Bending to the Bachelor's Will. Emilie Rose

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      Holly flashed him an I-know-what-you’re-up-to glance. “You mean you haven’t read my file?”

      “You have accounts with Alden’s?”

      Another hesitation. “Several. I work primarily with commercial concerns, but I also do windows for private homes. I teach stained glass classes once a week, not just because I enjoy sharing my craft but because those same women who take my classes often commission me to do windows for their homes, tell their friends about me or recommend me to the boards of the organizations to which they belong, which in turn leads to more commercial accounts.” Her entire body became animated as she discussed her work.

      “Smart advertising,” he acknowledged.

      “I think so.”

      “You like making windows better than working at the Caliber Club?”

      “Oh, yeah. No comparison.”

      The nuances in her voice raised questions such as why would she leave a secure, well-paying job, one with limitless advantageous connections, for the financially risky venture of crafting stained glass windows? He turned into Holly’s driveway and spotted a dark sedan parked in the shadows beneath a large tree. His curiosity would have to wait. “You have company.”

      “Great.” Her sarcastic tone implied otherwise. “It’s Octavia.”

      The reporter and the photographer beside her in the front seat waved as they drove past, but made no move to get out of the car.

      “What do they want?”

      Holly stared at her knotted fingers in the dimly lit car. “To see the end of our date.”

      Eric’s spine prickled a warning. “Pardon?”

      Holly took a deep breath and then lifted her wary, toffee-brown gaze to his. “Women talk when they’re working on their projects in my class. Octavia believes the first kiss foretells the future of any relationship.”

      He’d have to kiss Holly good-night. The news sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

      Holly bit her lip and lifted her chin. “Eric, I realize you probably had no intention of kissing me good-night, and as much as I hate the idea of a mercy kiss, could you kiss me and make it look good? It’ll keep her off our backs. This week, anyway.”

      Moisture flooded his mouth and his pulse pounded like a marching band headed toward the end zone located below his belt. He jerked a nod because the words on the tip of his tongue, my pleasure, were forbidden and just plain wrong. He exited the car, and for once Holly waited for him to open her door and assist her out.

      With a hand at the small of her back, he guided her up the walk, the stairs and then stopped on her doormat. She turned toward him, and in the soft glow of her porch light she took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself to endure his kiss.

      Bracing herself. As if she expected kissing him to be an ordeal. Eric’s pride roared in protest. He inhaled once, twice, willing his irritation away and his knotted muscles to relax. What he needed was technique. Smooth, controlled, seductive technique. He’d be damned if any woman would endure his kiss. He’d settle for nothing less than total capitulation.

      He lowered his head until only a fraction of an inch separated their mouths and waited. Waited for Holly’s breath to sweep over his chin when she exhaled. Waited for his pulse to steady. And when his heart accelerated instead of slowing, he relented and brushed his lips over hers with a featherlight touch. The spark of electricity jolted him. Curious, he took another cautious sip, and current shot down to his toes. Judging by Holly’s gasp, the feeling wasn’t one-sided. He settled his mouth over hers, sinking into the lush softness of her lips. Her fingers clutched his waist and her tongue flicked against his and then quickly withdrew.

      Any thoughts of controlled technique vanished. Eric banded his arms around her, molding the long length of her body against his as he delved deeper, stroking the satiny warmth of her mouth, tasting rich crème brûlée and even richer Holly. His fingers tightened on the curve of her waist, and his palms prickled.

      Holly felt good—too good—in his arms. Her pelvis nudged his as she shuffled closer. His response was instantaneous and enthusiastic.

      Unacceptable.

      Unforgivable.

      Embarrassing.

      He was too damned old to get aroused from a dead-end kiss. His only hope was that Holly hadn’t noticed. He gripped her upper arms, lifted his head and put a few inches between them.

      “Good night.” His voice sounded strained and no wonder. His lungs weren’t working.

      “’Night.” She licked her lips and raised her lids to reveal slightly dazed eyes.

      Instead of releasing Holly and stepping away the way his brain ordered him to do, Eric found his arms encircling her, pulling her closer. He kissed her again and again. He couldn’t help himself. Even as he consumed her mouth, his conscience shouted, “What are you doing?”

      Her arms twined around his neck, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. His fingers glided upward from her waist. He had to feel her weight in his hand, to cup her fullness. Had to.

      The sound of a car starting and crunching down the gravel driveway barely registered, but the barking dogs hurling themselves at the other side of the front door managed to infiltrate the haze clouding his mind. His hand stopped inches short of its target. He lifted his head and swore.

      Holly stiffened, jerked her hands from around his neck and pushed against his chest. She looked past his shoulder. “Octavia’s gone. I, um, think that probably convinced her.”

      She licked her lips again and need clawed at him, but Eric released her and stepped away.

      What in the hell had just happened?

      Whatever it was couldn’t happen again.

      He, more than anyone, knew that strong emotional attachments made a man weak. If he ever needed a reminder, all he had to do was look at his henpecked father.

      He backed away from temptation and left as quickly as he could and still maintain his dignity. Two miles down the road, he realized he still had Holly’s check in his pocket, but he couldn’t risk turning the ’Vette around. Until tonight, no woman had ever rattled him enough to make him forget that money and the power attached to it made the world go round.

      Who’d have thunk it?

      Holly leaned against the inside of the door and sank to the floor. Monet and Seurat crawled all over her, jostling for attention. She absently scratched them while willing her pulse to slow.

      If anybody had told her uptight Eric Alden’s kisses held more sexual promise than the pages of the Kama Sutra, she’d have laughed. And darn it, she could not turn the page to see what the next chapter revealed.

      How unfair that when she finally met a guy who could singe the toes out of her panty hose, he was the one man she couldn’t have. Not only had she tried and failed to fit into Eric’s world, she’d promised Juliana after the auction that there was nothing sexual about buying her brother’s date package.

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