"Starved."

"Lot's go fix dinner."

He followed her into the kitchen. He liked watching the sway of her hips as she walked. The feminine motion appealed to him on a basic level. It was tough to hang back and be polite when all he really wanted to do was haul her close and have his way with her right there on the hall floor.

When they entered the kitchen, there were stacks of cookie sheets in the sink.

"Louise has started baking," Holly said as she studied the counter. She pointed to a foil-covered dish. "Samples for dessert. I can't wait."

"Louise bakes every year for Christmas. It's a tradition."

She pointed to one of the chairs by the kitchen table. He sank down and relaxed, letting the pain ease out of him. Holly worked quickly. In the past couple of weeks she'd become familiar with the kitchen.

"My Mom used to make cookies, too," she said as she p.r.i.c.ked the potatoes with a fork and set them on a dinner plate. "I think they were sugar cookies. You know, the kind you can decorate. I was in charge of the icing." She leaned against the tile counter and smiled. "I used to get more on my clothes and eat more than ever got on the cookies. She always did special stuff like that with me. We had a lot of fun."

A single strand of blond hair fluttered near her cheek. She brushed it away slowly. Her blue eyes were large and thoughtful, focusing on a past he could only imagine.

"What other traditions did you have?" he asked.

"She used to fill a stocking for me. I loved it. There wasn't anything expensive. Oranges, those chocolate kisses, pens for school, adhesive tape." She looked at him. "What is it about kids and sticky stuff?"

"I'm not sure, but they do love it."

"We always had a real tree. It wasn't very big, but it was beautiful, especially at night, with the lights."

"Did you ever see your father at the holidays?"

Instantly her face changed. All emotion faded, along with her color. Her mouth straightened, and she folded her arms over her chest.

"I met him once," she said. "It was about six years ago. My mother was very ill, and the expenses were enormous. I knew who he was. He has a lot of money. I thought maybe-" She swallowed. "I went to see him to ask him if he could help with the medical bills. He said no and that I shouldn't bother him again."

Hurt hovered around her like fire. He could see it burning away her self-control. He ached for her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She shrugged. "It's no big deal. I didn't care on my behalf. I was worried about my mom. I didn't want her to know I'd gone there or that he'd turned me down."

Jordan glanced at his lap and was surprised to see his hands curled into tight fists. Consciously he relaxed. Holly's father was a first-cla.s.s b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and he would like nothing more than to teach him the price of hurting his own daughter. Holly might claim not to feel pain, but he could see it and feel it radiating from her. She raised her chin slightly and blinked. He realized she was fighting tears.

"I suppose it's silly," she said, her voice thickening. "But he never said anything about being my father. I thought he would. I guess I wanted him to acknowledge me. But he didn't say a word."

Jordan stood up and crossed the linoleum floor. When he was in front of her, he held out his arms, inviting her to find comfort with him. He didn't touch her, somehow sensing the decision had to be hers.

She hesitated for a moment, then threw herself against him. Her hands clawed at his sweatshirt, and her face pressed against his chest. A sob shook her, then another. He held her close.

"It was so h-horrible," she said, the words m.u.f.fled and broken. "I just stood there staring at him. I could s-see we even sort of looked alike. But he didn't say anything. He didn't care about her, and he d-didn't care about me. I thought fathers were supposed to love their children."

Jordan thought about his father. "They are, but not all of them do."

He cupped the back of her head and ran his other hand up and down her spine, all the while murmuring soothingly. He ached for her. It wasn't a physical pain like he had from his injuries. This was down to his soul and into the blackness. It was a hungry pain of loss and emptiness, of forgotten promises and broken dreams. The depth and intensity stunned him. Most of the time he was able to disconnect from everyone else. He was used to not feeling much at all.

When her sobs lessened, he kissed her cheek and brushed the tears from her skin. She continued to cling to him, and he continued to hold her. He knew he was supposed to be comforting her, but there was something soothing and welcoming in her warmth. He tried to ignore the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s flattened against his chest and her thighs brushed his.

She sniffed a couple of times. "I must look horrible," she murmured. "I always do when I cry. My eyes get puffy, and my nose gets red."

"I think it's cute."

She laughed, then stepped away from him. "Thanks, Jordan. I appreciate it." She cleared her throat. "I want to go take a shower. Would you mind if we put off dinner for a half hour or so?"

"That's fine."

She nodded, then started for the door. He called after her, "Holly, your secret is safe with me."

She glanced at him. "I know. You're a good friend." Then she left the room.

He stared after her in equal parts of pleasure and annoyance. He was pleased that she trusted him to hold her and keep her secrets safe. After all, he was a master at keeping secrets. But he didn't like her thinking of him as a friend.

How else should she think of you? a voice in his head asked mockingly.

Jordan didn't have an answer for that. He didn't want a relationship; at least, that was the story he always told himself. He knew firsthand the dangers involved. But a flicker of need inside warned him letting Holly go wasn't going to be as easy as he'd first thought.

Chapter 9.

H olly smoothed the oversize sweater, then reached for the towel on her head. When she pulled it loose, her wet hair tumbled onto her shoulders. She stared at herself in the mirror, then shook her head.

It didn't matter that she'd spent several minutes splashing cold water on her face. She still looked puffy and red eyed. It was obvious she'd been crying.

She should have changed the subject, she told herself. She could talk about her mother and their holiday traditions, and she could talk about that ill-fated trip to visit her father, but she couldn't talk about them together. Every time she thought about what that man had said, how cruel he'd been, she got so mad and so hurt for her mother that she...

Tears burned, but this time she blinked them away. She wasn't going to cry any more. She was supposed to be here looking after Jordan , but every time she turned around, he was taking care of her.

She reached for her brush and began the slow process of untangling her hair. When that was done, she plugged in the blow dryer, then bent over at the waist and started drying her hair. The low, steady roar of the machine was soothingly familiar. She cleared her mind of unpleasant thoughts and resolved only to think about nice things for the rest of the evening.

That was easy, she thought with a smile. She would focus on Jordan . A delicious, sensual shiver went through her as she remembered what it had been like when he'd held her. She knew he'd meant it as a comforting gesture. But she'd liked the feel of his arms around her. She'd felt safe and comforted at the same time. He was strong yet gentle. Usually she didn't show a lot of herself to other people. She didn't have much experience with relationships, even friendship, and her awkwardness made her wary. But around him, she forgot to be afraid.

Very out of character, she told herself as she straightened and began to dry the front of her hair. But then several family members had told her that Jordan was a brooding loner, and she'd never seen that part of him. Maybe they were different with each other than they were with the rest of the world. Maybe the odd circ.u.mstances allowed them to let go of the barriers normally in place. She would like to believe Jordan thought of her as special, even though she knew she was fooling herself. He probably had dozens of women in his life. He wouldn't have time for her.

Then why aren't any of those women here? a voice in her head asked.

Holly didn't have an answer for that. She didn't want to think about it, either. If she allowed herself to hope, she would end up being disappointed, or worse, hurt. She didn't want to do that. Besides, there was no point in wishing for a romantic relationship when she wasn't willing to commit to one.

Something warm rubbed against her leg. She glanced down and saw Mistletoe.

"We always want what we can't have," she said, then turned the blow dryer to warm and patted the counter.

Mistletoe was huge, with her wide belly hanging low. The cat couldn't make the jump to the counter easily, so she jumped onto the toilet, then stepped across. When she stretched out by the sink, Holly petted her soft fur.

"How's my pretty girl? Are you enjoying this big house?"