Hands On (18 page)

Harry’s fingers stilled in her hair.

“You’re acquainted with him, I see.” Ginnie propped herself up on one elbow, her expression reproachful. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her soft words speared him. Harry tried to remember his reasons for the deception. They’d been good reasons, valid reasons. Why couldn’t he remember what they were with her looking at him like that? “I didn’t think… I didn’t realize…” He felt awkward with guilt. It was a singularly uncomfortable sensation.

“You didn’t think we’d be together long enough for it to be an issue.” It wasn’t a question. Her eyes seemed to hold him prisoner.

“It’s not just that.”

“Just? Just that?” Her reproachful expression deepened into hurt.

“In the beginning, I thought that way,” he explained. “Things are different now. You know I’m a private man, and a methodical one. It’s a habit to be cautious. A valuable habit in my line of work, and in my life.” His state of relaxation slowly disappeared. He missed it, but he knew it was his own fault. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. Is it a big problem? My being H. Barrett Sharpe?”

“Maybe. I understand you’re the one who pulled the Helping Hands grant.” Her voice was cool. “Do you know how much unhappiness you caused by doing that?”

“I examined where Jaye Rae’s donations went. She was temporarily in charge of that part of my business, and when that ended, I reviewed the grants. Helping Hands didn’t help themselves when they took an official position against my supposed pedophilia.” Harry had actually forgotten about Helping Hands. “I’ll re-instate the grant, if you wish. I want to make you happy.”

Ginnie blinked. “Seriously? You’d do it, just like that?”

“For you? Of course.”

“That would be…amazingly generous.” She smiled, wondering and gentle again. “Harry. Barrett.” She was trying on his name. “I understand you might not want to advertise you have piles and piles of money. It might draw the wrong sort.” Ginnie shifted, brushing her body against his. Tingles ran up and down his body. He still wanted her badly, though they’d just finished making love. “I guess the biggest problem right now is that I don’t know what to call you.” She gazed down at him, a small smile playing about her lips.

He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It would be okay. She’d forgiven him. She’d forgiven him pretty quickly. “Harry’s good. It’s my nickname. Everyone I like calls me that.” Why had she forgiven him so quickly?

“It just seems weird for a billionaire tycoon to be named Harry,” she teased, snuggling once more against him. She ran her hand down his chest, over his taut belly. “You definitely have hair. Hmmm, yes, quite a bit.”

He moaned in pleasure, but she reversed her hand, burrowing it like a small animal in his chest hair. “Hairy.”

“Yes?”

“I want to tell you something. Let me just say it, and then you don’t say anything back, okay? Just listen and don’t say anything back. Then I’ll turn off the lights and we’ll crawl under the sheets and fall asleep together. Just please don’t say anything back. Okay?”

Any hope of relaxing drained completely away. Wariness filled him, stiffened his spine, made his voice cool. “I understand.”

“Harry. I love you. I can’t help it at all. It’s completely out of my control. I’ve loved you for a while now, and I wanted to say the words. I love you. There, it’s said.” She turned over and reached to flip off the light. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight.” Harry lay on his back in the dark.

She loved him.

How had things gotten so deep, so quickly? It couldn’t possibly be real love. They’d met less than a month ago.

Panic dried up all the saliva in his mouth and set his heart to pounding too quickly, frighteningly quickly. His stomach felt like a clenched knot. He’d let things go too far, too fast and now he had to fix matters. He’d told her he didn’t want a relationship. Why hadn’t she listened? What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking, he realized. She’d been feeling. She’d simply done what she always did: led with her heart, leaping first and only then looking around for a net.

She clearly believed she loved him.

Or did she really believe it?

His thoughts raced dangerously. She’d said the words…but only after she’d found out he was a billionaire.

Then she’d gone and turned out the lights. To hide her deception?

No.

Well, possibly. It had to be considered.

With an effort, Harry reclaimed control over his wildly careening thoughts.

It was all his own fault. He’d let her in. He’d opened himself up and asked for it. Now he had to deal with it.

Too bad for her she’d shown her manipulative hands on the strings with her confession of love. That sort of relationship would end badly sooner or later.

It had to end, now. Still, he didn’t look forward to cutting those strings. He could tell that her feelings weren’t completely feigned.

He knew what he had to do was going to devastate her.

He also knew he was going to do it anyway.

Chapter Eleven

Ginnie shook granola into her cereal bowl the next morning while Harry showered. It wasn’t until she sat down to eat it that she realized she wasn’t hungry. The butterflies in her belly saw to that.

She pushed the bowl away.

Her fingers were trembling.

She was bursting with nervous exhilaration and anticipation. And maybe a little fear.

Maybe a lot of fear. Though she felt good about telling Harry the extent of her feelings for him, she wasn’t sure how he’d react. Would he consider it a meaningless endearment? Would he dislike her for manipulating him, controlling the bombshell of her declaration, then turning out the lights? Would he despise her for her weakness, the way her mother and Rick used to?

Telling Harry she loved him made her feel vulnerable. Especially since it was still one-sided.

She heard his getting-ready-for-work sounds—the pull of drawers, the creak of hardwood floors—and tensed.

A few moments later, he strolled through the archway dividing the kitchen from the dining room, still towel-drying his hair.

She let her gaze travel over his form, a reflexive admiration of the way his custom-tailored business shirt and slacks showcased his body.

“Hey there, handsome man.” She stood to kiss him.

He obliged, holding her lightly. The feel of his lips resting so briefly against hers didn’t quite reassure her. It was a cool, distant kind of kiss. “Are you okay?” She let her arms linger around his waist, trapping him for the moment.

He became motionless. She could feel tension in his absolute stillness. His voice, when he spoke, was just as controlled. “I feel fine. Why?”

Smooth. Inaccessibly so.

She made a rude sound. “I was wondering what you thought about what I said last night.”

“You said a few things last night.” A smile played about his mouth. He broke from her embrace gracefully and without a wasted movement. “All of them delightful.”

“I meant after that. I was wondering if you’re okay with what I said.” Her body heated at the memories of their lovemaking, even as her heart sped up due to nerves. “Just before I turned out the lights?”

“I know.” He opened a cabinet to reach for a coffee mug, then seemed to change his mind and shut the cabinet door again. “What I think is that you’re a lovely and lovable woman.” On the way out, he kissed her on the mouth again.

He left.

It wasn’t until she was halfway through her cereal that she realized he hadn’t said the words back to her.

Harry tried for the thirteenth time to analyze the advances and declines in a client’s tech stocks. But not only didn’t the numbers soothe him, they didn’t even focus him. The encouragingly green numbers crunched by his state-of-the-art financial software scrolled across his enormous monitor.

But yet again, instead of seeing the numbers, he saw Ginnie. He heard her laughing in his basement as they danced their puppets together. He felt her warm curves as he carried her across his house to his bed. He smelled the fresh aroma of her hair and tasted the instantly addictive flavor of her mouth as their bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm.

His large corner office always provided a refuge, a place to regroup and focus on his clients and on himself. Success was the name of the game.

He gave up on the client’s tech stocks. With a click, he opened up the live intra-day market analysis of the U.S. stock and bond markets, technology stocks, economic releases, earnings reports and day trading highlights.

Visions of Ginnie danced through his head.

She’d said she loved him. Barely knowing him, she’d told him those words. It didn’t matter if she did think she meant them, he told himself. He knew he didn’t have it in him to give her the trust she deserved. Unlike Ginnie, he’d had his playfulness and childlikeness seared right off him, like a wart, like something he didn’t need or want at all, and he was comfortable with things that way. That’s what Ginnie didn’t get or didn’t believe.

Sometimes there wasn’t any going back. Nor did he want to. Better that Ginnie realized it now rather than later.

He’d hoped, oh how he’d hoped without even knowing he’d hoped, that Ginnie was different, but now he’d always wonder whether she was after his money too.

Cursing, he switched off the monitor with such savagery he heard something crack.

“Easy on the equipment, boss. We’re not made of money, you know. Well, I’m not.” Todd entered with his usual saunter, but his eyes were narrowed. He carried a netbook, as all Harry’s employees did. “You feeling okay?”

“Fine.” He should feel fine. Things were about to get back to normal. Just as soon as he kicked Ginnie out of his life.

“You look like hell.”

“You’re fired.”

Todd just grinned, but Harry noticed it looked strained. “Something up?”

Now Todd looked downright uncomfortable. “Ah. The thing is…well.” He tapped the small computer. “Norbert Kenton’s portfolio just took an unexpected serious dip, and he’s pretty pissed,” Todd clarified.

“
What?
” Harry snatched the computer from Todd’s hand, scanned the numbers. He’d personally overseen Todd on this particular client, who demanded only the best to handle his wealth. That was Harry.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he absorbed the bad news.

He shifted into damage-control mode, and in tense, staccato bursts, gave specific instructions to Todd for the dissemination of action plans to the international partners. The different time zones would allow them to salvage what they could of this particular screw-up.

But it never should have happened.

With the messages sent and the instructions given, Todd paused on his way out. “Hey. You okay?” He sounded worried. “And more importantly, am I really fired?”

Todd should be worried. Harry’s daydreaming had nearly caused the head of the company to allow their best client to take a bath. Harry shook his head.

He waved Todd out. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not even to Todd.

He drew in a deep breath, turned on his computer and refreshed the screen to see the instant updates on Norbert’s account.

Still red, but trending slowly back up toward green. Another few minutes should put the investments back in balance.

Harry let out the breath he’d been holding. His head swam with the hugeness of the financial disaster he’d barely averted.

Certainty filled him. He knew precisely what was wrong with him, and he knew how to fix it.

Ginnie hung up the phone, scrawling the date of the new gig on her Jim Henson calendar. She viewed the little boxes of filled-up days with satisfaction as she re-hung the evidence of her wonderful career. She put it right over the repair bench where she could easily see it.

The word was getting out. People liked her, wanted her.

She glanced around Harry’s basement at the bookshelves slowly filling with unpacked books and DVDs. She gazed at the closet rails set up in the free-standing wardrobes containing her equipment. There was everything, from the raw materials—plaster, wood, metal, wires, leather, string, wigs, paint, tools—to small sets of clothes hanging like accidentally shrunken tops and pants and dresses on standard-sized coat hangers.

She even had her portable sound system with its speaker stands, her collapsible stages, her clip-on lamps. It all fit in one corner of Harry’s huge basement.

She gnawed on her lower lip. Was she becoming more than a roommate to him? A little more? A lot more? She simply couldn’t tell.

She began to repair a Sicilian rod marionette, Damian the Dragon. One rod controlled the gleaming mahogany creature’s head movements, while a second rod was attached to its brightly scaled right arm. The arm was controlled by a cord, and the lizard legs, which swung free, moved by their own weight. Some of the dragon scales had fallen off. Ginnie painstakingly re-attached Damian’s scales, but her mind flew ahead of the task.

Her whole being anticipated Harry’s arrival back home. She refused to worry about his lack of mushiness—he’d say the three little words eventually. She wanted more of his hands moving magically on her. How astonishing, the way she’d reconciled her submission to him with her need for control. She remembered how it felt when he’d shown her how exquisite lovemaking could be if she trusted enough to let go of the reins. She remembered how his deep voice caused shivers up and down her body, and the boyish grin on his face when they’d danced together by puppet-proxy.

Of course, he’d saved her life. He’d be entitled to a little bit of her affection for that alone. But he’d accomplished more. He hadn’t just saved her life, he’d rescued her heart. At some point after he’d sent Rick packing, he’d become the True North to the compass of her heart. He accepted her—flaws and all. It was a heady experience.

“You’re a handsome dragon,” she told Damian.

The dragon marched up and down the workbench, showing off his jewel-like repaired scales, tossing his head like a king of beasts.

“Good as new,” she declared, putting him to hang with the others. The long workbench and well-lit basement made puppet repairs easy. She could get used to such a workstation. Maybe she’d have the opportunity to get used to it, if there was a permanent change in living arrangements…