Philip gestured emphatically as he responded to something his caller had said, and Ginny shivered as Philip’s towel momentarily parted, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of his masculinity. Her eyelids felt heavy, and a tightness was wrapping itself around her chest, making it difficult to take a deep breath.
This was crazy! She made a valiant effort to regain control of her wayward responses. How could she be sitting here all but drooling over a man that she barely knew, and what little she did know she didn’t like? It made no sense.
Ginny tried closing her eyes to shut out the temptation, but it didn’t help. She found Philip’s powerful body clearly imprinted on the back of her eyelids.
Flustered, she opened her eyes and tried concentrating on Damon, but it didn’t help. All she could think about was how closely the color of Damon’s hair matched Philip’s.
It’s only a mindless chemical reaction, she assured herself. Purely physical. The kind of thing that writers had been immortalizing in song and legend since time immemorial. And the very ferocity of her attraction guaranteed that it would quickly consume itself and burn out. A seed of doubt floated through her mind, but she refused to allow it to take root. She was a competent, modern woman who was more than capable of handling an unwanted sexual attraction, starting right now. She would look at him and see nothing but a superb physical specimen.
Ginny slowly raised her head and looked at Philip. Only a superb physical... Her determination wavered as he raised his hand and the muscles in his chest rippled. She found herself wondering what it would feel like if he were to hold her close to his chest. Close enough to feel the movement of those muscles. Close enough...
“No, I don’t think the boy is Creon’s.”
Philip’s curt words ripped through the sensual fog that had entrapped her, and her arms tightened protectively around Damon’s defenseless little body. Grimly, Ginny bit back a furious retort. Yelling at him wouldn’t help Beth. It would only make Philip feel justified in his pigheaded opinion. Besides, what Philip Lysander thought wasn’t all that important in the final analysis, she reminded herself. It was what Jason Papas thought that counted.
“We’ll be there tomorrow morning, Jason.” Philip hung up the phone and turned to Ginny, frowning when he noticed how rigidly she was holding herself in the chair. She looked brittle enough to break, and there was a deep flush on her pale cheeks.
“Umm...” he began, not sure what he wanted to say.
“What?” Ginny clipped the word out, her eyes focused on a point beyond his left shoulder.
Was she embarrassed? he wondered. Embarrassed because he had so easily seen through her lies? Or angry that he had?
He watched as she leaned over the boy and the light from the lamp created golden sparkles in her hair. How could she look like a Botticelli Madonna and yet have had an affair with another woman’s husband?
Philip watched the graceful movement of her hand and she swept back a tendril of hair that had escaped her chignon. What would it feel like to have her hair brush across his skin? He clenched his teeth as he felt himself reacting to the thought. The urge to touch her again was fast reaching a compulsion. A compulsion that worried him. He knew her to be a fraud, preying on a sick old man, so how could he be attracted to her?
“No one is ever going to believe that you’re supposed to be my lover,” he snapped, irritated at the way she refused to look at him. As if he were the one who was doing something wrong.
Ginny cautiously looked up and then wished she hadn’t when her eyes landed on the slight swell visible beneath his towel. Determinedly, she dragged her gaze upward to his face.
“Might I remind you that pretending we are lovers was your bright idea, not mine,” she said. “No one who knows me would believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the men I date are all calm, reasonable men who examine the facts before they leap to conclusions.”
“They sound like bloodless bores!”
Ginny frowned at him, refusing to admit even to herself that some of them had been just the faintest bit stultifying.
“They are men of high principles.” She retreated into platitudes.
“You’re trying to tell me that your dates have all been men of high principles, and yet you claim that a married man is your son’s father?” he asked scathingly.
“Be—” Ginny hastily caught herself and rushed on. “I didn’t know he was married. He certainly never said so.”
“He wore a wedding ring.”
“Not in New York he didn’t! And all that’s immaterial.” Ginny tried to redirect the conversation. She most emphatically didn’t want to discuss her love life—such as it was—with Philip. She was edgy enough.
“It isn’t immaterial that no one will believe that we are lovers.”
“You could take out a newspaper ad!”
“Lovers should be comfortable around each other,” he persisted.
Ginny grimaced. She didn’t think she’d ever feel comfortable around him.
“We can start the process by you touching me.” Philip walked over to where she was sitting, stopping scant inches from her.
She could smell the faint cedary fragrance of the soap he’d just used. It reminded her of Christmas and the anticipation that she always felt. As if something wondrous were about to happen. An anticipation much like that which gripped her now.
Touch him? Ginny considered his command. Where? Her eyes lingered on the contrast between his snowy white towel and the dark tone of his skin. Unconsciously, she rubbed the fingers of her free hand over her skirt to try to stop the tingling sensation that danced over them.
Touching him was definitely not a good idea, her mind decided even while her fingers curled in anticipation. But what could it hurt? Ginny tried to rationalize her growing need. In fact, it might help to speed up the time when her fascination with him would fade. And it wasn’t as if she could do more than touch him. Not while she was cradling a sleeping baby.
Giving in to the temptation, Ginny reached out and poked his thigh with a fingertip. There was no give. He was solid muscle.
“Oh, for the...” Philip grabbed her hand and pressed it flat against his bare thigh.
Heat from his body flowed into her receptive flesh, loosening her inhibitions. Tentatively she moved her hand slightly, shivering as the hair on his leg scraped abrasively over her palm. To her mingled dismay and relief, Philip suddenly stepped back.
“It’s a start,” he muttered, and it seemed to Ginny that his voice was deeper.
Could he have been affected by her touch? Was that why he’d retreated? It was an intriguing thought, but not a relevant one, Ginny told herself. It didn’t matter what Philip felt because she couldn’t allow anything to develop between them. Beth was counting on her to get Jason Papas to acknowledge Damon’s right to the family’s financial support, and she couldn’t do that if she were to become emotionally involved with what appeared to be the main opposition to the idea.
“There’s a nursery at the end of the hall off the kitchen that my sisters use when they stay at the apartment,” Philip said. “The boy can sleep there. Your luggage is in the bedroom beside it.”
Without another word, he turned and left the room. A minute later she heard the sound of his bedroom door slam shut.
“And a good-night to you, too,” Ginny muttered as she got to her feet, being careful not to