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“Right,” Lukas said. “You’re just going to stand here until you dry.”
He could hear her grinding her teeth. She didn’t look at him, just hugged her towel tighter and stared at the departing van. Lukas didn’t care. He stood there and drank in his fill of Holly Halloran.
It felt oddly like reaching an oasis after a lifetime of wandering in the desert. He had spent so many years determinedly not thinking about Holly that it was hard to believe she was actually here in front of him.
She was definitely no less eye-catching than she had ever been. Her bones were sharper now, her eyes set deeper. Tiny lines fanned out at the corners of them. From laughter? From sorrow? God knew she’d suffered that. Lukas wanted to reach out a finger and touch them.
No doubt he’d get a slap for his trouble. That wouldn’t have changed, either. Except once. Once she’d let him touch her.
“What are you doing here, Lukas?” Her voice cut across his memories, jerking him back to the present. She was looking at the Manhattan skyline, not at him. There was nothing inviting in her tone.
“You wrote me a letter,” Lukas reminded her.
Her fingers tightened on the towel wrapped across her breasts. “I sent you a deed of gift and asked you to sign it. Or to tell me if you wanted to keep the boat yourself.”
“I read that.”
“So, I repeat, what are you doing here?” The afternoon sun made her hair look more auburn than brown, like spun copper.
“I figured we could talk about it.” He paused. “I wanted to see you.”
Wanted to see if whatever he’d once felt was still there. It was perverse, he supposed, how Holly’s contrariness had always sharpened his senses. Going head-to-head with Holly always exhilarated him, made him feel alive. As a boy he hadn’t understood the subtext to their encounters, hadn’t yet connected the dots. It was all about attraction. His brain had finally recognized it at fifteen. His body had known it sooner—probably from the very moment he’d met her when he’d been shaken and stirred, both at once. He’d put it down to the suddenness of her tumbling out of the tree and confronting him. His heart had pounded and his pulse had raced the same way they were doing now.
The way they had the night he had incurred Holly’s everlasting wrath, the night he’d crossed the line.
And heaven help him, Lukas wanted to cross it again. He’d been gone for a dozen years, had dated more women than he could even remember, and they’d all paled in comparison to Holly. His best friend’s girl, and he’d never stopped comparing other women to her! He wanted to touch her again now, wanted to feel the softness of her skin and to trace her curves, to kiss her lips and still the chatter of her teeth. Good lord, her lips were blue!
“Come on,” he said abruptly. “Let’s get you home.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“Don’t be an idiot, Holly. I’m offering you a ride. Nothing else!”
For the moment.
For a dozen years he’d told himself that the past was past, that they’d all moved on, that what he’d felt was kid stuff, that he was well over her. After all, when he’d come back to New York, he hadn’t sought her out. He hadn’t even considered opening that door again. Not until Wednesday when he got Holly’s letter.
And when the door had opened anyway, he knew he had to see her again. But even this morning he had been convinced that everything he’d ever felt for Holly wouldn’t stand the test of time. She had been the dream girl of his past, the one girl against whom he’d measured all the others he’d met since.
But he really hadn’t expected to do more than make his peace with the past—with her. He expected to feel maybe a little nostalgia—and a twist of guilt.
But seeing her now, he knew it wasn’t going to be as simple as that. He felt the guilt, all right. But he didn’t feel nostalgia.
He felt as fierce an attraction as he’d ever felt. Some elemental connection that he’d never felt to another woman. He had a lot more experience now than he’d had back then.
Yes, she was obviously still holding a grudge. But he had to believe she’d changed, too, that she couldn’t hate him forever. Could she?
Lukas slanted a glance at the girl who had stirred his blood, at the woman apparently capable of stirring it still, and knew he was going to stick around and find out.
For all that he suspected he should, he couldn’t walk away.
CHAPTER THREE
