‘Nick,’ she said in a broken whisper.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, baby, it’s me.’
She gave a little moan as he kissed her again, more deeply this time, parting her pliant lips with his. His tongue was hot silk as it slipped into her mouth.
‘Oh, Nick,’ she whispered, ‘Nick…’
His hands slid down her body, cupped her, lifted her, brought her hard against him. Holly gasped at the feel of him. Her body felt liquid, eager and ready for his possession.
‘Baby,’ he said, against her lips.
Holly arched against him, mindless with pleasure. This was Nick in her arms. Nick, whom she’d always loved, Nick who had once been her husband…
Nick?
Oh my God, she thought, and she slammed her hands against his shoulders at the same instant she bit down on his lip.
Nick yelled, rolled off her and jammed his hand against his mouth.
Holly shot to her feet.
‘Light,’ she snapped. ‘We need light!’
‘There’s a flashlight in that box,’ Nick said sullenly, jerking his head towards the upended carton.
Holly glared at him. Then she stalked to where the box had disgorged its contents and plowed through the stuff until she came up with the flashlight.
‘If you had this, why on earth did you come stumbling in here in the dark?’
‘Because I didn’t expect the lights to be out.’
‘You could have used this flashlight.’
‘You attacked me before I could get to it. Why didn’t you turn on the lights?’
‘Oh, right,’ Holly said coldly. ‘I’m supposed to turn on the lights when I hear somebody breaking in? Why not just hold up a flashing neon sign that says “Hey, here I am”?’ She switched on the beam and shone it at Nick. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t. The storm knocked out the power.’
‘Hey.’ Nick ducked away from the bright light. ‘Take it easy, will you? My head hurts enough as it is without you drilling that thing right into my eyes.’
‘You—you…’ Surely, there was a word that suited the occasion, and the man, but Holly was too angry to think of one.
Nick stood up slowly. He took his hand from his lip and peered at it. There was a blur of something dark on his fingertips, something warm and sticky.
He looked at Holly in disbelief.
‘You bit me,’ he said.
‘You’re lucky that’s all I did!’ Rage bubbled through her, at him, at herself, at whatever unholy combination of forces had brought them together this night. ‘You—you sneaky, scheming, miserable, lying, cheating…’ She ran out of words but not out of anger. ‘I hate you, Nick Brennan,’ she yelled, and just to make sure he got the message she kicked him.
‘Hey!’ Nick danced back out of range. ‘What are you, nuts? First you give me a concussion, then you try to bite off my lip, now you’re treating my shins as if I’m a soccer ball.’
‘Don’t make me laugh!’ Holly folded her arms over her chest. ‘All you’ve got is a little bump on your head.’
‘I’m glad you think it’s little!’
‘And your lip’s still attached to your face.’
‘No thanks to you,’ he said indignantly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the cut. ‘Dammit, I’m bleeding buckets!’
‘You aren’t…’ Holly frowned. ‘Where? Let me see.’
‘Right there,’ he said, pointing to his mouth.
‘Where? I can’t—’
Nick took her hand. His fingers were warm, the tips calloused, just as she remembered. It surprised her that they would be, after so long. Nick Brennan had made a success of himself. His was the quintessential tale of Boy Makes Good. She saw his name and his photo in the papers, from time to time. Not that she looked; it was just that he was hard to miss. Nick in black tie, at the opera. At charity benefits. At the opening of his newest hotel. No way he’d ever be seen in jeans and workboots again; no way he’d ever wield a jackhammer or drive a big Cat, or work up a sweat…
‘Here,’ he said softly, and touched her fingertip to his mouth.
It was like touching a hot stove. Heat sizzled through her bones and through her blood. Nick felt it, too. She could hear it in his quick, indrawn breath.
His hand tightened on hers. His lips parted. He drew her hand further across his mouth, until she could feel the whisper of his breath, the softness of his flesh…
Holly snatched her hand back.
‘You’re fine,’ she said briskly. ‘There’s hardly anything there.’
Nick stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘Yeah, well, it feels like it’s going to be swollen for a week.’