His gut tensed and his muscles readied for a fight. Who was this jerk who threatened Ginnie?
“Is this him?” the guy asked Ginnie. “Is this the reason you won’t come back with me?”
“I’m not going with you because we’re done, Rick.” She frowned at him. “Please just leave.”
“Just like that? I don’t think so.” Rick took her arm. “We’re not finished.”
“Let her go.”
Harry figured the menace and tension he felt communicated itself adequately, because the intruder took his hand off her. He still stood too close to Ginnie for Harry’s taste. “Now, get in your shiny wagon and go back to wherever it is you came from.”
“She’s coming with me.”
Ginnie shook her head.
Did this Rick have a death wish? Didn’t he realize Harry would be delighted to pound Rick’s thick head into his thicker neck? This Neanderthal was obviously doing his best to intimidate Ginnie—standing too close, looming over her—but she wasn’t having any of it, Harry saw with pride. She tilted her chin up and refused to be pushed around. “I’m not going with you, Rick.”
Harry’s rage slowly built at the way Rick wasn’t taking the hint. Harry stood ready to step in at the first sign of escalation—he had to hold himself back, actually—but he wasn’t sure if he should interfere.
Of course he shouldn’t interfere, logically, but his urge to protect Ginnie bypassed logic. It propelled him toward a physical brawl. It just wasn’t like him. He knew better than to let emotions rule him. That’s what bothered him the most.
Aside from this jerk bullying Ginnie.
Harry placed himself right in front of her, facing Rick. “Hey. You like picking on women? Is that how you get your jollies? Huh?” He leaned forward, closing the inches between them.
Rick took a step back, looking confused.
“If you want a fight, I’d be happy to oblige.” And he would be too. Delighted, even.
Rick read the news on his face. “I never hurt her,” he muttered. “Not that she didn’t have coming.”
“Get in your car. Drive away. Don’t come back.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed. Harry felt hopeful. But then Rick looked away. “Fine.”
“Bye-bye, then.” Harry eased another millimeter into Rick’s space. Not even a little fight?
Rick paled and took a step back.
Guess not.
As Rick turned and scurried back to his vehicle, Harry stared after him. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to burn off some of his energy. All the amped-up feelings roiling around inside him weren’t going anywhere.
He turned to Ginnie. “I don’t like your ex.”
“I don’t like yours, either.”
They stared at each other, then, simultaneously, burst into laughter.
Chapter Seven
Ginnie led the way into Harry’s house. He followed, closing then locking the door behind him.
“That was weird,” Ginnie said. “Rick’s always had a temper, but he was actually menacing me out there.” She still felt indignant that Rick had made her afraid, but very glad Harry had come back when he had. “I don’t know what got into him. He admitted stealing my stuff. He said he was sorry, and then actually expected me to hop into his car and head home with him, like we could just pick up where we left off.” She shook her head, baffled.
“I’m not surprised,” Harry said, staring at her. “He wanted you back, but on his terms. He’d probably pushed your buttons successfully before, and he thought he could do it again.”
The truth of that hit Ginnie. “And he’d called me manipulative. He was the control freak. His style was just more passive, so I didn’t see it. I wasn’t a ball-buster.” She intercepted Harry’s look. “Oh yeah, he called me that. And control Nazi. And worse.” Grinning, she gave him a teasing look. “Then you rode up on your white horse and saved me again.”
“I didn’t—”
“Your armor all shining, ready to do battle for truth, justice and the American way.”
“My armor is tarnished, Ginnie. Don’t—”
“You’re my hero.” Ginnie batted her eyes at him. Was he blushing? He was!
“You’re insane.” Harry stalked into the kitchen. Ginnie followed, delighted with him, but also still pondering his words.
“Pushing my buttons,” she mused aloud. “I never thought of it that way. But he and my mom both always said I had a taste for being top dog. To, ah, a pretty large degree. And Helping Hands alluded to something along those lines too.”
Harry fixed himself a scotch. He raised an eyebrow, holding up an empty glass. She nodded.
“Ginnie.” He handed her a drink. “What makes you think you’re the only one allowed to take charge?” He took a sip of his, looking at her.
His words brought her up short. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, just because you have controlling tendencies—which isn’t always a bad thing—that doesn’t rule out others having those same tendencies. Rick clearly did.”
“My mom too,” Ginnie said, sipping the strong alcohol. She laughed a little. “At least I come by it honestly.” She told Harry about her dad leaving her mother, and the awkwardness of her mom dating, and about some of the fights. She concluded, “I never felt good enough for her, or like anyone would appreciate the real me. Abandonment issues. I suppose pop psychology would say I’ve overcompensated by trying to put myself in positions where I can better control my environment.” She leaned on the counter, smiling, and looked at him under her lashes. “But I’m not a ball-buster by choice.”
Harry smiled back at her. “Very glad to hear it.”
He was so hot, her hero. She stared at the way a smear of liquor made his curvy lips shine, and jolt of lust zapped her. She traced a finger along the side of the counter, skating near his hand without touching. “Would you really have beat up Rick?”
“I don’t like men who threaten women with violence.”
“So, you would’ve, but it wouldn’t have been anything personal?”
Harry stared at her. “It would’ve been personal.” He moved closer.
A thrill went through her. The heat in his gaze ignited her all over. He looked ready to gobble her up. She could feel his intensity all the way down to her feet. Her body responded to his proximity, his scent, his unspoken message, with a surge of desire. And yet…
“Am I making you nervous, Ginnie?”
Her hand trembled, and she had to set down her drink. She looked at her offending hand rather than meeting his gaze. “A little.” Her hands never shook. Never. Her marionettes would look palsied if she didn’t have total control over her hands. Harry certainly did make her nervous. What she craved was for him to take her so wildly, violently and completely that she wouldn’t have the presence of mind to worry about whether or not she lost control. She’d never felt that way before.
“What are you afraid of?” His voice was a deep and honeyed tone that snaked through her sensuously.
She was afraid she’d lose herself. That she’d bare her soul to him only to have it measured and found wanting.
“Nothing.” She picked up her glass with both hands. Sipped. Put it down carefully. With both hands.
His gaze tracked the movement, then returned to her face. “I think I understand.”
“If you think I’m—”
“Shhh. Listen to me.”
As if she could conceive of doing anything else with him looming over her, his heat and scent making her feel lightheaded. Or maybe it was the drink.
He caressed her arm with his fingertips.
Nope, definitely him. Her skin pebbled under his touch, her fine hairs rose, and she shivered pleasurably. It was the entire delicious six-foot package of him. She could have been frightened of him, the way he eased into her personal space as if he owned it. He’d intimidated Rick until her ex had slunk away like a defeated schoolyard bully.
But she didn’t feel frightened of Harry at all.
> “I want to show you something. Close your eyes.”
She thought about it, then did. “Going to be hard to see what you have to show me.”
“Keep them closed.”
She let out a little shriek and her eyes flew open when he scooped her up. “Trust me,” he said, his warm breath tickling her ear. It felt as erotic as another fine touch. He waited until she closed her eyes again. “Good.”
She could hear from his voice that he wasn’t smiling. Somehow that both calmed her and stimulated her, as if he’d found some key to her psyche. He carried her slowly, not hurrying. “Keep them closed,” he insisted. “You think too much and worry too much. About who might hurt you. About who might take advantage of you if you let your guard down. And so you turn suspicious and untrusting, and you know what an untrusting person does? Hmmm?” He nuzzled her ear.
She made a small sound. From the different scent of the air she could tell they were entering a little-used room. She wanted to peek, but didn’t. “I’m keeping my eyes shut.”
“I know you are. That’s very good.” She felt his hair brush against her cheek as he walked, and then, surprisingly, his warm lips touched her forehead. Without sight, the sensation was intense.
He continued talking as if he didn’t realize he’d just turned her bones to jelly. “An untrusting person tries to control her environment completely.” He let go of her legs, allowing just her toes to touch the ground, then loosened his grip on her torso slightly. She slid a few inches down his body. Every sensation felt magnified. She jerked as his voice suddenly invaded her other ear, filling her head with his deep-timbered murmur. “You’re not in control right now, are you?” He teased her with the feel of his body, then moved back slightly. “You have to understand. It’s much, much better when you’re able to let go completely. Sometimes it’s good to do so. You’ll find with me, it’s good.” He pressed her to him again, hard, and she gasped.
He began to undress her. “Keep your eyes shut,” he commanded. He stripped her clothes off quickly and had his off even more quickly. He stepped close enough to her for their body heat to mingle and his delicious breath to tease the nerve endings of her face. His lips moved against hers. “I’m going to demonstrate something.” She felt and heard his smile. Her body seemed to open up, becoming sensitive all over. She heard a moan, felt the vibration against their lips and knew she’d made the sound.
When his lips opened and his tongue plundered her, the electricity forked through her body. Taking effortless possession of her mouth, he lifted his other hand to the base of her head. He tilted it here or there as it pleased him. His tongue slid out, then in again to tease and play with hers.
Then he stopped. Air rushed into the small gap between their faces, cooling her enough for frustration. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, feeling her eyelids flutter.
“Hush, you,” he said with mock severity. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”
“Oh yes.” She barely recognized her own voice—breathy and full of want. She was more than enjoying herself. Her body ached for his. She moved against him.
“No. Now I want you to sit on the edge of the bed. It’s just behind you. That’s right, sit. Now scoot back until your feet are at the foot of the bed. Very good.” He sat beside her feet and proceeded to caress them, thumbing her toes in a slow, sure movement before skillfully twisting a firm knuckle between the front pads.
She could swear she felt the sensation directly between her legs. She groaned more loudly and reached for him.
He laughed, tucking her arms by her sides. “Patience. Trust. You like what I’m doing to you, so why not just go with it? Let go of control. Try it. Just feel.”
Was his voice becoming husky with desire? She was so tempted to peek, but was enjoying the things he made her feel way too much to jeopardize the situation. She squirmed happily on the bed. Was this what being out of control felt like?
But what would happen afterward? She frowned, tensing. What if this was just his way of getting his rocks off, using her then abandoning her? It wasn’t unlikely. He’d said he didn’t want a relationship.
“Ginnie.” His voice, a warning.
“I don’t think I can…this way.”
“You’re thinking too much. You know what the solution to that is?”
She really wanted to know. “Tell me.”
“Stop thinking.” He ran a hand up her leg. “Feel.” He leaned over, kissed her again.
His hand toyed with legs, then her upper thighs, fingers teasing all around where she wanted them most.
It did indeed drive the thoughts from her head.
He laughed at her frustrated sounds and brought his other hand into play on her nipples.
She gasped. Where on earth was she supposed to focus her attention?
Her nipples sent fiery messages of lust straight to her core. Harry’s other hand played her like a puppet maestro intimately familiar with his marionette’s levers and strings.
On top of all that, aftershocks from his kisses kept hitting her, tingling on her skin and vibrating in slow sensual waves to her stomach. Butterflies on steroids. All she had to do was remember Harry’s tongue in her mouth and she felt an eager warmth between her legs. It was as if he commanded her very mind to reject all doubt.
Her breath came in short pants. The feel of his large warm fingers gliding against the juncture of her thighs tore a whimper from her.
He moved in close, giving himself more leverage and allowing his taut body to brush against hers. His breath felt hot against her throat. His chest burned against her wherever it touched.
The hottest conflagration was happening lower.
His fingers felt mobile and deadly. But he wouldn't use his fingers the way she wanted him to.
Harry wouldn’t be hurried. He continued the rhythmic stroking, the contrasting sensations making her muscles tremble and tense.
“Please,” she begged finally, the word ripped from her. She thought she felt him grin against her neck, but suddenly all her awareness flamed to ashes as he worked his fingers just right. The deliberate manipulation jerked a small scream out of her, wordless and primal.
“I thought you might like that.”
Too soon, he paused. She heard the crinkle of foil, and then his fingers were replaced by something much larger.
With a single, almost painful thrust, he made sure coherent thought remained an impossibility. Filling and stretching her, he felt wide and hard and deep, even better than she remembered.
Ginnie wrapped her legs around him to draw him closer.
“Open your eyes.”
She shook her head. She was enjoying too much the tingles of want that surged through her, savoring the sensation of his hard body atop hers, of being taken just the way she’d hoped. His rougher skin slid against hers, foreign and erotic as he penetrated her deeply. The degree to which she responded stunned her.
“Open your eyes, Ginnie.”
“I don’t want to. I love this.” She felt him burying himself in her to the hilt, the meltingly sensual sensation of his hips working between her thighs, the intimate slap of flesh where she was most sensitive. Her desire for him overrode everything else.
Harry laughed. She clenched around him and was rewarded by the jump in his muscles. His soft, suggestive laughter turned to a groan.
She thrust against him, grinding shamelessly.
He stopped.
Her eyes flew open. “Hey!” she protested.
“That’s better.” He supported himself with his arms and stared into her eyes as he began to move again.
She found she couldn’t look away.
He filled her. “I want you to see me now.” He withdrew. “I like your knowing I’m making you feel these things.” He pinched one of her nipples as he filled her again.
Ginnie cried out, but managed to hold his gaze. She saw what he wanted her to see, in his steady, commanding stare. She saw the fire of his lust. She also saw something more, a shadow o
f something darker. Old hurt and betrayal and anger. It mingled with his look of hot desire so she couldn’t be sure, but there was something lonely that seemed to call out to her.
Was she meant to see that?
Either way, such vulnerability paired with his intense gaze and masterful lovemaking brought her right to the brink. “Oh, I want you, I want you like this always,” she told him fiercely.
He felt so wonderful. She pulled him close, her hands raking his strong back and clutching his smooth buttocks. He was so perfect, so caring, so knowing. She filled her mind with the wonder of him, and what he made her feel.
“Always, always, always…ah!” she cried out, closing her eyes involuntarily, and felt him thrust fast and deep as they were both hurled past the point of no return.
It felt like shattering into a billion glowing stars.
From his private jet, Harry gazed at the dramatic mountains and striking glaciers and greenery of the unspoiled paradise below. But all he could see was his glaring mistake. He’d strayed from his own self-imposed guidelines.
And Ginnie would pay the price of it.
He’d broken his own rules. Rules he’d put into place after Jaye Rae used the power he’d given her to reduce him to magazine gossip fodder, an outcast from his former friends, a recluse by choice. He still felt rage at that injustice and sorrow for the trust he’d lost, not just in his ex-fiancée, but in all women. Not to mention everyone who’d believed her lies even for a second. He couldn’t risk anything like that again.
It wasn’t necessary. Mind over matter. He prided himself on making rational decisions, and he told himself he was making one now.
The rising spring sun turned the five-hundred-mile Inside Passage waterways a vibrant ruby, and bathed the mountains in brilliant purples and grays and blues. Southeast Alaska presented itself to his discerning eye, a dramatically contrasting landscape of jagged peaks, blue-white glaciers, emerald forests and untouched seas.
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