Watching For Willa. Helen Myers R.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Like Zachary Denton, the newcomer was a well-toned product that bespoke hours of extensive and disciplined weight training; and if she hadn’t recognized him, the Vilary Vantage Health Club and Spa logo on his T-shirt would have identified him. He was one of the trainers. The one with the neon smile and a cavalier’s manners, she recalled, remembering how he often ran to open the doors for the health club’s female clientele. Even her oldest saleswoman, sensible Sophia, grew all breathless and giddy when he strolled by Whimsy.

      “I know you.”

      So much for thinking she could escape without small talk. Willa nodded politely. “Hi.” She knew she owed this man with the model-perfect tan a debt a gratitude, but with Zachary Denton’s warning echoing in her mind, she wanted desperately to get out of there. “I’m the new neighbor,” she offered reluctantly, hooking her thumb in the direction of her house. “Willa Whitney. I came over to introduce myself.”

      Youthful features puckered into a slight frown, making him look no more than a year or two her senior.

      “Couldn’t help but wonder seeing as the door’s rarely open. He doesn’t like visitors.”

      The conspiratorial whisper came as the custom-made elevator cranked into operation, and Willa stiffened. “He’s made that abundantly clear.”

      “Don’t take it personally. He’s had a rough time of it.” Glancing across the foyer as the elevator settled on the ground floor, his gaze grew troubled, almost sad. “You should’ve seen him before I started working with him.”

      “You’ve done wonders with keeping him in shape.” Too bad you can’t do something with what’s going on beneath that wild mane of hair. “It’s…Greg, right?” she added, trying to recall what the girls at the store had called him.

      “Ger. Ger Sacks. Sounds less nerdy than Gerald.” He grinned and shrugged. “I like your store. Crazy stuff you peddle.”

      So much for hoping he’d confused her with someone else. She didn’t know if she liked the idea of her merchandise being described as “crazy,” but Willa murmured her thanks, adding, “Well, after you prime the bodies, they want some nice things to show off the results.” Her gaze drifted beyond him as Zachary Denton wheeled out of the metal cage and rolled himself toward them. Feeling his eyes like two drills boring into her, she began backing away. “Um…I really have to run. Nice to finally meet you, Ger.”

      “Ditto. Come see me some time. Not that you need it,” he added with a brief, sweeping glance, “but everyone could use a little cardiovascular workout once in a while.”

      “True, but I get that by doing all of my own housework.”

      She did run then, all the way back home, not stopping until she had her front door locked and bolted behind her. Only when she slumped against the sturdy wood did she think about what had happened.

      Had the combination of Zachary Denton’s accident and his work driven him to the edge of madness? If so, he’d at least been sane enough to outmaneuver her and get that note. Why did he want it if he hadn’t been the one to put it in her box? And is that why he’d almost kissed her? Oh, God, that was the most incredible of all—she was disappointed it hadn’t happened.

      Blue-eyed blondes. Just like her.

      My God you’re lovely.

      Blondes…blondes…blondes…

      Willa covered her face with her hands. Dear Heaven, what had she gotten herself into?

      “You’re tight.”

      “And I plan to get tighter,” Zach replied, thinking of the stiff drink he would pour himself as soon as he sent his trainer on his way.

      Not bothering to open his eyes, he willed the strong, capable hands massaging the knots and kinks out of his back to work their magic—but faster. At least the guy was good. Gerald Sacks wasn’t a fully-trained masseur; however, he was more than adequate, and most important, he saved Zach from having to deal with yet another person intruding on his space and privacy.

      “You keep pouring all that booze into yourself and pretty soon you won’t need me anymore, you’ll need a mortician.”

      “Anytime you figure you no longer want my money, say the word. Then you won’t have to watch.” Zach had no intention of taking that kind of bull from anyone. Not even Felix who had been his agent since the start—well before his first-class trip through hell—had permission to lecture him.

      “Sorry.”

      Hearing the mumbled word and sensing the hurt beneath it, Zach realized what a mistake he’d made. A stupid one. He needed to stop remembering the scene of Willa talking to Sacks, not to mention replaying the moment he’d almost learned the taste and feel of her, and keep his mind on the business at hand.

      After a grunt and an oath, he added, “Ignore me. Too many hours at the computer lately.” That much was true. His body ached from the ninety-minute workout Ger had put him through.

      “I know. Your neck and shoulders are a mess, man.” As if wanting to make his point, he gave a surprisingly painful twist to the muscle he’d been working.

      “Son of a…hey!” Zach lifted himself on his elbows and glared at the man who gazed back at him through startled, summer-blue eyes. “It’s the legs that have the nerve damage! What are you trying to do, kill me?”

      Ger’s expression turned as studious as when he was teaching a new move. “Killing wouldn’t take that much strength. When I was into martial arts, I learned that much. And I was only trying to make the point that you ignored technique today. Injure yourself, you’ll be hurting more than you. Think about my reputation, man.”

      Zach doubted he’d ever heard Ger say anything half as intelligent, and the revelation about his past was interesting, as well. Wondering how else he’d underestimated him, he lowered himself back to the towel-covered table. “You studied martial arts?”

      “Hell, no. I took a few classes and found out it wasn’t for me.”

      “Why not?”

      “Just wasn’t. Too much head stuff.” Ger paused to pour more lotion into his palm. “You want more work on your shoulders or do you want me to move on?”

      “Finish. I have to get back upstairs.”

      In the sixteen months since he’d hired Gerald Sacks to transform the den into a training room and keep his body from atrophying, they’d had their moments of tension and disagreement. The accident had honed Zach’s innate tendencies to be strong-willed and acerbic. What’s more, the soft-spoken, machine-tanned Ger was one of only three people who could gain entrance into the house, and was damned well paid for his time and service. Zach figured that gave him the right not to mince words, and pretend to be something he wasn’t.

      “You want to talk?”

      Sometimes Zach did tire of his isolation, and the singular cerebral focus of writing; and as with the chess games he looked forward to with Roger Elias, he saw conversation as a discipline requiring skill and strategy. But although Ger was a good source of information for what was going on in town, he wasn’t exactly the most inspiring, let alone challenging, conversationalist. Then СКАЧАТЬ