve got a brother named Harry? That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s just another H. We’re all H’s. Hillary, Howard, Herb, Harry, Helen and Holly Hollis. Looked great on Christmas cards, but that’s about it. I swear Helen married John Barker just to get rid of the H. I mean, why else would anyone marry a guy who bowls every Thursday night, wearing a shirt that says Bow-wow Barker on the back?”

Colin stopped at the entrance to the Park, threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t believe it. Your family almost makes mine sound normal.”

“And it’s not?” Holly asked, pulling him over to a street vendor selling ice-cream sandwiches. “Dessert, and this time it’s my treat,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her wallet.

“My family? Well, no, it’s not. Not in the usual sense, anyway. Mom’s an archeologist, and Dad’s a professional fisherman. No kidding, there are professional fishermen. I’m their only child, probably because they haven’t really lived together very much for thirty years, although they’re still married. Dad’s in Alaska somewhere right now, fishing, and Mom’s in Egypt, digging somewhere near the pyramids.”

“Who raised you?” Holly asked, handing him a rather limp ice-cream sandwich.

“My great-aunt and uncle,” Colin said, then quickly changed the subject again, because Max’s parents had taken care of him when he wasn’t in some boarding school. He didn’t know how much Holly knew about Max’s home life, and didn’t want to take a chance on giving her clues she might follow.

“I would have hated that,” Holly said as they walked into the park. “We’re just this big, noisy family that still gets together every Sunday for dinner. Kids running all over the place, Dad falling asleep in his favorite chair, Mom asking me when I’m going to get married.”

“Haven’t found anyone worth losing your H for, huh?” Colin asked, licking at the side of his hand as vanilla ice cream threatened to run into his cuff.

“I’m not really looking,” Holly told him shortly. “I’ve got my career, my own apartment, I’m not thirty yet. I’m in no hurry.”

“Well, I’m two years past thirty, but I’m in no hurry, either.” He touched her hand again as they walked along, then took it in his, liking the way her flesh felt pressed against his. “Now that we’ve established that neither of us is chasing a wedding ring, what else do we have in common?”

Holly shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “We both like greasy French fries?”

“Right. Obviously the basis for a firm friendship. And we both like walking in the park as the sun goes down. That’s three, not including the hamburgers, or the ice-cream sandwiches. Now, if we share a taste for police chase type thriller movies, we may regret that you got onions on that hamburger. Or that I didn’t. There is that, isn’t there?”

Holly stopped, looked up at him. “What are you doing?” she asked with the honesty he’d come to recognize, and fear just a little, considering he was being about as dishonest as he could be without wearing a fake mustache and dark glasses.

“What am I doing? I don’t know, Holly. I just like you. You’re cute, you’re prickly, you don’t seem to care whether you impress me or not. I like it.”

“Oh, I get it now. Women fall all over you, don’t they? You have to beat them away with a stick. The male model Adonis. That face, that body—that ego!”

“It all can be a burden, yes. Especially the ego,” Colin said, sighing theatrically, trying to hide a smile. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“Oh, Gawd!” Holly exclaimed in disgust, letting go of his hand, turning and walking back toward the entrance to the park, Colin hot on her heels.

“Hey, Holly—wait! I was just kidding around,” he said, catching up to her. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want to accept my dinner invitation because I’m a male model, because I won’t buy it.”

“That is not why I tried to turn you down,” Holly protested, standing at the corner, tapping her foot as she waited for the light to change.

“Oh? Really? Then tell me, how many male models have you dated? You’d have to have dated some, right, being around them all the time?”

“I have never—oh, okay, maybe I have. One.” She rolled her eyes. “Three. But that was plenty! Talking about themselves all night long, then having to go home early to get their beauty sleep. Using me to get closer to Julia, to be considered for showings, print ads, you name it. Can’t pass a mirror without stopping, checking their hair. Women all but pushing me out of the way to get close to them.”

“Have I done any of that?” Colin asked her as they crossed the street together.

“No,” Holly admitted, making a face. “But you were at the table while the girl at the counter pumped me about you, wanted to know if I was your sister. Do you know how insulting that is? And that girl back there, in the crosswalk. She was going the other way, then stopped dead in the middle of the street, turned around to follow you. She’s still following us. You turn heads, Harry, don’t you know that?”

Colin turned his own head, looked at the woman walking behind him. Pretty, about five foot six, long legs, silky blond hair. She smiled at him. He smiled back. Then realized what he was doing.

“You smiled at her, didn’t you?” Holly asked as they continued walking along the pavement, in the direction of the Waldorf-Astoria.

“Well, of course I did. She smiled at me. I’m not impolite.”

“No, of course you’re not. And you can’t help it. You’re handsome. Drop-dead gorgeous. I’m walking with you, but I might as well be invisible. Models. Male, female. They’re just larger than life, too pretty to be real. And you’re better than most of them, Harry, no question. I just figure I can have enough of an inferiority complex on my own. I don’t need competition from my date.”

“So you don’t date models because you think they make you invisible, because you’re not some too skinny, plastic, pretty model?”

Holly stopped, stepped in front of him. “I’m not that shallow,” she told him angrily.

“No, you’re not. I never said you were.”

Holly closed her eyes, shook her head. “I’m sorry. You asked me why I don’t date models, and I got carried away, got ridiculous. I don’t date models, Harry, because I dated one for six months, only to figure out he was in love with himself, not me. So, handsome as you are, nice as you seem to be, and much as I’m attracted to you, this is our first and only date. There, does that answer your question?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Colin said, nodding his head. Then he smiled. “So, you admit you’re attracted to me?”

“Oh Lord,” Holly said on a sigh. “I’m going in now, Harry. Good night.”

“Wait,” he said, following her. For a little woman, with short legs, she sure could cover ground in a hurry. “If we’re only going to have one date, don’t you think we could make it last longer than an hour?” He blocked her progress, put his hands on her shoulders, did his best to look comic and soulful at the same time. “Then I’ll always have my memories.”

“Your memories. You’re kidding, right?”

“Absolutely,” Colin agreed, smiling, returning her smile. “Come on, it’s not quite dark yet. Let’s walk some more.”

“Only so you can have memories,” Holly told him as they stepped back out onto the pavement.

They walked along, first hand in hand, then arm in arm, discussing the merits and plot flaws of all the Bruce Willis Die Hard movies.

Colin told her about Paris, and Holly told him about her mother who, according to that good woman, still said novenas that her youngest daughter would find a good man, settle down, have a half-dozen kids, forget “this career business.”

Colin told her about the time he’d traveled around Europe after college, with only a backpack and his “hitching finger,” seeing the sights, touring museums, sleeping in youth hostels, getting pie-eyed during Oktoberfest in Germany.

Holly countered with a tale about Girl Scout Camp, and how she’d taken one look at the wooden outhouse and phoned home, demanding her father immediately come and get her. “I can’t imagine traveling through Europe with only a backpack. I like my luxuries, and am not afraid to admit it.”

He told her about his parents’ den, the one with trophy fish on the walls and ancient bits of broken pottery on the tables.

She told him about her mother’s collection of ceramic salt and pepper shakers and her dad’s pride in having every copy of National Geographic ever printed.

They laughed. They argued politics, but only because Colin deliberately disagreed with her for a while, as he got a kick out of the way she looked when she got indignant. They stopped at a small delicatessen and shared a corned beef on rye sandwich between them while the conversation skipped from current events, to books they’d read, to why all boy bands should be bound, gagged and made to promise never to sing again until they could find one note and stick to it.

As they turned yet another corner, and the Waldorf-Astoria was in front of them yet again, Colin had already been mentally kicking himself for about an hour over his deception.

What had started out as a lark had turned into something more. He liked Holly Hollis. He really liked her. She was nothing like any woman he’d ever dated. Cute. Honest. Funny. Short.

And he’d lied to her, continued lying to her. About who he was, how he’d come to be at the showing. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had time to confess, although explaining why he’d gone along with her assumption that he was Harry Hampshire, male model, was still a bit of a mystery to him.

“Well, here we are again,” Holly said as they stood just outside the busy entrance to the hotel.

“Yes, here we are,” Colin said, looking up, knowing his suite looked out over the front of the hotel.

“I really should go in now,” Holly told him, still holding his hands as she faced him. “And you have to catch a cab, right? At least you’ll have no problem doing that.”

Colin looked at the doorman who stood with a whistle poised between his lips. “Nope. No problem doing that,” he said, wondering how he’d tell the cab driver that he wanted to go once around the block. There had to be a big tip involved with that kind of cab ride.

“I had a very good time,” Holly told him, avoiding his eyes.

“So did I. Look, Holly—I have to tell you something.”

She looked up at him, frowned. “No, you don’t. I have to tell you something. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time. It wasn’t fair of me to automatically not like you because you’re a male model. Because you’re so damn gorgeous,” she added with a little smile.

“Yes, about that—”

“I mean, it’s not your fault you’re gorgeous. What are you supposed to do? Put a paper bag over your head?”

He grinned. “Actually I had considered it…”

“Please, don’t interrupt while I’m apologizing, okay? Why not be a model? Why not think about getting into movies? You’d give Tom Cruise a run for his money, that’s for sure.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Colin said, stepping closer to her. “But the thing is, what happened today was sort of a mistake.”

“Oh,” Holly said, lowering her eyes, dropping her chin. “Okay. A mistake. I understand.”

He put his index finger under her chin, lifted her head slightly. “No, you don’t. I’m not saying our date was a mistake. I’m trying to tell you that the showing was a mistake. I never should have—”

“Upstaged the gowns?” Holly asked rhetorically, nodding her head. “I agree. But it was inspired, really. We’re going to get some good airtime on that kiss.”

“Which one?” Colin asked, momentarily distracted. “The one for the bride, or the one for the lady of the hour—you? Personally I liked the second one best. I never held someone who felt so small, so light in my arms.”

“That’s because you’d just gotten done flipping Jackie over your arm. Her gown and veil alone probably weigh more than me. But I’m sorry, I keep interrupting you. What are you trying to tell me? What are you sorry about?”

It wasn’t going to work. The moment the truth was out, she was going to hit him, kick him, or just burst into tears and run away. He couldn’t let her run away, even if he deserved the hit or the kick. What he had to do now was soften her up, make her more willing to listen to him. Cloud her judgment a little, until he could make her understand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you twice,” he heard himself say, and the next thing he knew he’d gathered Holly into his arms, and his mouth was on hers.

He could sense when she went up on her tiptoes in order to be able to slide her arms around his neck, and he bowed his body slightly that he could feel the length of her pressed more closely to his body. She was little, yes, but she was all woman. Soft, and curvy, and with lips that knew how to be kissed, how to kiss in return.

Someone exiting the hotel, dragging a large piece of pull-along luggage, bumped heavily against Colin’s leg, and the next thing he knew Holly was standing in front of him, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed. “I have to go in now,” she said, then pulled a card from her purse and handed it to him. “Here. I’m breaking my own rule. Call me, please?”

“But wait—” Colin called out as she turned and actually began to run into the hotel. “I still haven’t told you—oh, damn it!” He could see Holly overtop the dozen or more tourists trying to move themselves and their baggage into the hotel, all of them following a tour guide holding up a flag in order to keep the group together. The elevator door stood open, and she rushed inside. “Holly, I—”

“Can I get you a cab, sir?” the doorman asked, and Colin glared at him.

“No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll walk.” And then he followed the tourists into the hotel.