"Of course." She moved the washcloth across his chest.

"It's good that I know you," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the touchingest nurse I've ever met. If I wasn't so sure you were innocent, I would swear you were coming on to me."

Holly froze. In her mind's eye she saw how this must look to him. She was sitting on his bed with her hips pressing intimately against his. One hand caressed his face while the other stroked his chest. Okay, the hand on his chest held a washcloth, but that was just window dressing.

"I..." She closed her mouth and wished she could die.

"Don't stop," he said. "I like the attention. I know you mean it impersonally, like a nurse, but my body doesn't exactly understand." He reached for the sheet.

Holly sprang to her feet. When all he did was draw the material up to his chest, she realized she'd overreacted. She dropped the washcloth and pressed her hand to her face. She was going to die. Absolutely die.

She turned on her heel and raced from the room.

"Holly, wait!" Jordan called after her.

She ignored him and kept running. When she reached the cool quiet of her room, she threw herself on her bed and shut her eyes.

How could she have been so silly? Why had she made a fool of herself? It was horrible. She was never going to be able to face Jordan again.

She heard a faint meow-purr, then Mistletoe jumped on the bed and sniffed her face.

"Your mother is a fool," she said, pulling the soft cat down next to her. Mistletoe settled against her side.

What must Jordan be thinking about her? She so wanted to impress him. It was obvious she didn't have a clue as to how to act around men, and he was the last male she should be practicing on.

She wanted to run away and never face him again. The only problem with that plan was the reality of the situation. She had just moved into Jordan's house. This time there was no escape.

Chapter 7.

J ordan had heard Holly come into the house, but so far she hadn't come looking for him. At first he'd told himself she was busy, but after nearly an hour he knew she was avoiding him. The big question was why?

What had he done or said to offend her? He didn't remember much about the previous evening. As Louise had delighted in informing him when he'd finally awakened from a long and restless sleep, his overactivity had caused him to spike another fever. If he kept this up much longer, he was going to fry his brain.

He'd thanked the housekeeper for her concern and had privately agreed with her a.s.sessment. He had to start following the doctor's instructions, or he was never going to get well. That meant staying off his feet most of the time. Which he planned to do, just as soon as he found out what was wrong with Holly.

Moving slowly, he peeled back the sheet and swung his feet to the floor. There was a pair of jeans tossed casually over the nightstand. He grabbed them and tugged them on. He considered a shirt, but didn't think he had the strength. Besides, Holly had seen him bare-chested before and hadn't seemed to notice. He doubted she was going to start now.

He braced himself on the bed and nightstand, then pushed to his feet. The muscles in his legs trembled but didn't give way. After a couple of minutes he felt strong enough to start walking.

Louise had left nearly an hour before. He'd heard her car pull out right after Holly had arrived. The house was huge, and Holly could be anywhere. Once in the hallway, he stopped and listened, then followed the faint sc.r.a.ping sound coming from the dining room.

He grabbed the railing and climbed the three stairs to that level, then rounded the corner. The large crystal chandelier's light filled the room. A radio sat in one corner of the bare floor. Strains of cla.s.sical music drifted toward him. Holly had pushed a drop cloth close to one wall. A piece of plywood resting on two sawhorses gave her a large work s.p.a.ce. There were bottles and brushes, a few cans and a spatula. He took all that in quickly before turning his attention to her.

She stood with her back to him, carefully peeling off strips of wallpaper. She wore jeans that hugged the curves of her hips, rear end and thighs. For a moment he couldn't think about anything but holding her against him. He wanted to trace the curves, cup her softness, touch her, taste her, be with her, in her.

Although he hadn't dated in a while, when he had, he hadn't favored one particular type of woman. He found all their bodies attractive, all their differences intriguing. But looking at Holly, he felt a stirring deep inside, as if she aroused him on a more primal level. He wasn't sure why. She wasn't fashion-model thin, but in his mind that was the best part. He tried not to think about how she would feel on top of him, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilling into his hands, her legs brushing against his.

He swallowed hard and ignored the pressure between his legs. Holly raised her hand to test the seam of the wallpaper farther up the wall. Her sweatshirt rose a couple of inches, exposing pale white skin and the curve of her waist. He swore silently. If she could destroy his self-control without even trying, he didn't want to know what she could accomplish when she put her mind to it. Heaven help them both.

"Hi," he said.

She spun toward him. The spatula went clattering to the floor, and she covered her cheeks with her hands. Her blue eyes widened. "I didn't hear you," she said breathlessly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He motioned to the wall. "What are you doing here?"

She turned her attention to the wall, staring at it blankly as if she had no idea what it meant. In the few moments before she spoke, Jordan studied her profile.

She had a small nose and full lips. Freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. Her thick hair had been pulled back into a ponytail that hung to the middle of her back. He did his best not to notice the thrust of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He didn't want to be in more trouble than he was. Life would be a lot easier if he could remember what he'd said or done to upset her.

"This is the dining room," she said at last. "I'm working on the wallpaper. I use these chemicals instead of a steamer because I don't know what's underneath. They didn't use the same kind of building materials seventy years ago. I brought home some wallpaper books for you to look at. There are two ways to go. There are reprints of original wallpaper or Victorian-inspired prints."

She gave him a quick look, then returned her attention to the wall. "I think you'd be happier with a Victorian-inspired print. The reproductions are often too busy for contemporary tastes. Also, you've got a chair rail running around the room." She touched the molding about three feet off the ground. "You could paint under the chair rail, then use paper above it. That's not how many of the Victorians did things, but it looks nice. I'm not sure how authentic you want the rooms. For most people it's a compromise between the flavor of the period and what they can actually live with."

She paused to take a breath. He realized she was babbling, and hoped that was a good sign. She seemed more nervous than angry. He moved closer, then leaned against the doorjamb to steady himself.

"I don't want to talk about the dining room," he said. "I want to talk about why you're avoiding me."

She gasped softly and ducked her head. He could see the color climbing her cheeks. "You know why."

At least she'd admitted it. That was something. "Holly, I don't-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I understand."

"No, you don't."

"I do. It's silly, really. My only excuse is that while my mother was ill, I took care of her. One of the nurses told me once that chronically ill people don't have much human contact. Oh, they're bathed and fed, but no one touches them just because. They need that contact. It keeps them connected and feeling alive. I did that for years. I guess it's a habit."

She turned her attention from the wall to him. Her mouth twisted. "Pretty stupid, huh, but I swear it's the truth."

"I appreciate your honesty, but I don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about. What exactly are you apologizing for?"

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she got the words out. "You want me to say it?"

"If it's not too much trouble." At her look of incredulity, he shrugged. "I had a fever last night. I don't remember what happened."

"You don't remember?" Her voice rose in volume and pitch. She spun on her heel and began to pace the room. "He doesn't remember. I don't sleep the whole night, and he doesn't remember. Great. Just perfect. I knew it. I'm not ready to be out in the world. This proves it. I should have become a nun."

When she pa.s.sed in front of him, he grabbed her arm and held her in place. "Would you please tell me what you're talking about?"

She drew in a deep breath. "You had a fever. I was trying to cool you off."

"So?"