April's Affections and Intrigues: Love and Mystery Bloom

Hands On, November 2010 by Christina Crooks Samhain Publishing Featuring: Ginnie Anderson; Harry Barrett ISBN: 1609282469 EAN: 9781609282462 Kindle: B00436F00C e-Book Add to Wish List Purchase Kindle Barnes & Noble

"This fascinating story grabs you from the first page with emotional turmoil and great characters."

Hands On
Christina Crooks

Reviewed by Mandy Burns
Posted October 18, 2010

Romance Erotica Sensual

Ginnie is finally on her own, away from her physically abusive boyfriend and verbally abusive mother. Ginnie's new job working with marionette puppets, ones she has created herself, is satisfying and the children she performs for are happy. Unfortunately, something goes wrong in her world. The grant supporting the nonprofit company she works for is pulled; with no money, events are canceled and the staff is in jeopardy of losing their jobs. Ginnie's ex- boyfriend is now stalking her begging her to go back to him and the nonstop rain is threatening her new home. Thankfully, an extremely kind man rescues both her and the marionettes in the basement, giving Ginnie some hope that all will be well.

The past year has been nothing but a nightmare that has driven Harry into seclusion. The decision to sell off numerous real estate ventures and fire certain personnel for mismanaging his properties, was not made lightly. One property in particular has Harry daring him to drive as quickly as possible in a torrential rain, attempting to get to the new tenant before the house falls down around her. As Harry pulls up to the house, it collapses. He dashes to the rescue only to find the tenant upset not about herself but some wooden puppets. The festering anger of the past causes Harry to bark out orders, which Ginnie ignores, making his frustration grow to a dangerous level. To his own dismay and better judgment, he finds himself offering his home to Ginnie.

HANDS ON has a fascinating story line that grabs your attention from the first page supplying the reader with emotional turmoil to make your stomach drop. A great read!

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SUMMARY

Talented, down-on-her-luck puppeteer Ginnie Anderson’s life seems destined to fall down around her ears. Much like the rented bungalow that’s just collapsed in a heavy rainstorm, endangering her precious collection of marionettes.

Her livelihood in need of protection and repair, she can’t refuse her landlord’s offer of temporary shelter in his magnificent home. Under his roof, though, she finds her hard-won grasp on her independence slipping—and herself falling into his arms.

The hallmark of Harry Sharpe's business success: he never makes the same mistake twice, particularly when it comes to manipulative women. So why is Ginnie, who pulls strings for a living, like a siren’s song in his blood? It’s best to put temptation as far out of reach as possible.

Yet when Ginnie’s past threatens to destroy the life she’s built for herself, Harry must decide which is more important. Holding tight to his sense of self preservation, or letting go to capture Ginnie’s fragile heart—before it breaks into a thousand pieces.

Excerpt

Still, when the ceiling began to crack and sag ominously, weighted down by debris Rick kicked loose, she had a sudden premonition. “Get off my roof!” she yelled again, but this time louder—good and scared. “It’s going to fall in!”

“Say you’ll come back to me, then!”

To Ginnie’s relief, she heard his voice moving toward the edge of the house, toward the trellis he’d climbed in his misguided attempt to harass her into returning to Los Angeles with him. As if she’d ever consider it, no matter what embarrassing, intimidating tricks he tried. But he’d always been a mule-headed idiot, and mean to boot. Good thing she’d finally figured it out before marrying him.

“I’ll be back, Ginnie! You’d better reconsider!” She could just see him through the front window, sodden and hunched against the rain as he scurried to the pricey gold Cadillac Sport Wagon he loved so much.

She didn’t breathe easily until she saw the glow of its taillights move away. Then, exasperated, she knocked her long, unruly curls off her face. Her fingers caught in the damp brown frizz caused by the wet weather. Or was it the humidity?

A large, cold drop of water hit her forehead, splattering wetly over her nose and cheeks. She wiped at it and stepped backward, looked up.

The rental broker’s voice haunted her: “It’s a great find for the neighborhood. They don’t build ’em like this anymore. Better pounce quick, before someone else gets it.”

Ginnie laughed, watching as the wet stain on the ceiling spread. She knew she’d been a bit naïve in her eagerness to start a new life without Rick. The cute little Craftsman bungalow had charmed her, despite its evidence of neglect. Heck, the neglect had charmed her! The gently peeling paint, the unfinished basement, the foliage-shrouded porch, the untouched original ceilings, the dusty hardwood floors, the yellowing crystal doorknobs… It was everything Rick’s modern mansion wasn’t.

The rain pelted down with a thunderous sound. Ginnie’s gaze went again to the large window above her thrift-store couch. All she saw now was a gray sheet of water.

The rain pounded, a steadily increasing roar.

“It rains all the time in the Northwest,” Ginnie murmured nervously, backing out of the wet living room to the kitchen. “It’s famous for it. That’s all this is. A typical rainstorm. The landlord will repair the roof and everything will be fine.”

Her house groaned.

Suddenly, with a bone-rattling crack, the floor tilted.

Ginnie looked down and couldn’t believe her eyes. Her kitchen’s quaint vinyl floor ripped open, and the pressed wood beneath separated into two jagged edges.

Earthquake? Ginnie looked for a table to crawl under, then remembered she hadn’t saved up enough money to buy one yet.

And she was no longer in California, land of earthquakes. She was in Oregon, away from everything she’d known. Things would be different here. They had to be different.

More of the floor sank, making her stumble backward. She threw her arms out for balance, trying not to panic. So, not an earthquake. What was it? It felt as if the bungalow was actually coming apart.

It might crush her, along with everything that gave meaning to her world.

She panicked after all. “The puppets!”

Ginnie ran, skidding across the living room’s slick wood to the door leading to the basement. She flung it open and raced down the narrow stairway, even as she heard a window breaking above.

How long did these crazy rainstorms last, anyway?

Nothing could happen to her marionettes.

She flung her body over one of the trunks containing her precious marionettes.

Pieces of plaster and sheetrock particles pricked her skin.

Her puppets and marionettes would not be destroyed.

“Over my dead body!” she shouted furiously at the house.

As if in answer, a subfloor support beam cracked loudly enough to hurt her ears.

Suddenly more nervous than she’d ever been, she called out, "Kidding?"

Then the house collapsed.

Harry flicked the wipers on his Aston Martin up to full speed, but he could still barely see the road before him. It wasn’t safe. If he wasn’t so familiar with the area, and if this task wasn’t so urgent, he’d turn right around and head home.

But the house in question wasn’t far from his more upscale home farther up the hill. And after getting that outrageous news from Todd about Harry’s recently acquired property management firm, the situation demanded immediate investigation.

As a millionaire a few times over, and by now the owner of so many real-estate-centric companies he didn’t bother tracking them anymore, Harry Barrett Sharpe normally enjoyed involving himself with the down-and-dirty work. Necessity required sequestering himself in the catbird seat at the very top more often than not, so he appreciated touching base with the Joe Blows, joining the construction gang on occasion to work with his hands, reminding himself of his roots.

But this was different. Normally, middle-management matters didn’t sink to such levels of dangerous incompetence. Normally people’s lives weren’t at risk.

Not to mention leaving him wide open for a devastating lawsuit.

The woman running the property management firm had been criminally negligent. Sure, the administration, marketing and financials of all his rentals were technically handled and in the black. But the physical maintenance of his structures required capital expenditures she’d chosen to pocket instead. If her assistant Lara hadn’t clued in his assistant, Harry wouldn’t now be driving through one of Portland’s worst storms in a decade to check on the tenant—one Ginnie Anderson—who should never have been offered a lease on the small bungalow.

A half-hour ago, Harry had seen the home’s pictures, seen the state of it. He’d seen the copies of advised repairs. So many major repairs. The roofing and chimney problems worried him most, especially in this rainstorm.

He cursed the rain. He cursed the irresponsible woman he’d just instructed Todd to fire. He cursed the silly twit who’d moved into the ramshackle home. He cursed again as his car slid through a corner, but he corrected easily, some instinct making him drive even faster.

When he reached the street, skidded to a halt behind the small Volkswagen parked before the house and jumped out, his first thought was that he’d overreacted. The house seemed fine.

Harry wiped rain out of his eyes, his gaze focusing on the sharp line of one section at the juncture of the flatter roof to the steeply pitched dormer section. Was it darker? Sagging? It was!

And that wasn’t all.

As he watched with growing horror, the chimney crumbled as if it were the subject of a controlled demolition. Then a thick section of wood trim ripped loose, the wind guiding it through the yellow-lit kitchen window.

Lit. The tenant was home. The tenant was inside the house!

Without thinking, Harry immediately charged to the front door, used the master keys he’d brought and ran inside.

He heard her cry out, “Over my dead body!” right before pieces of the roof began to fall and an enormous thud from somewhere below jarred his feet with a deep bass that rattled his bones.

The basement.

Harry ran downstairs.

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