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“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.
Chapter Three
Holly sat on the thick Persian carpet the day after the showing, holding young Maximillian Rafferty, II—or Max Deuce, as his father sometimes called him—and looked at her good friend and employer. “Julia, it was fantastic. We’ve got orders pouring in, the press has been very kind. I think it was the snazzy hors d’ oeuvres. We served great stuff this time, even if my own taste runs more to little hot dogs in pieces of pastry. I actually saw the reporter from Women’s Wear Daily tipping a plate of the shrimp-on-a-stick into her purse.”
Julia laughed as she pushed a lock of her sleek burnt cinnamon hair behind one ear. “I wish I could have been there, and the little guy seems to be fine today, but I just couldn’t leave him yesterday after we got back from the doctor’s office. This mom stuff is all-consuming.”
Holly looked around the room, furnished in comfortable overstuffed couches, fine antiques and a half dozen colorful infant toys. The condo was huge, two floors and magnificent. It was also a home, a well-loved, lived-in home. “You’re doing a bang-up job, Julia. And Max is still so cockeyed over this little guy that I’m surprised he hasn’t had him surgically attached to his hip.”
“He talked about it,” Julia said with a smile as she sipped hot tea from a china cup. “And it doesn’t hurt that Max-Two here was born on his daddy’s birthday. I don’t know if I get any credit here at all.”
“Two Leos against one Scorpion,” Holly said, shaking her head. “Julia, you don’t stand a chance. Although I guess you’re going to try for at least one compatible Pisces or Cancer to even things out.”
“Oh, definitely. I’m not a slave to this astrology stuff, but I have to admit it, it works on Max. He can be ready to fly into one of his tempers, or go into a pout, and all I have to do is sling a compliment his way and he starts purring like a kitten. Men. They’re so…”
“Impossible,” Holly ended, then kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Except you, of course. You’re wonderful.”
The baby giggled, pressed his head back against Holly’s breasts, blinked his big blue eyes at her.
“Did you see that? Only five months old, and already showing signs of the true Leo. Compliment them and they’ll follow you anywhere. And drool on you,” Holly added, swiping at little Max’s chin with a corner of the soft cloth Julia had tossed over her shoulder when she took Max, telling her that it was either keep a drool cloth handy or be covered with damp spots on her clothing.
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