Suzanna's Surrender

He lifted a brow at the tone. “Is that how you keep your kids in line?” “When necessary. Well, what's it to be?”

Maybe he was being too hard on her. She'd made a gesture and he was slapping it back in her face. If she could be casually friendly, so could he. “I've already got a hole in my yard,” he pointed out then knelt beside her. The dog lay down in the sunlight to watch. “We might as well put something in it.”

And that, she supposed, was his idea of a thank you. “Fine.”

“So how old are your kids?” Not that he cared, he told himself. He was just making conversation.

“Five and six. Alex is the oldest, then Jenny.” Her eyes softened as they always did when she thought of them. “They're growing up so fast, I can hardly keep up.”

“What made you come back here after the divorce?”

Her hands tensed in the soil, then began to work again. It was a small and quickly concealed gesture, but he had very sharp eyes. “Because it's home.”

There was a tender spot, he thought and eased around it. “I heard you're going to turn The Towers into a hotel.”

“Just the west wing. That's C.C.'s husband's business.”

“It's hard to picture C.C. married. The last time I saw her she was about twelve.”

“She's grown up now, and beautiful.” “Looks run in the family.”

She glanced up, surprised, then back down again. “I think you've just said something nice.”

“Just stating a fact. The Calhoun sisters were always worth a second look.” To please himself, he reached out to toy with the tip of her ponytail. “Whenever guys got together, the four of you were definitely topics of conversation.”

She laughed a little, thinking how easy life had been back then. “I'm sure we'd have been flattered.”

“I used to look at you,” Holt said slowly. “A lot.”

Wary, she lifted her head. “Really? I never noticed.”

“You wouldn't have.” His hand dropped away again. “Princesses don't notice peasants.”

Now she frowned, not only at the words but at the clipped tone. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”

“It was easy to think of you that way, the princess in the castle.”

“A castle that's been crumbling for years,” she said dryly. “And as I recall, you were too busy swaggering around and juggling girls to notice me.”

He had to grin. “Oh, between the swaggering and juggling, I noticed you all right.”

Something in his eyes set off a little warning bell. It might have been some time since she'd heard that particular sound, but she recognized it and heeded it. She looked down again to firm the dirt around the bush.

“That was a long time ago. I imagine we've both changed quite a bit.” “Can't argue with that.” He pushed at the dirt.

“No, don't shove at it, press it down – firm, but gentle.” Scooting closer, she put her hands over his to show him. “All it needs is a good start, and then –”

She broke off when he turned his hands over to grip hers.

They were close, knees brushing, bodies bent toward each other. He noted that her hands were hard, callused, a direct and fascinating contrast to the soft eyes and tea rose complexion. There was a strength in her fingers that would have surprised him if he hadn't seen for himself how hard she worked. For reasons he couldn't fathom, he found it incredibly erotic.

“You've got strong hands, Suzanna.”

“A gardener's hands,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “And I need them to finish planting this bush.”

He only tightened his grip when she tried to draw away. “We'll get to it. You know, I've thought about kissing you for fifteen years.” He watched the faint smile fade away from her face and the alarm shoot into her eyes. He didn't mind it. It might be best for both of them if she was afraid of him. “That's a long time to think about anything.”

He released one hand, but before she could let out a sigh of relief, he had cupped the back of her neck. His fingers were firm, his grip determined. “I'm just going to get it out of my system.”

She didn't have time to refuse. He was quick. Before she could deny or protest, his mouth was on hers, covering and conquering. There was nothing soft about him. His mouth, his hands, his body when he pulled her against him, were hard and demanding. The swift frisson of fear had her lifting a hand to push against his shoulder. She might as well have tried to move a boulder.

Then the fear turned to an ache. She fisted her hand against him, forced to fight herself now rather than him.

She was taut as a wire. He could feel her nerves sizzle and snap as he clamped her against him. He knew it was wrong, unfair, even despicable, but damn it, he needed to wipe out this fever that continued to burn in him. He needed to convince himself that she was just another woman, that his fantasies of her were only remnants of a boy's foolish dreams.

Then she shuddered. A soft, yielding sound followed. And her lips parted beneath his in irresistible and avid invitation. Swearing, he plunged, dragging her head back by the hair so that he could take more of what she so mindlessly offered.