The dog sent up a din. Holt had one hand on Sadie's collar as he opened the door. “You made it. I thought I might have to come after you.”

“I told you I'd be here.” She stepped inside. “What do you have to show me?”

When he was sure Sadie would do no more than sniff and whine for attention, he released her. “Your aunt showed a lot more interest in the cottage.”

“I'm a little pressed for time.” After giving the dog an absent pat, she stuck her hands into the pockets of her baggy cotton slacks. “It's very nice.” She glanced around, took in nothing. “You must be comfortable here.”

“I get by,” he said slowly, his eyes keen on her face. There wasn't a trace of color in her cheeks. Her eyes were too dark. He'd wanted to make her aware of him, maybe uncomfortably aware, but he hadn't wanted to make her sick with fear at the thought of seeing him again.

“You can relax, Suzanna.” His voice was curt and dismissive. “I'm not going to jump you.”

Her nerves stretched taut on the thin wire of control. “Can we just get on with this?”

“Yeah, we can get on with it, as soon as you stop standing there as if you're about to be chained and beaten. I haven't done anything – yet – to make you look at me that way.”

“I'm not looking at you in any way.”

“The hell you're not. Damn it, your hands are shaking.” Furious, he grabbed them. “Stop it,” he demanded. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“It has nothing to do with you.” She yanked her hands away, hating the fact that she couldn't stop them from trembling. “Why should you think that anything I feel, any way I look depends on you? I have my own life, my own feelings. I'm not some weak, terrified woman who falls apart because a man raises his voice. Do you really think I'm afraid of you? Do you really think you could hurt me after –”

She broke off, appalled. She'd been shouting, and the furious tears were still burning her eyes. Her stomach was clenched so tight she could hardly breathe. Sadie had retreated to a corner and sat quivering. Holt stood a foot away, staring at her, eyes narrowed in speculation.

“I have to go,” she managed, and bolted for the door. His hand slapped the wood and held it shut. “Let me go.” When her voice broke, she bit down on her lip. She struggled with the door then whirled on him, eyes blazing. “I said let me go.”

“Go ahead,” he said with surprising calm, “take a punch at me. But you're not going anywhere while you're churned up like this.”

“If I'm churned up, it's my own business. I told you, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay, so you're not going to hit me. Let's try another release valve.” He put his hands firmly on either side of her face and covered her mouth with his.

It wasn't a kiss meant to soothe or comfort. It did neither. This was raw and turbulent emotion and matched her own feelings completely.

Her arms were caught between them, her hands still fisted. Her body trembled; her skin heated. At the first flicker of response, he dived into the rough, desperate kiss until he was certain the only thing she was thinking about was him.

Then he took a moment longer, to please himself. She was a volcano waiting to erupt, a storm ready to blow. Her pent – up passion packed a punch more stunning than her fist could have. He intended to be around for the explosion, but he could wait.

When he released her, she leaned back against the door, her eyes closed, breath hitching. Watching her, he realized he'd never seen anyone fight so hard for control.

“Sit down.” She shook her head. “All right, stand.” With a dismissive shrug, he moved away to light a cigarette. “Either way you're going to tell me what set you off.”

“I don't want to talk to you.”

He sat on the arm of a chair and blew out a stream of smoke. “Lots of people haven't wanted to talk to me. But I usually find out what I want to know.”

She opened her eyes. They were dry now, which relieved him considerably. “Is this an interrogation?”

With another shrug, he brought the cigarette to his lips again. It wouldn't do her any good if he caved in and offered,soft words. He wasn't even sure he had them. “It can be.”

She thought about pulling the door open and leaving. But he would only stop her. She'd learned the hard way that there were some battles a woman couldn't win.

“It isn't worth it,” she said wearily. “I shouldn't have come while I was upset, but I thought I got myself under control.”

“Upset about what?”

“It isn't important.”

“Then it shouldn't be a problem to tell me.”

“Bax called. My ex – husband.” To comfort herself she began to roam the room.

Holt studied the tip of his cigarette, reminding himself that jealousy was out of place. “Looks like he can still stir you up.”

“One phone call. One, and I'm back under his thumb.” There was a bitterness in her voice he hadn't expected from her. He said nothing. “There's nothing I can do. Nothing. He's going to take the children for two weeks. I can't stop him.”

Holt let out an impatient breath. “For God's sake is that what all this hysteria's about? So the kids go off with Daddy for a couple of weeks.” Disgusted, he crushed out his cigarette. And to think he'd been worried about her. “Save the vindictive – wife routine, babe. He's got a right.”

“Oh yes, he's got the right.” Her voice shook with an emotion so deep that Holt's head snapped up again. “Because it says so on a piece of paper. And he was there when they were conceived, so that makes him their father. Of course, that doesn't mean he has to love them, or worry about them or struggle to raise them without malice. It doesn't mean he has to remember Christmas or birthdays. It's just as Bax told me on the phone. There's nothing in the custody agreement that obligates him to send birthday cards. But it does obligate me to turn the children over to him when he has the whim.”

There were tears threatening again, but she refused them. Tears in front of a man never brought anything but humiliation. “Do you think this is about me? He can't hurt me anymore. But my children don't deserve to be used so that he can try to pay me back for being so much less than he wanted.”

Holt felt something hot and lethal spread in his gut. “He did a good job on you, didn't he?”

“That isn't the point. Alex and Jenny are the point. Somehow I have to convince them that the father who hasn't bothered to contact them in months, who could barely tolerate them when they lived under the same roof, is going to take them on a wonderful two-week vacation.” Suddenly tired, she pushed her hands through her hair. “I didn't come here to talk about this.”

“Yes, you did.” Calmer, Holt lit another cigarette.

If he didn't do something with his hands, he was going to touch her again, and he wasn't sure either of them could handle it “I'm not family, so I'm safe. You can dump on me and figure I won't lose any sleep over it.” She smiled a little. “Maybe you're right, Sorry.”

“I didn't ask for an apology. How do the kids feel about him?” “He's a stranger.”

“Then they probably don't have any preset expectations. Seems to me they might think of the whole thing as an adventure – and that you're letting him push your buttons. If he is using them to get to you, he hit bull's – eye.”

“I'd already come to those same conclusions myself. I needed to vent some excess frustration.” She tried a smile again. “Usually I just pull some weeds.”

“I think kissing me worked better.” “It was different anyway.”

He tapped out his cigarette and rose. The hell with what they could handle. “Is that the best description you can come up with?”

“Off the top of my head. Holt,” she began when he slid his arms around her.

“Yeah?” He nipped at her chin, then her mouth. “I don't want to be held.” But she did, too much.

“That's too bad.” His arms tightened, bringing her closer.

“You asked me to come here so you could...” She made a little sound of distress when he closed his teeth over her earlobe. “You could show me something of your grandfather's.”

“That's right” Her skin smelled like the air high on the cliffs – laced with the sea and wildflowers and hot summer sunlight. “I also asked you here so I could get my hands on you again. We'll just take one thing at a time.”

“I don't want to get involved.” But even as she said it, her mouth was moving to meet his.

“Me, either.” He changed the angle and sucked on her bottom lip. “This is just – oh – chemistry.” Her fingers tangled in his hair.

“You bet.” His rough – palmed hands slipped under her shirt to explore. “It can't go anywhere.”

“It already is.”

He was right about that, as well. For one brief moment she let herself fall into the kiss, into the heat. She needed something, someone. If she couldn't have comfort or compassion, she would take desire. But the more she took, the more her body strained for something just out of reach. Something she couldn't afford to want or need again.

“This is too fast,” she said breathlessly, and struggled away. “I'm sorry, I realize it must seem as though I'm sending you mixed signals.”

He was watching her eyes, just her eyes, as his body pulsed. “I think I can sort them out.”

“I don't want to start something I won't be able to finish.” She moistened her lips still warm from his.

“And I have too many responsibilities, too much to worry about right now to even think about having...”

“An affair?” he finished. “You're going to have to think about it.” With his eyes still on hers, he gathered her hair in his hand. “Go ahead, take a few days. I can afford to be patient as long as I get what I want. And I want you.”