Georgie's Heart (18 page)

By then, Georgeanne no longer entertained any doubts about her ability to please him. She no longer thought at all. The only thing she could do was feel, and she felt every touch, every kiss, and every caress in her very core, where the sensations soon built to a flashpoint and exploded into a fiery cascade of pleasure that rendered her limp and satisfied in every cell of her body.

She observed, as if from a great distance, Zane's echoing groan of pleasure, and she felt pleased that he had enjoyed their lovemaking.

They lay entwined together and let consciousness return slowly. Georgeanne knew, in every corner of her being, that everything in her life had just altered somehow, but at the moment, she had no great interest in examining the changes.

“What's that weird sound?” Georgeanne lifted her head off the pillow in search of it. Surely it couldn't be her heart, although she wasn't willing to take any bets.

Zane groaned. It wasn't the sort of groan Georgeanne enjoyed hearing, because it sounded more like, “Oh, no,” than it did, “More, please.”

“It's my pager,” he said. “I have to call in.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Georgeanne couldn't believe it, in spite of what she knew about doctors.

“Probably.” He rolled to the edge of the bed.

His pager was attached to the waistband of his trousers, and Zane had to search a moment before he found it and touched the button that revealed the telephone number he was to call.

After a short, grim, conversation, he turned to Georgeanne. “Believe it or not, I have to go. There's been a bad car wreck, with several people badly injured, including two children. I'm sorry, Georgie. I should have known better than to start something when I knew this could happen.” He admired her nude body a moment. “However, I can't regret it, in spite of all the plans I had not to jump on you the minute you walked in the door.”

Georgeanne sat up and reached for her blouse, conscious of the smile she could not help that spread across her face. “Dare I say I'm glad you did? Just imagine if that page had occurred a mere ten minutes ago.”

Zane laughed. “I might not have heard it for the roaring in my ears. Here.” He pulled on his shirt and reached for his robe, which lay across the back of a chair. “You don't have to get dressed right away. Put this on and let me remember how you look in it while I'm at the hospital.”

Georgeanne understood the grim expression doctors developed when their patients weren't doing well, and she knew Zane's mind was already at the hospital with the two injured children. She obligingly slipped her arms into the blue velour robe and belted it around her waist.

Zane, fully dressed in the time it took Georgeanne to put on his robe, reached for his car keys and took a moment to stare longingly at Georgeanne. “That robe was made for you. Be comfortable, Georgie. And save me some of that popcorn, okay? I don't know what time I'll be home.”

He kissed her, one hard, lingering kiss, and then left, half-running down the stairs to his car. Georgeanne stood in the door and watched him drive away then went back inside, feeling lost.

She saw only one thing to do. Georgeanne marched to the refrigerator, which had been well stocked with cold drinks, poured herself a soft drink over ice, then came back to the living room and put a Roy Rogers video on.

Zane's robe was far more comfortable than her outfit, and it smelled of his favorite crisp spicy aftershave. She snuggled into it and curled up on the sofa, where she sampled some of the flavored popcorn while she watched the movie in a desultory fashion. Since she didn't want to provoke comment, she left Fritzi Field's book where it was, merely shoving two popcorn containers in front of it to screen it from her view.

Someone knocked smartly at the door. Georgeanne started and leaped to her feet. She was not about to answer Zane's door dressed in his robe.

“Open up in there.”

It was Zane. Thrilled, Georgeanne rushed to the door, looked through the peephole to be sure, and hastened to unlock the door and pull it open. Just as the door swung open, she remembered Zane had gone to the hospital wearing dark trousers and a white polo shirt topped by a blue wind breaker. This man wore khaki trousers and a plaid shirt and carried a leather traveling case.

“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here?” He remained on the doorstep, staring at her with deep interest.

Hunter Howell had picked today, of all days, to pay Zane a visit. He was amazingly like Zane, except for certain nuances of expression and the more backswept style of his dark hair. She looked closer and realized that where Zane's expression was open and interested, Hunter Howell's was closed in and wary. The contrast showed all too clearly the differences in their upbringing.

“You must be Zane's brother.” She couldn't turn him away, not when he probably didn't see Zane very often. “Please come in. Zane had to go to the hospital. He should be back … sometime soon.” She stepped back, checking to see that Zane's robe was securely wrapped.

“Right.” Hunter strolled inside with an attitude Georgeanne had often seen in young boys trying to impress the clinic staff with their fearlessness. “I was just passing through on my way to New York, and thought I'd stopover in Houston. But if he already has company, maybe I'd better not stay.”

“Only for the day,” Georgeanne interrupted hastily. “Please sit down. I hope you like Roy Rogers and flavored popcorn.”

Hunter surveyed the cartons and the shoot-out taking place on the television screen. “The popcorn, yes. Roy Rogers is a pleasure I've missed until now.” He looked at her, and his gaze suddenly went hard and assessing. “I don't care to interrupt anything. I'd better check back later.”

Georgeanne realized two things; one, that Hunter had probably taken a taxi from Houston Intercontinental and had dismissed it, and two, that he fully expected her to make a pass at him. He reminded her so much of a truculent little boy, she couldn't be angry.

“Actually, I'd better be the one to leave,” she said. “You probably don't get to visit with him very often, whereas I live nearby. Please make yourself comfortable.”

She didn't give him a chance to reply and fled to Zane's bedroom. Fully dressed, she entered the living room and found that Hunter had made himself at home with a beer and the popcorn, and stared in amazement at the movie, although he rose immediately when he saw her.

“This isn't bad,” he said, indicating the popcorn. “Did you make it?”

“Zane picked it up at — ” she checked one of the cartons “ — Imelda's Popcorn Palace. Please tell him that he can call me later tonight.”

“Not so fast.” Hunter moved with casual grace to block her exit. “You haven't told me your name.”

“I'm Georgeanne Hartfield.” She sought for something else to add, but there was nothing she could say unless she cared to ask for his autograph. She didn't.

“Hartfield.” He scanned her tall figure in a way that made Georgeanne stiffen automatically. “You're the person he's been talking with about opening a clinic for people without insurance, right? Well, well.”

Georgeanne said nothing. This was Zane's brother, she told herself. He probably thought he was protecting Zane.

“You are the one, aren't you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Georgeanne said. “I'm the one. Excuse me, please. I'd better be leaving.”

“What's your hurry? Are you afraid I'm going to attack you?”

“I think you have that backwards, Mr. Howell.” Georgeanne's full mouth tightened. “Now get out of my way before I decide you're enough like Zane to be worth attacking.”

He burst into delighted laughter. “That's good. That's very good. It put me in my place nicely. Please don't go, Georgeanne.” Zane's open charm lit Hunter's gray eyes, temporarily depriving Georgeanne of her breath. He gestured toward the sofa. “My brother will get home and kill me. There's no way he's going to think I'm an adequate substitute for you.”

“The two of you have a lot to catch up on, I'm sure.” Georgeanne edged toward the door. “He can call me anytime.”

“For that matter, he can call me anytime,” Hunter said, in his sardonic way. “Come sit down, Georgeanne Hartfield. I'm now convinced that you aren't going to expect me to carry on where Zane left off.”

Georgeanne suppressed a smile. “Is that right? What makes you think that?”

“I can tell when a woman isn't interested as well as any other man. Now come sit down before Zane shows up and wants to know what I've done with you.”

Georgeanne sat down on an easy chair while Hunter shut off the Roy Rogers movie and settled on the sofa to study her.

“You're not the sort of woman I'd have expected my brother to go for,” he said. “On the other hand, what do I know about his tastes?”

There was nothing she could reply to this, so Georgeanne said nothing.

“But you have honest eyes, in addition to your obvious beauty.” Hunter looked her over carefully. “I can see why you would appeal to him.”

“Thank you, I think.” Georgeanne, unembarrassed, looked him over also and smothered surprise that Hunter Howell thought she was beautiful, until she decided he was being polite.

“Yes, I see it now.” Hunter narrowed his gray eyes. “You have a lot of strength and compassion. Zane has had it with women who think of nothing but their careers.”

Georgeanne gulped. She didn't need to hear what Zane wanted or didn't want in a woman. Not when she still had to tell him about
Faking It
. She'd talk a minute or two more, and then she was leaving — she didn't care what Hunter Howell said.

“Perhaps you should consider writing a book telling women what men want,” she said.

“You mean, write one of those horrific pop advice books?” Hunter's beautiful mouth, so like Zane's, twisted in a way that Georgeanne was sure Zane's had never twisted. “Hellish, isn't it, what people read for advice? Take that book.” He indicated
Faking It.
“Now a woman is supposed to trick a man into thinking she's enjoying herself when she isn't.”

Georgeanne bristled. “Have you read it?”

“I was on a talk show where they discussed it last week.” He pinned her with an accusing gray stare. “Why are you reading it?”

Georgeanne could almost hear the lecture trembling on his lips. “It isn't mine. It's Zane's. Now, if you'll excuse me — ”

“It's Zane's?” Hunter eyed the book incredulously. “Why on earth is he reading that?”

“You'll have to ask him, Mr. Howell.”

A key sounded in the lock, and Hunter turned his head toward the door. “I think I will.”

*

Zane stepped inside, and his hungry gaze was met, not by Georgeanne still wearing his robe as he'd half-hoped, but by his brother, waving a familiar book at him. Zane forced himself to adjust to the new scenario. “Hi, Hunt. I thought you were in Los Angeles.”

“Why the hell are you reading this crazy book?” Hunter demanded. “Are you going to start suggesting it to your patients who are having trouble in their marriages?”

Zane located Georgeanne, who perched uncomfortably on an easy chair near the door. “My patients aren't old enough to be married,” he said. “I'm reading it because everywhere I go, people are arguing about it and asking Georgie's opinion on it. I want to see what has everybody so stirred up.”

“Oh, yes?” Hunter followed his twin's rapt gaze, then studied Zane's face in a knowing way. “She's an expert on this book?” He grinned suddenly. “How nice for you.”

“Everyone seems to think she's an expert on it,” Zane said, his gaze still focused upon Georgeanne. “She's a psychologist.”

“Whoa,” Hunter said. “Do you mean I've been talking to a psychologist for the past ten minutes?”

Georgeanne's face turned semaphore red, Zane noted, the moment Hunter asked if she was an expert on
Faking It
.

She stood, with a look of determination on her face. “You're quite safe, Mr. Howell. Although I have a degree in psychology, I've never practiced as a psychologist. Zane, I'd better be going. You and your brother probably have a lot to talk about.”

“Hold it, Georgie. You aren't going anywhere.” Zane came swiftly to her side and slipped one arm around her waist. The other hand he held out to Hunter. “Is there something wrong with your telephone?”

Hunter roared with laughter, flung his arms around his brother and hugged him, then collapsed back onto the sofa. “What he means is, I'm very much in the way,” he confided to Georgeanne. “Georgie was too kind-hearted to chase me off, seeing that I've come all this way and my taxi had already driven off, so you're stuck with me,” he told Zane. “Besides, you're the oldest. It's your job to look out for me while I'm in this city.”

Zane saw that Hunter had instantly assessed his relationship with Georgeanne and had adopted her nickname accordingly. “I'm the oldest by a whole ten minutes.” Zane pulled Georgeanne closer. “Georgie, I'm sorry about this. In Hollywood, the stars never dial the phone themselves. If no one is around to do the dialing, their relatives don't get notified of their impending descent.”

“I'd have had my agent update my Twitter account if I'd thought of it,” Hunter said, grinning. “I'm too fascinated by the fact that Georgie's a psychologist and an expert on this book to leave now. I have it straight from a famous psychiatrist that the author is definitely a man-hater. What do you say, Georgie?”

Zane could almost feel Georgeanne's quandary. She wanted to answer, and she wanted to avoid answering, but why, he could not fathom. Definitely, something about this book called forth a deeply felt response from Georgeanne, not to mention almost every other woman of his acquaintance.