That done, Ginnie broke down the ten-by-ten stage, then packed and loaded up her Volkswagen.
She felt like celebrating, and she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather share her good news with than Harry. She’d make him dinner again. She smiled, remembering what had happened later in the evening the last time she’d cooked for him.
Then the smile slid from her face.
If only her mother weren’t flying in to see her in a few days, her life would be pretty close to perfect.
“You’re cooking again.”
Ginnie looked up from where she stirred the wine cream sauce into the perfectly sautéed shrimps and scallops. Harry’s expression, like his voice, was neutral.
She was struck again with how handsome he was.
“Hi, stranger.” She continued stirring, dancing a little to the rhythmic beat of one of Harry’s CDs. “Have a nice business trip?”
“It was illuminating.” He looked at her. “What’s the occasion?”
“I wanted to celebrate.”
Harry didn’t offer her a hug, or a smile, but he did move a little closer to the bar stools lining up against the far counter. It put him almost within reach. “You seem happy,” he stated.
She grinned. “I am happy.” She told him about the puppet show. “And the woman hugged me, Harry. She said I was a miracle.” Astonished and delighted anew at the memory, Ginnie almost forgot to add the shallots. “I wanted to thank you for your help. If it wasn’t for your advice, I never would have thought to do shows on my own.”
“I never advised you to do that.”
“That’s what I mean. You gave me your prudent, sensible advice. You told me to be careful and start small. So, I did the opposite.” Ginnie smiled at him. “I couldn’t be happier, and it’s all because of your advice.”
Harry stared at her for a moment, then moved toward the liquor cabinet.
“We’re having Pinot Gris with dinner,” she told him.
“That’s nice. I’m having scotch now.” He pulled out a couple of glasses. “Want one?”
She shrugged. “Sure.” She tapped the wooden spoon, set it between the gas burners and plucked the filled glass from his hand. “To new beginnings.”
He looked at her, then he finished his with three swallows. She sipped from her own glass, admiring his strong neck, defined chest and broad shoulders. He wore a delightfully snug knit shirt. Cashmere, probably. Something that begged to be stroked.
Much like she had the night before. She smiled a secret smile, gazing boldly into his eyes.
“Smells good in here,” he said suddenly, moving away from her. Toward the source of the scent. Then back to the counter, where he stood as if uncomfortable. And back to the stove. “Nice,” he said, poking the wooden spoon at some shrimp.
Then back to the counter.
“Ginnie, I’m glad you’re happy. I got you something,” he said suddenly. “When I was on the business trip.”
Ginnie stared at him as if he’d turned into someone else. In a way, he had. Harry seemed awkward. Uncomfortable. And he’d brought her a gift? “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asked him.
“Nothing.” He didn’t quite smile. “Stay here,” he commanded, and left the kitchen.
“Not going anywhere,” she told the air where he’d stood.
Or was she going somewhere?
Ginnie frowned. She knocked back the rest of her scotch. Harry was the most confusing, opaque, and, yes, handsome and heroic man she’d ever spent time with. But she didn’t understand him at all. They were so very different.
What did she have to offer him, besides the food and fun angle? And he’d said he didn’t want a relationship. She kept forgetting. It was so easy to forget, with all the relationship-type activity going on.
He probably hadn’t forgotten, though. His gift was probably to say good-bye. A jewelry memento, maybe, or something practical for her repaired rental, like a cordless drill. Maybe a rice cooker.
Ginnie opened the chilled wine, poured, tasted. It was good, she decided as she finished the glass and poured a fresh one. It would numb the expected hurt. She prepared the plates, no longer enjoying the meal’s delicate scent. She lit the single, tapered candle, unfolded her napkin in her lap and waited.
Harry returned holding a long, awkwardly paper-wrapped bundle by its top and bottom. “I wasn’t sure how to wrap this,” he confessed, holding it out, but by that time its shape told her what it was.
“Oh!” She rose, her napkin slipping to the floor. She couldn’t take her eyes off the package and reached without thinking for the wooden handle at the top of the bundle. “A marionette!”
Her heart hurt, but in an expanding, aching sort of way that brought happy tears to her eyes. “You’re actually giving me a marionette.” She held it against herself, as exhilarated as she’d been morose. “It’s not a cordless drill.”
He looked at her oddly.
“And it’s not a rice cooker.”
Harry blinked. “Would you prefer a rice cooker?”
“Not in a million years.” She ripped the paper off, carefully, and then suddenly forgot to breathe.
“Harry.”
“I got it in Alaska.”
He got it in Alaska. One of the five most coveted, rare and exquisite pieces of marionette workmanship in the entire world. “Harry, do you know what this is?”
“It’s a marionette.” His smile teased.
“It’s a Tlinglit. It must have cost you a fortune.” The beautifully painted wood face seemed to move with subtle expressions, it was so cunningly crafted. The hand-carved puppet of a female stood nearly three feet tall, and the control apparatus allowed for a full range of movement, including moving her eyes and her mouth. Ginnie boggled at the attention to detail in the hand-crafted dress and individually punched real hairs.
She explained, “Ritual surrounds the creation of a Tlinglit marionette, from the moment the mothers and grandmothers file into the forest to search for a perfect spruce tree, to the ceremonial circling of the tree to pay respects and apologize to it for cutting it into pieces, to the shrouded-in-secrecy formal sacrifice to the wood spirits so they’ll be happy to give their life to the marionette.” She warmed to the story, enjoying his rapt attention. “The native chief’s signature—always down the outer left leg—attests to all of it being done correctly.” Ginnie checked. Yes, the beautiful string puppet was signed. “Ten fortunes. It should be behind thick glass. In a museum.”
“I hope you like it.”
“Like it? I’m in awe of it. I’m scared to death of getting cream sauce on it.” Ginnie carefully placed it on a shelf where she could continue to admire it while they ate. Then she flung herself into Harry’s arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He hugged her back enthusiastically. “You’re welcome.”
Later, when they’d finished dinner and washed up, Ginnie taught Harry the rudiments of marionette manipulation down in the basement.
“Marionettes can’t move exactly the way human beings can. The human body is very complex, so we have to be content with achieving an approximation of human movement. For example, a dancer would need mainly leg and body movements. And a marionette that lies down to sleep will need extra long strings attached.”
She demonstrated with the smooth, incredibly responsive Tlinglit, delighting in its beauty and grace. It almost lived on its own.
Harry tried to copy the moves with Little Jeffrey. He managed a passable walk, but the moves were jerky.
“Little Jeffrey needs a light touch. Look at how little movement is necessary to give the suggestion of startlement. See how I’m taking my time moving his arm, to show his emotion? All your moves have to be subtle and controlled, to get the best result. Here. Just…suggest, you know. The audience will do the rest. They’ll project. Yes, even that mechanism for his chest, it has to be gentle, to give the impression of his pulling his chest open—you do that with your other hand.”
“My left hand
is otherwise occupied,” Harry informed her. He made Little Jeffrey’s legs march in place. “And my right.” He made Little Jeffrey’s mouth open and close.
Ginnie grinned. “You’re discovering why puppeteering is such a difficult art to master. In some countries where puppetry is more widely revered, people apprentice themselves to masters for fifteen years to learn enough to work a show.”
She let the Tlinglit woman glide, elegant and provocative, to Little Jeffrey. Touch his face, a glancing caress. And away, looking back over her shoulder while swaying her hips gently.
To her surprise, Harry manipulated Little Jeffrey right after her, shuffling with an open-mouthed, limp-armed, foot-dragging gait that implied total infatuation. Ginnie laughed aloud, delighted. “Yes!” They played, the woman teasing, the clumsy boy clearly struck by Cupid’s arrow.
The whole time, Ginnie tried not to read too much into it. Even though it was the second time they’d flirted via puppets, it didn’t necessarily mean anything. He seemed much more relaxed, more open and emotive with puppets involved. He seemed…relaxed. Happy. But Harry’s astonishing gift of a masterpiece to her, and their evening spent together, and now this… It didn’t spell a relationship.
Was it a date, though, at least?
It was dangerous to even think that way, but she couldn’t help it. She was smitten, just like Lara accused. She was head over heels, even more so than Little Jeffrey over the Tlinglit woman. And that was saying something.
Little Jeffrey had cornered the Tlinglit woman. He’d gone down to his knees, tugging at the edge of her delicate skirts, looking up pleadingly. Begging for a favor. For a kiss.
“Insistent, isn’t he?” Ginnie mused. Her gaze met Harry’s, and she gasped at the heat she saw there.
“He likes what he sees.”
“He has good taste.” Ginnie made the Tlinglit tremble, as if with emotion.
“He does,” Harry replied, looking only at her. The fire in his eyes began to make a cinder of her.
Ginnie allowed Little Jeffrey to kiss the Tlinglit woman’s hand. Then she glided her new puppet away. “We don’t always get what we want.”
Harry’s hand closed over hers, effectively freezing both of them. “You don’t believe that.”
She felt her breath speed up, and her hand trembled under his. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. You’re the one who doesn’t want a relationship.”
“You said you didn’t, either.”
“I do now.” She watched him carefully. She saw his uneasiness. “But you still don’t.”
Harry flung her hand away.
Her heart skipped a beat. Then she just hurt with the depth of disappointment she felt.
Frustration came off him in waves. “No. But I want you, Ginnie.” He tilted his head, puzzled and angry. It gave him a very predatory look. She wished it didn’t add so much to his appeal. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to let you go, leave all the complications behind, but I couldn’t get my mind off last night. How it was with you. How you tasted. The way I made you scream—three times.” He glared at her. “So much for conducting business with a Ginnie in my head.”
“You make me sound like a disease.”
Harry’s eyes were wilder than she’d ever seen them. It still seemed impossible that the man would lose control over himself even for an instant, but for the first time she sensed what it took for him to maintain it. He looked at her, and her body felt suddenly as limp as a neglected marionette. How she wanted his hands on her, manipulating her to heights she’d only ever reached under his skillful ministration. They were meant to be together, couldn’t he see that?
She made a small sound of wanting.
It was enough.
With a curse, Harry hung the marionettes on their stand, and then in the same movement pulled Ginnie against him for a savage kiss.
All rational thought fled, and she clung to him as he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed.
Chapter Nine
“He’s wearing flannel.”
“I know.” Ginnie stared at her lover as he helped lift an ornate, carved mantelpiece up the stairs for eventual placement around her rental’s rebuilt fireplace. Harry sure looked like he knew his way around a house. With his well-worn jeans, scuffed leather boots and what appeared to be an old flannel shirt, he seemed one of the workers. The facial hair he’d neglected to shave for a few days added to a certain rough, almost Grizzly Adams appearance. It was an entirely different look.
Ginnie watched him hold the heavy wood without apparent effort, wingspan wide and strong, jeans-covered legs in an easy, muscular stance, and suddenly understood Lara’s interest in construction workers.
“He looks familiar,” Lara mused.
“He just resembles all your other cute blue-collar fellas.”
“No, it’s not that.” Lara frowned, staring. “Something about the beard.”
“Just a seventy-two hour shadow.” She knew—she’d kissed that face and been pleasantly and thoroughly scraped by the dark jaw and chin and upper lip.
It was already the perfect day, and it wasn’t even mid-morning. She had a great new friend in Lara, even if she did scrutinize Harry a touch too intensely. Ginnie’s home was being repaired surprisingly ahead of schedule, according to Lara. The word from on high was to get the house fixed immediately, meticulously, and with no expense spared. That’s how Lara had explained all the extra workers, although even Lara had seemed surprised by the sheer number of people assigned to rebuilding Ginnie’s home.
Best of all, Ginnie had Harry.
The most handsome and talented lover on earth. Even the sun shone in rays through the clouds, as if to add divine spotlights to a grand romance.
Not that Harry saw it quite that way just yet. He still had his unfortunate hang-up about relationships. Poor guy. He didn’t seem to realize he was in one.
Finished with his task, Harry sauntered over. He swept her into his arms for a quick kiss. “Hey, beautiful.”
Ginnie almost purred with satisfaction. “Hey, handsome.” What did it mean that the scent of his sweat made her want to drag him back into his house? His body against hers brought all kinds of pleasant thoughts to mind.
“I’m getting you all dirty,” he finally said, grasping her waist as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He glanced at Lara a little guiltily. “Hi there. It’s very nice to see you again.”
“I don’t think Ginnie minds. Even if you are pawing at her like a…bear.”
He looked at Lara sharply.
Ginnie gazed at Harry flirtatiously. “I don’t mind at all. You should have seen us last night.”
Lara covered her ears. “Too much information! La la la…” She walked toward the workers, not uncovering her ears until she was out of earshot.
“You look like her type now,” Ginnie informed him, running her hand up his flannel-covered chest to stroke his hairy jaw. “Should I be jealous?”
“What do you think?”
“She’s pretty.”
Harry kissed her traveling fingers as they slid over his lips. “Stop fishing for compliments. I might set her up with Todd, though.” Harry looked at Lara speculatively. “She’s not his type, either, but he desperately needs a new type. A change from all the gold-digging plastic graspers. Jaye Rae’s ilk,” he explained.
“Todd?”
“A guy I work with. A good guy. He’s like family.”
At hearing the word family, Ginnie’s heart chilled at least ten degrees.
Harry felt her stiffen, and she knew he couldn’t help but notice the smile slide from her face. “What is it?” He chafed her shoulder gently with his thumbs.
She focused on the sensation. It soothed, a little. “My mom called a few days ago. She’s flying in tomorrow morning.”
Harry’s brows knit together. “Your mom? The same woman who said you’re an idiot for leaving your ex? Are you okay with her visiting?”
She laughed, shaky. “Not es
pecially. But, you know. Family.”
“Not all family is flesh and blood.” He massaged her some more, then tilted her head up to him. His eyes searched hers. “I’m here for you.”
Her heart thawed in an instant. Words of affection and love bubbled up inside her again, but she sealed her lips over them. There was no surer way to freak him out than to tell him what she was starting to feel for him.
She contented herself with simply staring into his eyes and sighing.
“Hmm.” Harry smiled slightly. “I really like that look.”
“Like it enough to, ah, take a break from your hard labors?”
Harry’s hand slipped sensuously down her side, settling on the small of her back. He pushed her gently toward his vehicle, a beat-up truck this time. “I’ll show you some hard labors. Very hard.”
Ginnie walked faster until she was almost pulling him along. “I’m going to hold you to it.”
“I’m going to hold you to holding me to it.” He swept her up again and, though she mock-kicked and protested as he carried her to the truck and tossed her into the cab, she couldn’t stop smiling. His arousal, his playfulness and his obvious caring all fed her soul like nothing she’d ever experienced.
She wondered what he’d say when she finally told him she loved him.
Harry left her dozing in his bed. Totally worn out, he thought with satisfaction. The afternoon sunshine made fire of the silky brown locks of her hair spread over his pillow, and the smile still on her lips even in sleep made him want to kiss her awake and continue where they left off.
But he closed the door softly behind him instead.
He had business with Lara down the street.
Fortunately the assistant had lingered, flirting with the workers. He followed the sound of their laughter.
The woman had discarded her brown briefcase and her jacket on one of the painted wood back steps that led up to the small back deck. Lara, in her torso-hugging, deeply unbuttoned pinstriped shirt and snug black pants, holding forth to an interested half-circle of men, was a commanding sight.
Hands On Page 12
