He'd said he wasn't going to get sucked in, and damn it, he'd meant it. “Are you sure this isn't your idea of a bribe? To get me to help you out?”

Sighing a little, she sat back on her heels. “I wonder what makes someone so cynical and unfriendly. I'm sure you have your reasons, but they don't apply here. You did me a favor today, and I'm paying you back. Very simple. Now if you don't want the bush, just say so. I'll give it to someone else.”

He lifted a brow at the tone. “Is that how you keep your kids in line?” “When necessary. Well, what's it to be?”

Maybe he was being too hard on her. She'd made a gesture and he was slapping it back in her face. If she could be casually friendly, so could he. “I've already got a hole in my yard,” he pointed out then knelt beside her. The dog lay down in the sunlight to watch. “We might as well put something in it.”

And that, she supposed, was his idea of a thank you. “Fine.”

“So how old are your kids?” Not that he cared, he told himself. He was just making conversation.

“Five and six. Alex is the oldest, then Jenny.” Her eyes softened as they always did when she thought of them. “They're growing up so fast, I can hardly keep up.”

“What made you come back here after the divorce?”

Her hands tensed in the soil, then began to work again. It was a small and quickly concealed gesture, but he had very sharp eyes. “Because it's home.”

There was a tender spot, he thought and eased around it. “I heard you're going to turn The Towers into a hotel.”

“Just the west wing. That's C.C.'s husband's business.”

“It's hard to picture C.C. married. The last time I saw her she was about twelve.”

“She's grown up now, and beautiful.” “Looks run in the family.”

She glanced up, surprised, then back down again. “I think you've just said something nice.”

“Just stating a fact. The Calhoun sisters were always worth a second look.” To please himself, he reached out to toy with the tip of her ponytail. “Whenever guys got together, the four of you were definitely topics of conversation.”

She laughed a little, thinking how easy life had been back then. “I'm sure we'd have been flattered.”

“I used to look at you,” Holt said slowly. “A lot.”

Wary, she lifted her head. “Really? I never noticed.”

“You wouldn't have.” His hand dropped away again. “Princesses don't notice peasants.”

Now she frowned, not only at the words but at the clipped tone. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”

“It was easy to think of you that way, the princess in the castle.”

“A castle that's been crumbling for years,” she said dryly. “And as I recall, you were too busy swaggering around and juggling girls to notice me.”

He had to grin. “Oh, between the swaggering and juggling, I noticed you all right.”

Something in his eyes set off a little warning bell. It might have been some time since she'd heard that particular sound, but she recognized it and heeded it. She looked down again to firm the dirt around the bush.

“That was a long time ago. I imagine we've both changed quite a bit.” “Can't argue with that.” He pushed at the dirt.

“No, don't shove at it, press it down – firm, but gentle.” Scooting closer, she put her hands over his to show him. “All it needs is a good start, and then –”

She broke off when he turned his hands over to grip hers.

They were close, knees brushing, bodies bent toward each other. He noted that her hands were hard, callused, a direct and fascinating contrast to the soft eyes and tea rose complexion. There was a strength in her fingers that would have surprised him if he hadn't seen for himself how hard she worked. For reasons he couldn't fathom, he found it incredibly erotic.

“You've got strong hands, Suzanna.”

“A gardener's hands,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “And I need them to finish planting this bush.”

He only tightened his grip when she tried to draw away. “We'll get to it. You know, I've thought about kissing you for fifteen years.” He watched the faint smile fade away from her face and the alarm shoot into her eyes. He didn't mind it. It might be best for both of them if she was afraid of him. “That's a long time to think about anything.”

He released one hand, but before she could let out a sigh of relief, he had cupped the back of her neck. His fingers were firm, his grip determined. “I'm just going to get it out of my system.”

She didn't have time to refuse. He was quick. Before she could deny or protest, his mouth was on hers, covering and conquering. There was nothing soft about him. His mouth, his hands, his body when he pulled her against him, were hard and demanding. The swift frisson of fear had her lifting a hand to push against his shoulder. She might as well have tried to move a boulder.

Then the fear turned to an ache. She fisted her hand against him, forced to fight herself now rather than him.

She was taut as a wire. He could feel her nerves sizzle and snap as he clamped her against him. He knew it was wrong, unfair, even despicable, but damn it, he needed to wipe out this fever that continued to burn in him. He needed to convince himself that she was just another woman, that his fantasies of her were only remnants of a boy's foolish dreams.

Then she shuddered. A soft, yielding sound followed. And her lips parted beneath his in irresistible and avid invitation. Swearing, he plunged, dragging her head back by the hair so that he could take more of what she so mindlessly offered.

Her mouth was a banquet, and he too racked with hunger to stem the greed. He could smell her hair, fresh as rainwater, her skin, seductively musky with heat and labor, and the rich and primitive fragrance of earth newly turned. Each separate scent slammed into his system, pumping through his blood, roaring through his head to churn a need he'd hoped to dispel.

She couldn't breathe, or think. All of the weighty and worrisome cares she carried in her vanished. In their place, rioting sensations sprinted. The tensed ripple of muscle under her fingers, the hot and desperate taste of his mouth, the thunder of her heartbeat that raced with dizzying speed. She was wrapped around him now, her fingers digging in, her body straining, her mouth as urgent and impatient as his.

It had been so long since she had been touched. So long since she had tasted a man's desire on her lips. So long since she had wanted any man. But she wanted now – to feel his hands on her, rough and demanding, to have his body cover hers on the soft, sunny grass. To be wild and willful and wanton until this clawing ache was soothed.

The sheer power of that want ripped through her, tearing through her lips in a sobbing moan.

His fingers were curled into her shirt, had nearly ripped it aside before he caught himself, cursed himself. And released her. Her shallow ragged breaths were both condemnation and seduction as he forced himself to pull away. Her eyes had gone to cobalt and were wide with shock.

Small wonder, he thought in livid self-disgust. The woman had nearly been shoved to the ground and ravished in broad daylight.

Her lashes lowered before he could see the shame. “I hope you feel better now.”

“No.” His hands were far from steady, so he curled them into fists. “I don't”

She didn't look at him, couldn't. Nor could she afford to think, just at this moment, of what she had done. To comfort herself she began to spread mulch around the newly planted bush. “If it stays dry, you'll have to water this regularly until it's established.”

For a second time, he gripped her hands. This time she jolted. “Aren't you going to belt me?”

Using well – honed control, she relaxed and looked up. There was something in her eyes, something dark and passionate, but her voice was very calm. “There doesn't seem to be much point in that. I'm sure you're of the opinion that a woman like me would be... needy.”

“I wasn't thinking about your needs when I kissed you. It was a purely selfish act, Suzanna. I'm good at being selfish.”

Because his grip was light, she slipped her hands from under his. “I'm sure you are.” She brushed her palms on her thighs before she rose. The only thought in her head was of getting away, but she made herself load the wheelbarrow calmly. Until he gripped her arm and whirled her around.

“What the hell is this?” His eyes were stormy, his voice as rough as his hands. He wanted her to rage at him – needed it to soothe his conscience. “I all but took you on the ground, without giving a hell of a lot of consideration to whether you'd have liked it or not, and now you're going to load up your cart and go away?”

She was very much afraid she would have liked it. That was why it was imperative that she stay very calm and very controlled. “If you want to pick a fight or a casual lover. Holt, you've come to the wrong person. My children are expecting me home, and I'm very tired of being grabbed.”

Yes, her voice was calm, he thought, even firm, but her arm was trembling lightly under his hold. There was something here, he realized, some secrets she held behind those sad and beautiful eyes. The same stubbornness that had had him pursuing his gold shield made it essential that he discover them.

“Grabbed in general, or just by me?”

“You're the one doing the grabbing.” Her patience was wearing thin. The Calhoun temper was always difficult to control. “I don't like it.”

“That's too bad, because I have a feeling I'm going to be doing a lot more of it before we're through.”

“Maybe I haven't made myself clear. We are through.” She shook loose and grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow.