Bachelor On The Prowl by Kasey Michaels Page B

tease her, excite her, make her laugh, get her to talk to him again as honestly as they had spoken last night.
    So where did this “I’m going to marr y you” stuff come from? He’d said it He’d heard himself say it. But where had it come from? What insane part of him had blurted out that sort of declaration on a city street in Manhattan—while buying hot dogs, for crying out loud?
    That was probably the jet lag part of this whole deal. It was the only explanation.
    Nothing, however, explained what he was doing here now, skulking down in his seat to keep his head out of sight, waiting for Holly to come home.
    If he was smart, he’d call it a night. Find himself a motel somewhere back along the highway, pack it in for the night and make a fresh start in the morning. When he was rested. Clearheaded. Reasonably sane.
    Deciding he’d at last discovered at least one right thing to do, Colin sat up, reached toward the ignition, just as headlights appeared and a car turned into the parking lot. Scratch that, not a car. A ragtop 4x4. He knew—he didn’t know how he knew—but he knew, and would bet a considerable sum, that Holly was behind the wheel.
    Moments later, he was proven right He watched as Holly opened the door on the driver’s side, then aimed her size five feet at the macadam. He wondered if she’d chosen the 4x4 because it was compact, rather like her, or if it was the one car she could drive without using a booster seat.
    Not that he’d ask her. He already knew she saw her petiteness as a sort of drawback, while he just loved how small she felt when he wrapped his arms around her, how strong and powerful he felt—the man, the protector, the big brave guy who hunted the meat, while she kept the cave warm. Or Sutherland’s in great working order, which had to be the modem, liberated equivalent of “keeping the cave warm.”
    He continued watching as she dragged a huge suitcase out of the Jeep, followed by one smaller suitcase, then a folded garment bag, then a canvas sports-type bag that could conceivably hold a half-dozen basketballs. How long had she been in New York? Six months?
    She set the large suitcase upright, pulled out the built-in handle, then worked the handle of the sports bag over it The garment bag she slung over her left shoulder, while she gripped the smaller suitcase in her left hand.
    Add that near-suitcase of a purse, and she was probably outweighed two-to-one by her luggage. Not that any such consideration stopped her. Oh, no, not Holly. She just bent her head and sort of hunched her shoulders and back, having some trouble starting from her standing stop, and slowly began to move forward.
    Colin quietly exited his sports car, carefully closing the door behind him so that it made little noise. He walked across the parking lot, arriving at the curb just as Holly was calling that strip of cement some rather unlovely names as she struggled to pull the wheeled luggage up and over the barrier.
    “Don’t blame the curb for being there, Holly,” he said, standing behind her. “Haven’t the words two trips ever entered your vocabulary?”
    She didn’t even flinch. No shriek of surprise, or shock. No looking back over her shoulder. No outraged, “What are you doing here!”
    She just let go of the handle on the largest suitcase and said, “I was wondering if you were going to just stand back and watch while I struggled with this mess. It’s nice to know you’re at least a semi - gentleman. Now grab those two and follow me, okay?”
    Colin stood there for a moment, then shook his head. “Julia. She told you, right?”
    “And perceptive, too,” Holly remarked to the night air, already on the move again. “Except that he’s here when I so clearly don’t want him here, which drops his IQ more than a few points.”
    The suitcase he was dragging hit a rock or something and began to tip, which shifted the sports bag, and suddenly he was busy trying to keep both upright. And all the