Chapter Eleven
Hank’s stomach twisted like a wrung-out washrag, but he ignored the unusual sensation, putting it down to indigestion. He’d eaten quite a few cookies today. It couldn’t be because Bethany thought he was a liar. Up until this morning, she’d been a stranger. Why should he care what she thought?
“Where are you staying?” she said, her voice clipped. She stared at the road ahead, her profile severe.
“The Ritz-Carlton.” He settled his head against the cloth headrest and watched her small hands on the wheel. Capable hands. She kept her nails short and unpainted.
“That’s what I thought. It’s not far. I’ll drop you off at the front.”
He turned to look at her. “Why did you think I’d stay at the Ritz?”
Now she did flick a glance his way before giving him her profile again. “It’s the most expensive hotel in the city.”
Like staying in a nice hotel was a sin. He sighed.
Her bad opinion of him was worse than the critics in his last review.
Like he was all fluff and no substance. What did she want from him?
Did she expect him to beg? He tugged on his seat belt, which tightened around his neck like a noose. Fine, he would beg.
“Beth, let’s call a truce. Please.”
She turned onto Huron Avenue. The Ritz was just ahead. He didn’t have much time to convince her to let him make it up to her. Thank God there was a traffic light, and it had just turned red.
“Look.” She stopped at the light and turned toward him. Her eyes appeared dark and mysterious in the glare. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not part of your team, okay.”
She put her pixie nose in the air. He supposed she was trying to look off-limits, but it served to emphasize her cuteness—like an annoyed little angel. He fought an incredible urge to break through the wall she’d erected . . . to touch her.
Instead, he clasped his hands together and did his best to sound contrite.
He wanted to get to know Bethany better.
Hank couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anything more.
And this was more than mere physical attraction.
He wanted to know what she thought about—her dreams and heartbreaks and loves.
He cleared his throat. “This is no game.”
She snorted. “Sure it is. You’re not used to a woman saying no.
I represent a challenge or something, don’t I?
Be honest. After this weekend is over, you’ll be back in Los Angeles.
You’ll start panicking because you’re out of work.
You’ll start thinking maybe a fitness center isn’t such a bad idea after all. ”
“Well . . .” Hank tapped a finger on his knee.
The light turned green, and Bethany stepped on the gas. Her lips thinned. “That’s what I thought.” She pulled up to the hotel. “Here you are, safe and sound.”
Her tone could freeze water. She glanced his way, giving him the kind of look a bus driver might give her passengers at the end of the night. A get-off-my-bus-so-I-can-head-home sort of look. Impersonal, tired, cynical.
“Good night, Hank. Good luck with your career. I’ll look for your lease agreement in the morning, and I’ll make sure you get your rent check on time.”
The crazy idea he’d mentioned to his financial advisor earlier surfaced like a fan waving a poster to get his attention. Hank stayed put. “What if I do?”
Bethany turned to frown at him. Now he had her full attention.
“Do what—open a fitness center in my building? Force us out of business?”
“No, stick around.” He unbuckled his seat belt.
His heart raced as he leaned toward her.
“I mentioned that my series was canceled. I have no job, nowhere to be at the moment. And I’m interested in diversifying.
What if I invest in your business? I’ll start by checking out the building—determine what repairs need to be made.
” The more he talked, the more the idea took on a life of its own.
Her eyes widened but she remained unmoving—except for her lips, which turned down in a frown. “You can’t be serious.”
He kept his expression businesslike, looked into her magical eyes, and did his best to persuade her.
“Oh, but I am. If I’m going to allow you and the other tenants to stay in the building, I should make sure the structure and businesses are sound.
I’ll start with yours. Unless”—he raised a brow—“you have an issue with me checking out your place? Is there something you’re not telling me? ”
She narrowed her eyes. “How long are you talking?”
Hank lifted a shoulder. “It’s a historic building. Might be a while. Let’s say a month?”
“Where will you stay? At the Ritz?”
“With you,” Hank could not resist saying, smiling at Bethany’s outraged expression. “Relax, I’m kidding. I have options. It’s not a big deal.”
She put the car in park, but her hands still gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t you have people to inspect the building? What do you know about old structures and repairs?” Her lips parted as if she couldn’t quite believe she was considering his idea.
He shot her a superior grin. “A lot. I grew up in old buildings. My mom wasn’t much good at fixing things, and as I told you earlier, my father wasn’t around. I’m a decent handyman. Don’t look so surprised.”
He sat on his hands when all he wanted was to touch her—to wipe the surprise off her face.
“I noticed the temperature is hot in some places and cold in others—must be due to the way the place is insulated and the age of the air conditioner. And a light is out near the back door. That’s a safety issue. ”
She licked her lips like a nervous cat. The scent of lemons and vanilla permeated the air. Heat flared between them like someone lit a match.
“I know the light’s out,” she muttered. “Travis will put in a new bulb.”
“And there’s a drip,” he breathed. He couldn’t stop himself from eyeing her lips. “From the faucet in your kitchen.”
She blinked as he leaned a little closer. “And your dishwasher’s on its last leg.”
“I know. I’ll buy a new one when I have the money.”
“What do you say?”
“Say?”
He smiled. She wasn’t as impervious to him as she would have him believe. “About me sticking around. To make repairs to your building and . . .”
Just a few inches more and their lips would meet. He could anticipate the velvety softness of hers, taste their sweetness. Hank swallowed, sucked in air, and forced his wayward thoughts back to the matter at hand. “To see if I might want to rent to you long-term.”
If he kissed her, she might kiss him back and it could lead to more. Tonight. Now. His body got the message loud and clear.
He leaned back and struggled to curb his enthusiasm.
He was her landlord. He did not want her thinking a night with him was an even exchange of goods and services.
No matter how enjoyable it would be in the moment.
They would regret it later. Hank did not want that.
No, he was pretty certain he wanted a lot more than sex and regret.
He had traveled down that particular highway plenty of times.
This time . . . He unfastened his seat belt. This time he wanted so much more.
He smiled and winked. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Before she could protest, he opened the door and scrambled out with a jaunty wave. “See ya tomorrow, Beth.”
Bethany watched Hank’s long-legged stride eat up the distance from her car to the entrance of the Ritz.
The door attendant greeted him, all smiles.
Hotel staff rushed to offer their assistance, along with a security guard and someone who looked like a bouncer.
Two young ladies approached with pen and paper, pleading for autographs. How long had they been waiting?
Bethany forced herself to draw breath.
Hank ran a hand through his hair and tossed a glance Bethany’s way, catching her stare.
He reacted by presenting her with a wide smile—and those darn dimples.
Then he turned to the girls, signed their papers with a slash, and went inside.
He didn’t look back. Bethany watched the entire scene until Hank and his entourage vanished from sight.
Her hands shook on the wheel. She took deeper breaths, but still her heart beat an unsteady rhythm.
Her head felt like an egg had cracked inside it and was about to spill.
What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she learned anything from her time with Desmond?
Weren’t all celebrities lazy, lying cheats?
And this one—she gripped the steering wheel until her hands were white—could tempt a nun.
She forced her hands to loosen, find the gear shift and put the car in drive, while her heart beat a rat-a-tat-tat on the walls of her chest. Hank Haverill played her like a set of drums. Her insides were jumpy, as if she were offbeat because of their latest interaction.
Trouble was, Bethany felt somehow like the way to get back on track was to be played again.
And she would not let that happen. Never again.
She stepped on the gas and headed toward her house—the house she’d grown up in and where she and Travis still lived. A cute yellow bungalow that welcomed her at the end of the day like a sunny smile.
Bethany drew in another sharp breath in a desperate attempt to slow her beating heart.
It was one thing to feed and talk to a television star who looked and acted like a Greek god.
It was fantastical to think said television star might find her attractive .
. . might want to stick around and be with her.
He claimed it was to act as a repairman for all the things wrong with the building, but Bethany didn’t buy his story for a moment.
She bit her lip. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it’s my cooking. But if Hank Haverill wanted her, he wasn’t the type of man to show restraint. She had a feeling that whatever Hank desired, Hank got.