home early tonight,” he retorted, “and I managed to get here by nine-thirty...but I came back to an empty hotel room.”
“Well, sorry, but you’re not the only one with a job and responsibilities. Speaking of which,” Holly couldn’t help adding, “how’s your sous chef?”
“Oh, shit – I knew it. You’re jealous of Catherine.”
“Only because all you do is tell me how wonderful she is, how you couldn’t peel a potato or – or caramelize a crème brûleé without her.”
“Oh, for...” he sighed. “We work together, Holly. I’m sorry if you can’t handle that. You never used to be so insecure.”
Fresh outrage coursed through her. “Insecure?
You’re
the one who’s insecure – you’re jealous of Ciaran, because we spent one day together doing publicity for the store.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” he snorted. He got up and stalked to the bathroom. “I’m not jealous of that twat of a film star. And I’m not listening to any more of this crap. I’m taking a shower, and I’m going to bed.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
And as he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door, Holly felt her lower lip begin to wobble. How had things gone so wrong between them, so quickly?
She was weary of putting up with Jamie’s long hours, it was true; and she was tired of listening to his endless paeans to Catherine and her indispensability.
But she wasn’t about to let a silly misunderstanding come between them.
Jamie was right – she’d turned into an insecure, jealous cow lately, obsessing over dead flappers and mooning over a film star like a love-crazed sixth-former.
What had happened to the girl she used to be, she wondered, trekking fearlessly around London, befriending a homeless girl and chasing after a human trafficker, writing articles for publication, interviewing interesting people?
No wonder Jamie doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore
, Holly thought. And who could blame him?
The bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam escaped as Jamie, hips wrapped in one of the white hotel towels, reemerged. He looked at her, his expression wary. “Coming to bed?”
She went and flung her arms around him. He was damp and smelled deliciously of soap and aftershave. “Sorry,” she apologized, “I’ve been awful. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got home. I miss you. I miss spending time with you.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes serious. “I miss you, too, Hols. I know it’s crazy right now, and I’m sorry, but it won’t always be like this.” He kissed her. “I want to do all of those touristy New York things with you. I want to squire you all over town and show you off. Once Gordon Scots is launched, we’ll do all the touristy stuff you can stand, and more.”
Holly tipped her head back and lifted her brow. “More? Like...what kind of ‘more,’ exactly?”
“Like this,” he said huskily as he began to nibble at her ear, “and this,” he added as he rested his hands on her hips and drew her closer so she could feel how much he wanted her.
“So far, I like it,” she breathed, and closed her eyes as his lips roved slowly down her neck.
“Oh, believe me,” he said as he kissed his way down her shoulder, “there’s a lot more ‘more’ where that came from.”
“I need you to go back to the attic,” Coco informed Holly first thing on Monday morning, “and bring the Tiffany lamp and Victrola downstairs. Alastair will want to sell them, or ship them back to England. They can’t stay up there.”
“But I can’t carry that stuff down by myself,” Holly objected. “It’s far too heavy.”
Coco sighed. “Hugh,” she called out as Mr Darcy passed by her office on his way to see Alastair, “would you go up to the attic with Miss James when you have a moment? She needs help carting a couple of antiques downstairs.”
He glanced at Holly. “I can’t right now, I’m busy at the moment. Give me twenty minutes and I’m all yours, Miss
“Well, sorry, but you’re not the only one with a job and responsibilities. Speaking of which,” Holly couldn’t help adding, “how’s your sous chef?”
“Oh, shit – I knew it. You’re jealous of Catherine.”
“Only because all you do is tell me how wonderful she is, how you couldn’t peel a potato or – or caramelize a crème brûleé without her.”
“Oh, for...” he sighed. “We work together, Holly. I’m sorry if you can’t handle that. You never used to be so insecure.”
Fresh outrage coursed through her. “Insecure?
You’re
the one who’s insecure – you’re jealous of Ciaran, because we spent one day together doing publicity for the store.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” he snorted. He got up and stalked to the bathroom. “I’m not jealous of that twat of a film star. And I’m not listening to any more of this crap. I’m taking a shower, and I’m going to bed.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
And as he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door, Holly felt her lower lip begin to wobble. How had things gone so wrong between them, so quickly?
She was weary of putting up with Jamie’s long hours, it was true; and she was tired of listening to his endless paeans to Catherine and her indispensability.
But she wasn’t about to let a silly misunderstanding come between them.
Jamie was right – she’d turned into an insecure, jealous cow lately, obsessing over dead flappers and mooning over a film star like a love-crazed sixth-former.
What had happened to the girl she used to be, she wondered, trekking fearlessly around London, befriending a homeless girl and chasing after a human trafficker, writing articles for publication, interviewing interesting people?
No wonder Jamie doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore
, Holly thought. And who could blame him?
The bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam escaped as Jamie, hips wrapped in one of the white hotel towels, reemerged. He looked at her, his expression wary. “Coming to bed?”
She went and flung her arms around him. He was damp and smelled deliciously of soap and aftershave. “Sorry,” she apologized, “I’ve been awful. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got home. I miss you. I miss spending time with you.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes serious. “I miss you, too, Hols. I know it’s crazy right now, and I’m sorry, but it won’t always be like this.” He kissed her. “I want to do all of those touristy New York things with you. I want to squire you all over town and show you off. Once Gordon Scots is launched, we’ll do all the touristy stuff you can stand, and more.”
Holly tipped her head back and lifted her brow. “More? Like...what kind of ‘more,’ exactly?”
“Like this,” he said huskily as he began to nibble at her ear, “and this,” he added as he rested his hands on her hips and drew her closer so she could feel how much he wanted her.
“So far, I like it,” she breathed, and closed her eyes as his lips roved slowly down her neck.
“Oh, believe me,” he said as he kissed his way down her shoulder, “there’s a lot more ‘more’ where that came from.”
“I need you to go back to the attic,” Coco informed Holly first thing on Monday morning, “and bring the Tiffany lamp and Victrola downstairs. Alastair will want to sell them, or ship them back to England. They can’t stay up there.”
“But I can’t carry that stuff down by myself,” Holly objected. “It’s far too heavy.”
Coco sighed. “Hugh,” she called out as Mr Darcy passed by her office on his way to see Alastair, “would you go up to the attic with Miss James when you have a moment? She needs help carting a couple of antiques downstairs.”
He glanced at Holly. “I can’t right now, I’m busy at the moment. Give me twenty minutes and I’m all yours, Miss
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