Hands On (5 page)

“Do you have a basement? A workshop,” Ginnie clarified.

Harry understood immediately. “To fix the puppets. Yes, I’ve a full basement setup that will work very well for that.” Ginnie was staying. She was actually going to stay at his house. He felt both flattered and worried. Worried about his own judgment, mostly. What was he doing?

He helped Ginnie finalize with Lara, then saw the friendly young assistant out.

And then they were alone once more.

“I’ll carry that stuff downstairs, if you’d like to relax. You’ve been through a lot today,” Harry told her.

“You have no idea,” she murmured, passing the back of her hand across her forehead to smooth back a stray curl. Then her heated gaze locked with his once more. “I should relax. Or get to work. Or do something productive. But I’d rather flirt with you. Isn’t that strange?”

“Are you always this direct?” Harry finally asked. Her innocent magnetism pulled him toward her, but he resisted. “So, ah, forward?”

“Am I a slut, do you mean?” Ginnie laughed. “Oh please. I told you. I’m fresh out of a long relationship with a guy who frowned on my being a fraction as forward as I’m being with you. This is the real me.”

“What an idiot he must’ve been.”

“That’s so sweet.” Ginnie smiled, an open and honest expression that lit her up. Something in him melted further, even as second thoughts and suspicions were banished to the back of his mind. The sight of her, the sound of her, was working its magic again.

“Flirting has consequences,” he told her bluntly. A warning. “You may not like them. You don’t really know me.”

“I know. Isn’t it exciting?”

Harry was speechless for a moment. “You really are appallingly honest, aren’t you?”

“You’re very handsome. Tall but not too tall, with broad shoulders and hair on your chest—I could see when you took your shirt off. Your hair is soft and sexy. Except for the hair on your face, which is rough and grows too quickly to control with a daily shave, doesn’t it? You smell wonderful. And your kiss makes me feel…” Ginnie laughed, a seductive sound that made his erection return full-force. “Makes me feel forward. And honest. Not like the old me who kept all quiet about things until they were a mess. When do I turn into a pumpkin or wake up?” She approached him, gazing up at him with trusting, teasing eyes. “I want you. There.” She looked both pleased with herself, and a little frightened.

The combination of that plus her obvious physical attraction—and her pointy nipples, God, did they have to be so obvious?—was his undoing.

“I warned you.” He scooped her up again—it was getting to be a habit, he mused, alert for her hand positioning—and carried her into the nearest bedroom, the guest one off the living room. He lowered her until she sat at the edge of his bed.

Her fingers worked at his pants even as he removed his shirt and sweater once more. “Take off your clothes,” he commanded, more to give himself time than anything else. Her scent made him feel lightheaded. The sight of lithe curves, and her eagerness for him, made him strain for control. He was dangerously close, with those teasing, strong, skillful fingers of hers brushing against his crotch—didn’t she know that?

Her look up at him assured him she did. “I’m doing this because I want to. Not because you’re telling me to.”

He groaned and took a step back from the nimbus of her body heat. She really was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

And the cutest. She didn’t look too much younger than he was, but she radiated a distinctly youthful, almost nymphet demeanor in the way she gazed at him with big eyes full of wonder. And desire.

“Last chance,” he gritted out. “You’re vulnerable right now, and I’m not looking for a relationship, Ginnie.”

“Neither am I.” She took her shirt off. Slowly. Then her bra. Even more slowly.

When she spent three years unzipping her jeans, he remembered to exhale. “Okay, that does it,” he growled, and helped her by yanking them right off her body, panties and all.

Chapter Three

The man clearly had no idea how unusual this was for her.

Ginnie shifted her body, expediting Harry’s removal of her panties. And socks. He was taking the time to remove her socks. If just the skimming of cotton over her feet made her shiver with want, what would a more direct caress do to her?

His touch promised patience. Expertise. Sensuality. The fine hairs on her body rose with anticipation.

And the thing of it was, she felt perfectly shameless sitting there on the side of his large bed, naked. She wasn’t sure if it was the near-death experience in her destroyed house, or some kind of vibe he was putting out. Or maybe both. She simply wasn’t
like
this.

Ginnie grinned, ran her fingers through his hair. She felt positively wanton. The nude woman who currently watched a sexy-as-hell man—a near stranger, for god’s sake—rise from his knees to unzip his jeans, bore no resemblance to the woman who played the docile role of Rick’s fiancée for so long. But Harry was no Rick.

Her breath caught. With his pants off, he especially bore no resemblance to Rick.

“Lie down,” Harry commanded, one warm hand sliding up her calf. She felt his breath against her thigh. He kissed her just above the knee, tongued her lightly.

“Oh boy.” A zing of pure lust shot through her, lodged in her stomach. Her head felt pleasantly swimmy as she decided whether or not to obey orders. She wanted to lie back. Badly.

She also wanted to touch him. To push him onto his back and jump his bones. It felt easier, better, to be in control.

“Please,” she said.

He looked at her inquiringly.

“Can I…touch you?”

He closed his eyes. Movement caught her eye as his penis bobbed once, heavily, as if in answer.

She glanced back up. “I take it that’s a yes,” she said dryly and felt her heart give a small shimmy at the sight of his tight, pained smile.

“You.” Harry pinned her with a gaze that spoke of frustration, humor and lust all at once. “You’re unbelievable. I haven’t been so—oh. Ah.”

She cupped him with one hand, grasped and released with the other. “Impressive,” she declared. Not that she was an expert or anything. Rick had been her one and only. But comparatively speaking, Harry was magnificent.

But it wasn’t only Harry’s size and readiness. It was his sensual abandonment to her touch. He moved with her, thrusting deliberately, as if demonstrating what he would do to her. Her breath caught, and tingles shot up her spine. She could almost feel him inside her, though she hadn’t even felt his body against hers yet.

“I need you now,” she said, pulling him toward her.

He grinned. “I know.” With a quick movement, his fingers found and caressed between her legs, then withdrew. His smile widened at her cry of pleasure. “It’s not a leash, sweetheart. Let me have it back now.”

She let go, uncertain. Suddenly anxious.

He looked at her. “You’re worried,” he said softly. “Your face changed. Just in the last few seconds.” He reached to touch her head, but halted the movement before contact. “I won’t hurt you, Ginnie.”

“I know.” She said it automatically, but her heart leapt into her throat, making her feel a strange prickly tension. He said he wouldn’t hurt her. Rick used to say that. But Harry made a wild hope beat in her breast, fueling her desire until she shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to straddle him. She wanted to keep being the wild new woman he brought out in her.

Her body ached to jump on him, take him in. She also wanted to simply lean into his hand. Why hadn’t he taken her suggestion to move onto her, into her? His delay made her ache. It also made her increasingly nervous. How could he have such control? She could see how much he wanted her. “I just… I don’t know.”

Harry stared at her, thoughtful. It didn’t make her at all self-conscious. Oddly, it made her hopeful.

“Hmmm.” Harry let just the tips of his fingers brush the ends of her hair. Her scalp tingled pleasurably and her nipples tightened. “You like this, don’t you. And you like touching me. Yes?”

She was already nodding, emphatic.

“Then touch me.” When she hesitated, he gave her a small smile. He didn’t move against her suggestively, or otherwise direct her. He just waited, hard, magnificent…

Ginnie groaned. Her insides felt on fire, and her mind was full of wonder. How did he have such exquisite control? She sure didn’t seem to, not with him.

With a growl that sounded feral and aggressive to her own ears, she reached for him, first with her hands, then with her mouth.

Harry drew in a shocked breath at the feel of her hot mouth on him. He’d asked her to touch him. But this—this threatened his already shaky control over himself.

He saw the way her nipples had hardened and her breath came quicker at his suggestion she take charge.

Control.

It was the key to her.

Another time, he might have been more curious about it.

He let his breath go in a hard exhale. Very hard. How did she do that with her tongue…?

Control! He had plenty over himself. His numbers. He’d be saved by the numbers. One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…

No. A countdown as if to ignition didn’t help his concentration. He was anticipating it way too much. Interest calculations instead. Four thousand three hundred forty-six rounded off to the…no, he never rounded. Rounding resulted in a number that was less precise.

But easier and quicker to use.

He wanted to use Ginnie. Quickly. Her fingers on him, sliding up his thighs to cup him, were not subtle. He liked that. What was this…? Was she tugging him as if it were a leash again?

Harry laughed, a choking sound. She was.

He fell onto his own bed. Felt her slide atop him.

She needed to feel as if she were in control. That much was obvious.

That was fine, for the moment. She was doing a fine job. Better than fine. A little too damn fine.

But at some point, he would need to wrest that control back from her. He knew it, and knew some part of her knew it too.

For now, he certainly wasn’t complaining.

He gasped as the friction of her sliding body moved first up, then down him. She didn’t immediately seat herself atop him, though he wanted it desperately. Whatever past experience had put uncertainty in her movements and apprehension in her eyes wasn’t any part of her at the moment.

Her teasing movements jerked a groan from him.

Her hair, dry now, brushed against his shoulders. Strands trailed over his chest, a sensual caress where it touched the small hairs on his body. Ginnie’s quick little intakes of breath made him smile with pleasure. She was so sensitive. So wanton and erotic—when she wasn’t worried about issues of control, of course.

His hands itched to grab her sweetly rounded hips, jam her down onto him. His mouth craved the smooth, firm heaviness of her breasts. He needed more of her. It would be so easy to place her right where he wanted her.

He clenched his fists instead.

Thrust up against her mound.

Her moan made him close his eyes with pain/pleasure. “Ginnie. Now.” He could no more help the command than he could stop his own heartbeat. He didn’t think he could resist much longer.

Her hands shook, warm and eager, as she grasped the length of him, moved him slightly.

This time when he thrust upward, she met him. The tight heat of her made him shout. And she hadn’t even sat all the way down yet.

He was so concentrated on the sensations that he barely noticed he’d bracketed her waist with his hands. He couldn’t help pulling her down, grinding her most sensitive areas against him.

He reveled in being fully embedded.

When he saw how his fingers dented her skin, he let go of her. Would she get all tense again?

She murmured, “It’s okay.” Beads of perspiration made her face glow, and her parted lips and her cheeks flushed with color and exertion. The smile she gave him was shy, wondering. “You feel so big. So amazing. But please, I want your hands by your sides. Just in case.”

Didn’t have to tell him what she meant. The difference between the woman who moved on him so sensually and the woman who’d been so fearful of losing control when he touched her was night and day. He much preferred the one seated on him—even though her hot, slick weight and her erotic moves threatened to unman him. He knew he wasn’t supposed to move. Regret suffused him that he couldn’t fill his hands with her breasts. He could imagine the hard pebbles of her nipples against his palms and the sharp intake of breath as he pinched them, caressed them.

He growled with frustration.

Then she moved again on him, moaning. Her raw sensuousness carried him to still greater heights, and he found he immediately needed to start calculating the interest rates—of his older, uglier,
male
clients. As if combating his control, her muscles gripped and stroked, hypnotizing him, making him strain against the inevitable…bank account numbers, divided by the number of sports cars he owned, times the number of floors inside the buildings with his name on them…

Harry peeked at her. A mistake. Ginnie bounced, her eyes slitted with pleasure. She bent to rub her breasts against him, in what he’d normally interpret as an invitation. She ground down with abandon. Her little cries of pleasure, the slick noises of their bodies and his own heavy breathing was his undoing.

“Ginnie,” he gritted out. “I’m going to…”

Her louder cry cut him off. Her rhythm sped up, a tight, almost hurtful grip that turned instantly to an insistent pressure that he knew would result in a world-class orgasm.

His pleasure reached a peak at the same time hers did.

As she stiffened around him, he thrust upward, again and again with savage shouts.

Her hair curtained her face.

Her movements stilled slowly. She didn’t meet his gaze.

The hell with it
. He reached up to brush her hair back over her shoulders. Gratification filled him at the sight of her parted lips curved in a satisfied smile as she panted. He enjoyed the little tremors from her body from the inside.

An amazing sense of completeness filled him. Did she feel this same bliss? He’d never experienced anything quite like it.