Hands On (4 page)

Quiet, that was, until now.

A sound emerged from his mouth, part laughter, part groan. Ginnie kissed as if he were giving her much-needed oxygen: wanting it, demanding it, pulling at him until he’d just about ripped their clothes off and had at that tempting body of hers. What was it about her that made his brain fall out his ear? Her sensual abandon? Her big, sincere hazel eyes? That long, unruly hair he’d be willing to bet had never seen a hint of hairspray?

She had no idea she was kissing “Hairy Bear” Sharpe, tycoon and noted philanthropist. Or, did she? She didn’t seem to know it was his Sharpe Idea Foundation that had yanked donations from all his former recipients—ones like Helping Hand Theatre.

Suspicion, second nature to him by now, flamed anew. Did Ginnie know? It seemed unlikely, but he’d been fooled before. She’d picked the wrong millionaire, if it was her strategy to tug on golden heartstrings.

One way to tell.

As he descended, he heard Ginnie’s voice. She was on his phone!

Harry grimaced. She’d told him there was no one she wanted to call. He was a little surprised at the way his heart plunged with disappointment. A woman being deceiving and sneaky was no more than expected, so why did he feel so let down?

He strode forward. “Okay, game’s up, get the hell off my phone and get out.”

Ginnie was listening intently and writing something down.

“Uh-huh. Five-four-two-four. Thank you very—hey!”

Harry ripped the phone from her grasp and placed into the receiver. “Out.”

Either she was an accomplished actress, or she was totally astonished. “What on earth? I didn’t think you’d mind if I used your phone to call information.”

“Information?” Harry watched her closely.

“Yes. To get the number for my property manager. She has my security deposit. They’d better give me my security deposit back. I’m going to need it. And hopefully they’ll help me get my things out. Do you have a problem with that?” Ginnie folded her arms and waited.

It could be verified. Harry swallowed. He’d made a mistake. The second in as many years, though by no means as severe as the first. Still, he’d screwed up. Ginnie certainly deserved her money back, and any help the company could provide. He’d see to it she got it, without blowing his own cover. “I’m truly sorry,” he said. “I misunderstood something. Feel free to use the phone as much as you like.”

“I’m done.”

Harry shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. “So. You’re trying to get hold of your property manager?”

Ginnie nodded.

The silence stretched. “Please.” He gestured to the phone. When she didn’t immediately reach for it, he handed it to her. “Can I get you some water? Iced tea. Hot tea? Or red wine. I have an extraordinary Cab I’ve been wanting to open.” Harry blinked at Ginnie’s small smile. It made her beautiful.

He backed away. “Cabernet,” he clarified.

“Nothing right now.”

He would bring her some hot tea, or maybe soup. She was probably cold and damp, the way her long curls still clung to her shirt, which in turned clung to her skin so that he could see the outline of her bra. And her nipples. He’d give her something warm.

He’d like to warm her with a hug. A naked hug. He hung between her and his kitchen, oddly indecisive.

She dialed and spoke briefly. He gathered Ginnie had trouble reaching the property manager, which was no surprise since he’d fired the woman. Apparently the company’s party line was that she was taking a long vacation. However, the company was sending over an assistant immediately. Probably Lara, the one who’d tipped off Todd.

Harry nodded, approving, until Ginnie spoke to him. “I need your address.”

His mind whirled. Reveal his address and let Ginnie tell Lara too? But Lara didn’t need to know who he was either. Decided, he told her the address.

She hung up the phone. Still with that smile, she said, “Take off your sweater. Let’s go back to the sofa.”

Harry forgot about the hot tea and soup.

Her voice was soft, almost seductive.

He grasped the bottom edge of his sweater in one hand, pulled it smoothly over his head in a single movement. The pain caught him by surprise.

He’d forgotten about his wound.

At his muttered oath, she nodded. “That’s what I thought. Sit.”

“Bow wow,” he replied sourly. But he handed her the bandages and went to the sofa. He’d possibly made the wound worse. It twinged. He felt warmth trickle.

Ginnie would take care of him. She’d touch him and make it better. Nurse Ginnie. A distracting heat shot through his body. He shifted to conceal his burgeoning erection.

He removed his undershirt. Flirting was one thing, but he wouldn’t get involved, of course. He was just being a Good Samaritan. An injured Good Samaritan. When she was done patching him up, he’d fob her off on the assistant to that irresponsible property manager. Then Ginnie’d be out of his house and out of his hair. Things could return to normal.

But as soon as her warm fingers touched him, his desire returned. How could her fingertips be so gentle, so knowing? If she knew who he was, she’d be less gentle. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

Her fingers stopped, then started moving again. “You saved my life, remember? I guess you’re entitled to be a little cranky. Hold still,” she admonished when Harry made a convulsive movement.
Cranky?

“I think you’ll live,” she declared, patting his bandage.

Harry enjoyed the way she stilled when he pivoted to face her on the sofa, as if she were an animal scenting the presence of a predator. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Are you going to do me now? The bandage,” she clarified, indicating the roll of gauze and tape with a grin. She tugged on the edge of the gauze to illustrate. Her eyes twinkled.

“Are you flirting with me, Ginnie?” He tried to sound disapproving, but failed miserably. He supposed the grin he felt spreading across his own face spoiled the effect.

She met his gaze boldly. “I suppose I am.”

Harry felt the connection between them solidify, a palpable and exhilarating sensation.

Whoa.

He stared at her, at her frank gaze, her alluring curves. Was she daring him?

Tempting.

He was balanced perfectly between devouring her whole and shoving her out the door. How did she do that? Manipulation, or natural allure? He was having trouble thinking, and that disturbed him to the point of falling back on his numbers.

Whenever he found himself upset or disgruntled, for any reason, he counted. Sometimes he added. Sometimes he did long division. Construction material measurement numbers, company bank account numbers, ledger numbers, it didn’t matter so long as it was just numbers marching through his head instead of whatever bothered him. Numbers didn’t change, unless he changed them. Numbers were reliable.

Unlike people.

He forced his hands to remain slow and methodical as he measured one length of gauze—eight inches of gauze, thirteen inches of tape—to wrap around Ginnie’s arm. He smoothed three lumps. He inhaled five times.

“You’re good as new.” He cleared his throat. Twice. The way she was looking at him made his groin stir with pleasure.

“No, I’m really not,” Ginnie confessed. “I’m damaged and dirty and very, very bad.” Her gaze made him clench the seat cushion to either side of his legs to keep from taking her up on the challenge in her eyes.

A tattoo of knocks came from his front door.

He stood, both grateful for and furious at the distraction.

It was the property manager’s assistant. The young woman didn’t seem to recognize him, Harry saw with relief.

Ginnie welcomed her. “You must’ve absolutely raced across town! Thanks for showing up so quickly.”

“They paged me, and I was in the neighborhood. I’m Lara. Ms. Centa is away from the office. On business, she said, when I paged her.” Lara sounded skeptical. “Anyway. Your poor home! And poor you! We’ll get you sorted out.”

Lara’s long hair fell in exotic waves of a rich, dark auburn over proud shoulders and down her back. He noticed her perfect makeup, her tapered waist and tucked-and-belted striped shirt, and the fact that she had a perfect butt. An attractive young woman. But his was an impersonal observation, lacking heat.

He turned his attention to Ginnie. Heat hit him. Her pretty face had more color and an appealing hint of plumpness in all the right places: generously curved and parted lush lips, the dusky rose of her soft cheeks, the sweetly rounded chin. A curl of strawberry brown fell over her forehead. Her clothes were in charming disarray, and her hair untamed as it tumbled and twisted carelessly in gleaming red-brown locks around her neck and chest. She was light and rosy where Lara was dark and golden, and her uptilted breasts and curved hips seemed to call for his touch.

He felt jealous of Lara hugging Ginnie so casually.

He could see Ginnie’s bemusement as she returned the hug. “Wow, people are so friendly up here.” She proceeded to tell Lara the story of her rescue, puppets and all. Harry was absurdly gratified at the heroic role Ginnie gave him.

Until Lara spoke.

“How romantic!” Lara looked as if she wanted to hug Ginnie again. Then she saw Harry’s face. “Or maybe just lucky. Lucky someone was there at just the right time. Anyway.” She glanced from her to Harry, her eyes dancing with speculation and laughter. “Let me tell you the basic facts about how this will go forward. I’ll do my best to help out, take care of the paperwork and help you through this. It will be a little complicated, especially with Ms. Centa in hiding—I mean, away on business.” Lara made a face. “But the company wants to help you. I’ll dig up all your paperwork, help you get your deposit back plus a bit extra—a settlement, really, and it’s not ungenerous—and we’ll make your things as right as they can be as soon as possible. Here, let me share what I’ve got and show you what I’m planning to do.”

“That sounds fair.” Ginnie smiled at Lara as the women put their heads together in obvious camaraderie.

Harry escaped to the kitchen. With two women talking in his living room, it felt like someone else’s house. He was distinctly uncomfortable with the interruption of his routine, but he couldn’t exactly kick them out. Well, he could, but he wasn’t such a bastard that he’d throw a destitute, homeless woman out on the street. Especially one as cute as Ginnie.

What was it about her that charmed him so? Her face, her body, her kiss? He could still feel the soft and giving hot little mouth, the inquisitive tongue. He slit his eyes against the wave of desire that hit him at the memory. He wanted more than just a taste.

At the same time, he wanted her to get her mind-spinning kisses and tempting body away from him. She should just leave.

Ginnie had just made a local friend, hadn’t she? Lara, who seemed nice and great at damage control. Was she nice enough to offer Ginnie a place to stay?

Would Ginnie leave?

Harry walked back into the living room, where a strange sight greeted him. Ginnie crouched behind his sofa with a silk pillowcase crunched up oddly in one fist. Lara watched from a short distance as Ginnie made the pillowcase walk, then tilt its head and then talk. “It’s the cutest house I’ve ever seen!”

With merely a change in her voice and a shifting of position, Ginnie made the same crumpled pillowcase answer with a slithery, faux-enthusiastic demeanor. “This rental is a steal of a deal and will be snapped up within twenty-four hours. If I were you, I’d certainly pounce on it!” The predatory hand puppet stalked, making it clear how it wanted to pounce. And who it wanted to pounce on.

Oblivious, the more naïve puppet replied, “It’s a darling bungalow! And in such a nice neighborhood too! Lucky me. It’s perfect.”

“It suits you perfectly.” Such an evil voice. Such menace. Harry felt a thrill of distaste for the wicked puppet, and at the same time felt sorry for the innocent stalked puppet.

He stared, astonished. Ginnie had serious skill if she was able to evoke such a response using just pillowcases.

When Ginnie stood, Harry applauded. Lara quickly joined him, breaking into merry gales of laughter. “Wow! You really are good. I could totally see Darlene—I mean Ms. Centa.”

“Thanks. You should see what I can do with marionettes.” Ginnie frowned, strode to the front door and opened it—to check on her trunk, Harry assumed. She lifted the lid and looked inside forlornly.

“Hey.” Lara walked after her slowly, then paused, apparently considering. “You know, it’s probably against the rules, but I like you and feel bad about everything that’s happened. Do you want to come crash over at my condo, so you don’t have to dip into your savings? The deposit and settlement paperwork could take a week or two. There’s an extra room you can use for that long, and I’d love to have you over.”

Mixed feelings struck Harry. They would go—Ginnie and her puppets and baggage and her tempting ways. And that was good.

Very good.

Excellent, even.

It was her decision.

Harry paced to the door, counting his steps. The women stood on his porch.

Ginnie looked fondly at Lara, then her gaze slid to the trunk full of debris Harry had helped her rescue from her basement. Her eyes lost some of the laughter from before as she looked at it and the broken props and puppet parts piled inside. She stared longest at the few damaged marionettes she’d been able to grab. He wondered if she was remembering how he’d stepped on one back in her house. A twinge of guilt stabbed at him.

Maybe that’s why he spoke up.

“You could stay here.”

Both women turned to stare at him. He frowned. “What? I have spare rooms as well. And the location isn’t inconvenient.” It wasn’t as luxurious as his vacation home in Cannon Beach, as cozy as his ski cabin in the mountains nearby, or as efficient as the high-tech marvel of his downtown penthouse. It didn’t sit on acres like his ranch outside Denver, or have the view of his Central Park condo. But it was a perfectly adequate house.

Now both women were smiling at him. He felt his eyebrows knit together. He had to remind himself they didn’t know about Jaye Rae’s allegations and they weren’t about to mock or condemn him. He made himself wait, with as expressionless a face as he could manage.