Rose Quartz (6 page)

She blinked, startled then batted those sparkling blue eyes flirtatiously. “Why, sugar, is that a compliment?”

“You can bet your sweet…” his gaze swept her and lingered on her rear end, “self,” he amended, “it is.”

She burst out laughing—a deep as midnight, rich as velvet sound.

For a moment the blood pooled at his feet. He gave himself a mental shake, like a retriever coming out of water. He drew air deep in his lungs and marshaled his thoughts.
Don
’
t go there
,
McHenry
.
Now isn
’
t the time to be thinking with your rod
.

“Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here, Hank,” she said and held out her hand.

He clasped it briefly and felt the warmth of it travel up his arm and lodge somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Do you have any idea why Amato would run you down?”

She took a turn around the room, rubbing her arms, thinking out loud. “It had to be on Morelly’s orders. Morelly’s men don’t think for themselves. But why? Johnny has no beef with me. It’s got to be Victor. I can feel it in my bones.” She looked at Hank. “But how? He’s in prison for the gods’ sake.”

Hank rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Had a buddy once that did time. He told me the whole system is based on favors. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Somebody owes somebody a favor, they call it in. It’s like a giant network.”

She flopped into a nearby chair and stared at Officer Gordon’s card that she’d tossed on the coffee table. “Why? Why me? He’s already used the amulet to transform himself from grotesquery to beauty, why would he need my amulet again? Why not go after the power amulet?”

He watched her, his expression intent.

“You know why. You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” She tipped her head, staring at him, her eyes narrowed, her forehead wrinkled.

She jumped up and snapped her fingers. “Of course. With the creativity amulet he can figure out how to break out of prison. And he wouldn’t trust anyone else with the power amulet,” she finished triumphantly, her face flushed with success.

“Bingo.”

Tapping her nail against her lip, Bella stared into the distance, her expression speculative. “Victor either has something on Johnny or knows someone who has something on him.”

“You got it in one. We just need to find out what that is.” Hank sank down into one of the overstuffed chairs across from the couch, stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles.

Even though he had adopted a relaxed pose, his mind seethed. Bella had nearly been killed. His jaw tightened. If Johnny Morelly was responsible for it, he, Hank, would just have to point out to Morelly the error of his ways. He was a big believer in enlightenment. And he looked forward to—no, yearned for—the opportunity to enlighten Morelly.

Watching his face, Bella’s lovely eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think of it, shug,” she warned.

He crossed his arms and said nothing.

She leaned forward. “I mean it, Hank.”

His glance swept her face. He liked it when she called him Hank instead of the generic “sugar” and “handsome” she called everyone.

“He’ll eat you up and spit you right into the bottom of a trash can. He has bodyguards and they pack heat.”

“So where does this tough guy live?”

She straightened, tight-lipped. Though even set in a straight line nothing could detract from the ripeness of her mouth. He glanced at it once then looked away and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I want you to leave, now.”

Wordlessly, he stood up.

Their bodies were a hairsbreadth apart. He could feel her heat, almost feel the rise and fall of those luscious breasts as she spoke.

“You saved my life. Saying thank you seems a pretty milquetoast way of expressing my gratitude. That’s why I want you to leave. I’m returning the favor. Go home, Hank McHenry. Go back to Wisconsin.”

Her voice was telling him to go but her eyes were saying something entirely different. The air between them sizzled with sexual tension. She was grateful. He could take her and they both knew it. But the sad truth was he wanted more from Bella Tremaine than just her gratitude. He’d known it the first time he’d laid eyes on her, with her damn cat winding in and out of her legs, looking like she was heading for Rodeo Drive instead of a horse ranch in Wisconsin. He said the first thing that came into his mind, “Where’s the cat?”

Bella blinked then laughed. She shook her head. “You never fail to amaze me. Just when I think I have you figured out. He’s locked in the bedroom.”

The light thumping noise he’d blocked from his mind was becoming increasingly loud. The cat was throwing himself against the door.

“Better let him out.” He turned and walked toward the foyer, intent on leaving, on shoring up his crumbling willpower.

“Hank, wait.” Bella held out her arm.

Hank closed his eyes.
Let me go
,
Bella
.
We
’
d both be better off if you just let me go
.
Being this close to you is torture
.
He took a breath from deep in his belly, let it out, straightened his shoulders then turned.

“Where are you going?” Her arm dropped to her side.

His voice noncommittal, his features expressionless, he said, “I’m leaving like you suggested.”

“Good try, McHenry, but you’d never leave a damsel in distress. You’ll be out on the streets holding up some lamppost all night. You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get some sheets.”

He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “I thought you wanted me to leave.”

The air-headed façade that Isabella Tremaine showed the world had slipped a bit but was now firmly back in place. “I do, sugar, but I know a big, strong man like you isn’t going to leave a helpless female like me on her own.”

He snorted. “You’re about as helpless as a she-wolf.”

“And that’s why you’re sticking around?” she asked sweetly then waved a hand before he could respond.

The sound of Puss–Puss’ yowls, added to the thumping against the door, distracted them both.

“Never mind. I’ll be right back.” She pointed a finger and commanded, “Stay,” then ran upstairs.

“You’d think I was a damn dog,” Hank muttered as he heard a door open. Moments later Puss–Puss bolted down the stairs.

The white cat went around the room, his mouth open, his head bobbing as he sniffed the air and smelled the scent of strangers. He looked at Hank, sat down on the floor in front of him and stared.

Bella strolled in. “Are you hungry?”

He smiled ruefully. “I could eat a whole cow about now.”

She flashed a smile this time genuine. “Better not say that around Maureen.” The woman he worked for and who he considered family was a vegetarian.

“I knew I was talking to another carnivore.” He grinned and watched in delight and wonder as the reserve in her eyes melted away.

“Well, I haven’t been home long enough to do any shopping so I’ll order you a couple of meat lovers pizzas. One of these days I’ll fix you a Southern breakfast. I noticed when I was at the ranch no one served grits. What kind of meal is that?” Bella asked as she picked up the phone, punched in speed dial and gave the order.

Grits. Manfully, he repressed a shudder. “You’re going to join me, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have a slice. What do you want to drink?” she asked as she headed into the kitchen. Puss–Puss trotted behind her, his tail straight in the air.

Hank followed her. His boots clicked on the marble floor as he stepped into the kitchen. “What have you got?”

She opened a gleaming white refrigerator. “I’ve got water, soda, beer and wine.”

“I’ll take a beer. Thanks.”

He looked around. The kitchen, like the living room, was a sparkling white. A painted border trailed the top of the wall with clusters of dark purple grapes on emerald-green vines. The room gleamed with new appliances. A wooden plaque with a vineyard in the background proclaimed Bella’s Kitchen in bold purple lettering, giving the modern kitchen a homey touch.

She turned with a green bottle in her hand. “Ale okay?”

He smiled and leaned a hip against the granite counter. “That works.”

Sticking the bottle under a wine-shaped opener mounted on the wall, she popped the top and handed it to him. “How’re Maureen and Jack?”

He reached for the bottle at the same time she extended her arm. She winced as he brushed it.

“What’s wrong, Bella?” He straightened, alert.

She smiled. “Nothing, sugar.”

He grabbed her hand and for the first time noticed the dark stains on the brown shirt. He pushed up her wide, bell-shaped sleeve. The raw and oozing scrape ran up her arm.

“Dammit, Bella.”

“It’s no big deal, sugar.” She tried to pull back her hand but he wouldn’t let go.

“The hell it’s not. Got any iodine?”

She sighed, causing her magnificent breasts to rise and fall. “No, but I’ve got some antibiotic cream in the bathroom.”

He stood back and motioned with his hand. “After you.”

“You’re a stubborn man, Hank McHenry.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Hmm,” was all she said as she walked out of the kitchen, the cat at her heels.

He followed her to the bathroom, trying to ignore the sway of her hips.

She sat down on the stool and pointed toward the medicine cabinet.

His gaze swept the bathroom, a pretty little room as feminine as its owner. Pristine white walls had apricot and yellow rosebuds painted on them. Fluffy large apricot towels hung on a dainty rack.

He opened the drawer, scanned the cabinet and pulled out a tube of ointment. “Do you have a washcloth you don’t mind getting a bit bloodied?”

She pointed toward a wicker basket overflowing with pastel washcloths and towels.

He picked one up at random and ran it under warm water. “Push up that sleeve, would you?” She complied and he gently washed her arm.

His head bent over her, he dabbed gently.

“You’re a good man, Hank McHenry,” she said quietly.

Her warm breath tickled his ear and sped up his heart rate.

The dabbing became a gentle stroking. “What kind of men are you used to, Bella?”

“Hard-edged, hungry men, sugar.”

For just a moment, his grip on her warm skin tightened. As the cat growled, his tail swishing, he forced himself to let go.

Picking up the tube of antibiotic ointment, he squirted it liberally on his fingers then gently rubbed it on her shoulder and arm.

He turned his head. Her lush lips were a breath away, moist and beckoning. She looked at him from heavy lids, her eyes as mysterious and deep as the ocean. He leaned closer.

The buzzer sounded loud and insistent from the foyer.

He drew back, willing his fingers not to tremble.

Unhurried, she stood up and pushed down her sleeve. “Thank you.” She headed for the foyer, her carriage as graceful and regal as a queen’s. The cat shadowed her like a witch’s familiar.

He waited a moment, fighting for control. He stared in the mirror. The man looking back at him was raw-boned and weathered with a head full of red hair turning gray. He planted his hands on the cool marble sink, leaned his head against the mirror and closed his eyes.
What are you doing
,
McHenry
?
She is so out of your league
.

“Hey, sugar, pizza’s here,” Bella called from the living room.

Pushing against the sink with his hands, he straightened, grabbed his ale and walked down the hall and into the living room. The hot spicy scents of meats, cheese and tomato sauce assailed him. He only hoped he didn’t start drooling.

He paused in the doorway, frowning. “Did George buzz through the delivery boy?”

Bella shook her head. “He pays whoever brings the deliveries, brings it up himself and I reimburse him.”

Hank nodded, relaxing. “Good plan.” He went to the couch and sat down, sinking into it, tired beyond belief. “Now how about some of that pizza?” He reached into the warm cardboard carton.

Holding it in her hand, Bella nibbled on a piece, tossing bits of melted cheese to Puss–Puss, while Hank inhaled the rest.

They chatted for a little while about Maureen, Jack, the horses and the wedding then Bella left and came back with bedding. “If you get up, I’ll make the couch up for you.”

“Just set it down, Bella. I’m capable of making my own bed.”

She looked at him for a moment then shrugged elegant shoulders. “Whatever you say, shug.” She turned and headed upstairs, the cat trotting at her heels.

He watched her for a moment. When he heard the upstairs door close, he pulled out his cell phone.

* * * * *

Like a caged tiger, Victor paced the confines of his cell. Morelly’s man had failed. From the description it had to be Hank McHenry who’d beaten the shit out of Morelly’s hired help. Something was going to have to be done about McHenry. He was all that stood between himself and the amulet.