Unwrapping Holly: by Lisa Renée Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t Jacob standing there, hands in a leather bomber jacket, but Abe, with his truck running a few feet away, as if he was in a hurry.
    “Sorry, man,” Abe offered, motioning to Holly. He wasn’t an instigator, not one to show up unannounced, without Jacob by his side, prodding him. “But Jacob broke his damned leg.”
    “What? How?”
    “Some bastard hit his wife, so Jacob intervened. Managed to land a foot on some ice in the process.”
    Ouch. “How bad?”
    “Bad,” Abe said. “Real bad. Thought you’d want to follow us to the hospital.”
    There was no question—he was following. He might want to beat Jacob’s ass now and then, but Jacob was his baby brother. Cole shook his head. Before he turned back to his truck, Cole quirked a brow. “Did he at least pop the bastard a good one before he went down?”
    Abe laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Popped him a nice shiner. But you know Jacob. He’s looking at possible surgery, and he’s worried about the woman having repercussions from his actions. He’s pretty freaked out.”
    “That’s our boy,” Cole said, referring to the way Jacob was always fighting for the underdog. More than once, it had gotten him in trouble but always with good intentions. And no real man hit a woman. “Tell him I’ll call the sheriff.”
    Abe nodded and Cole slid into his truck and yanked the door shut. Instantly, the sweet scent of her flared his nostrils. Holly. Regret ground through his nerve endings, pulsed in his cock. Turned out, he’d become a one-night stand after all. One that had finished with far too little of a good thing. And he couldn’t be happy about that. No matter how fantasy-worthy this truck had now become.

Chapter Four
    Three days after her hot interlude with a sexy stranger, Holly sat at Betty’s Diner, her laptop in front of her. Surprisingly, she’d managed to put words on a few pages. Her cottage writing escape had become home of the “ruby wish” and subsequent fantasy man, thus a distraction. Which pretty much defeated the purpose of coming home for the holidays this early.
    She couldn’t seem to get anything done there for replaying that night with Cole. The kissing, the touching, how he removed her dress. She plopped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. God. The dress. And then the rash escape out of complete mortification that, once she’d recovered from her embarrassment, left her wondering what might have happened had she stayed.
    “Get you more hot cocoa before I leave for the night, sweetie?” Holly glanced up at Jean, the fiftysomething waitress who’d worked at the diner since Holly was a teen. “No, thanks, Jean.”
    “How’s the next best seller coming?” she asked. “You sure been working hard. And here I thought you got to sit in you pj’s and eat bonbons.”
    Holly grinned at that. “I admit to working in my share of sleepwear, but I’ve yet to eat a bonbon. Though I’ve heard they’re quite yummy.” She made a mental note to tell her mom to cool the bragging, and hug her for being proud enough to do it. Mom had made sure everyone she’d ever met in this lifetime knew when Holly had made the USA Today list.
    Jean snickered. “Well,” she said, hands on her robust hips, accented by a tightly tied white apron, “I can’t produce bonbons, but we got plenty of pie and ice cream in the back if you decide you want some. Carol and Susan will be here until ten.”
    Holly glanced at her watch. It was eight now. She hated writing with a time limit. Damn. She shook off that counterproductive thought and focused on Jean, offering her a genuine smile. “Have a good night and thanks for letting me hog your table so long.” It was true that small towns had negatives, like gossip gabbers, but it also came with lots of friendly faces, a warmer feeling in general that had been too easily missed on previous quick visits home. “It’s nice to be home.”
    “You can hog my table any day,” she said.