Summary: Gin is fire… glowing, vibrant and full of life.
Harry Potter is ice… cool, distant and difficult to reach.
Harry knows that Gin is the last woman he would fall for. After all, apart from her beautiful eyes, what else does she have going for her? For her part, Gin hates the handsome man who has destroyed everything that made her happy. Then fate intervenes and Harry finds himself fathoms deep in love with the mysterious Ginevra Raven, but Ginevra seems to be the only woman who is immune to the irresistible Potter charm…
Chapter 20
Hermione, waiting in a cab outside the office building, checked her watch for the tenth time. She was due to meet up with Ron Weasley for their sightseeing tour, but was half convinced the handsome Englishman wouldn't show up. Her anxiety made her laugh. Did one tour of the Big Apple constitute the beginnings of a relationship?
She hoped so.
Oh, how she hoped so.
She was like a teenager waiting for her first date to arrive. It was all so silly. And wonderful. Suddenly, she saw him. He loped along with the tall, easy gait that some men had, this thick, dark red hair waving in the breeze. His eyes were scanning the pavement anxiously, and Hermione saw, with a tender pang, the way his shoulders drooped when he saw she wasn't there.
She paid off the cabbie and hurried towards him. "Ron…" she called quickly, noticing with a great surge of satisfaction the way a wide smile spilt his handsome face.
"Hello. I thought you might have forgotten me," he teased.
"No chance," she said, without thinking, then laughed. It was true, so why try to pretend otherwise?
"You look wonderful." He said softly.
"Thanks. So do you."
Ron grinned. "Well, now the mutual admiration society has formally opened for business, where do we go from here, New York girl?"
"Where else?" she cocked her head to one side, reached for his arm and tucked it happily under her own. "The Statue of Liberty, of course. You can't start a tour of the Big Apple without it."
"True. A French Statue is the obvious choice to begin to explore the American psyche."
"You're not supposed to mention that!"
"Ok. The Statue of Liberty is as American as apple pie except apple pie is a traditional dish from England."
"Ronald…" she said, elongating his name warningly, and suddenly they were both laughing.
"Ok. Pax, pax." He held up his hands. "I'll be good." He promised, then, as their eyes met and their breaths caught, he added softly, "If I can." Hermione opened her mouth to make some flip retort right back, then realised flippancy was the last thing on her mind. Or his, it seemed, for slowly his hand came out to cover hers resting on his forearm, and she felt a warm, delicious flutter climb up her arm.
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From his nondescript Ford, Theo watched them, his small brown eyes noting their every move.
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The statue was everything it was supposed to be, Ron mused, staring up at it a quarter of an hour later, but his eyes kept straying to the woman at his side Hermione noticed, and her heart contracted. "Don't tell me there's a resemblance," she warned playfully, her voice nerveless husky. "Because I know there isn't."
"Not in looks perhaps," Ron conceded enigmatically, then raised a mocking eyebrow as she cocked her head to look up at him, her eyes dancing with laughing suspicion.
"Beware of cryptic Englishmen bearing dodgy compliments," she murmured.
"Oh, definitely. We English are a perfidious lot. I learned that in history lessons at school!"
She grinned. It evoked images of him as a saucy-faced young boy, and she found herself longing to know everything about him. "Tell me about school," she urged softly.
"You first."
"I went to Miss Fortnum's School for Young Ladies," she said primly, but her eyes wouldn't stop dancing.
Ron grinned. "I think Cragsmoor Primary is a slightly different proposition," he finally admitted. "It was a single stone building set right on the edge of the dale…"
For two hours they wandered the streets of New York, exchanging life histories. Hermione listened, fascinated, sad and pleased, as he explained how he was orphaned, left York for Ravenheights, and found a new family. When it came to her turn, she listened to the story of her life through different ears, and it didn't sound good.
"I always had money," she said at last, "even as a little girl. It alienated me from so much of life." They were walking down Broadway, the signs for the latest hit shows hanging up all around them.
"You can't be blamed for your childhood Hermione," Ron said softly, sensing her sudden melancholia. "Money and ethics are for adults, but kids are kids the whole world over."
Hermione looked up at him, into his open, beautiful grey/blue eyes, and smiled. "I know you're right. But when I grew up I was suppose to develop a character and backbone of my own."
Ron saw the sad, almost self-disgusted look in her eyes, and shook his head. "I find it very hard to believe you did anything so very terrible," he teased. "What did you do? Rob a bank? Oh, I forgot. Your father owns one, doesn't he? There wouldn't be any fun in that. It would be like scrumping apples from your own tree."
"Scrumping?"
"Mm, an old English pastime. You find the nearest fruit tree, wait till dark, check for dogs, then shinny up and pinch a bagful. There's nothing quite like it."
Hermione laughed. "You idiot! Come on, all this talk of apples and plums had made me hungry. I'm starving."
"In that case, let me treat you to dinner," Ron offered gallantly, and promptly walked up to the nearest hot-dog vendor and ordered two whoppers, handing her the greasy, paper-wrapped dog, smothered with onions and mustard.
Hermione grinned wryly. "You're all heart," she muttered.
"Now, now," he chided and took a healthy bite. "Mmm. At least this is American," he said, smacking his lips loudly. "Oh, no, I forgot. The frankfurter sausage is a German dish."
"Psst," Hermione rebuked, but took a bite of her own hot-dog, a little surprised to find it so delicious. "Hey, this is good," she said, then laughed as Ron did a quick, ostentatious double-take.
"Don't tell me you don't eat one of these at least once a day! And you a New York girl too. Tut, tut, for shame."
"Oh, stop it," she said, delighted. "Now where was I?"
"About to tell me of your nefarious ways as a teenager."
"Oh, right," she said, sounding less then enthusiastic.
"Come on, give," he urged. "I dare you. I double dare you."
"Double dare?" she said archly. "OK. You asked for it. I got married at eighteen. Not because I was in love, but just because Daddy wanted me to. There. Now, isn't that shameful?" she challenged, but although she was still smiling, her eyes were darker than he'd ever remembered seeing them.
Ron, his spirits nose-diving after her first stark statement, began to recover. "Hum. Well let's see. You were eighteen? Well, who can be held responsible for what they did at that age? When I was eighteen I was convinced I was in love with the pub-keeper's wife. Now, tell me how you felt when you were twenty, and I'll know more."
Hermione grinned. "At twenty I wanted a divorce. I just recently managed to get one."
Ron almost wilted in relief, but he managed to suppress the mile-wide grin that threatened to break across his face. "See?" he said smugly. "What did I tell you? You're perfectly normal. Or at least, as normal as I am."
Hermione laughed. "That's not saying much!" then, as he made to grab her, growling threateningly, she backed off, hands held up in surrender. "OK, OK. But you did walk right into it. Most men call me." She looked at him coquettishly out of the sides of her eyes, feeling so incredibly light hearted and somehow safe that she never even stopped to consider how childishly she might be acting. "Let's see… beautiful, of course, but also… vivacious," she ticked them off on her fingers, "clever, sophisticated, charming, exciting and… oh yes, Surgeis Podmore called me, sparkling."
"Sounds as if he's getting you confused with wine," Ron said dismissively. "Eat your hot-dog." Hermione did so. Nothing had ever tasted better. They finished with Broadway and Ron hailed yet another taxi. "Now where?"
"The Empire State," Hermione said, both to Ron and the driver. "This is the grand tour, remember?" In the back seat she felt his legs press gently against hers. She could feel the tension of the last six months drain away with every minute she spent in his company. She looked at him tenderly. Ron, with his laughter and warmth, his odd, soothing accent, and solid, desirable body. Not daring to think too much about his desirable body just yet, she concentrated on being just warm and happy.
"I suppose there are bigger buildings," Ron mused, unaware of her thoughts. "But King Kong didn't climb them, so they hardly count. Oh. I forgot. King Kong was a Hollywoodian."
"You beast!" she yelped, and thumped him with all her might on his arm. She might have been battering solid marble, she thought mutinously as his face broke into laughter, and her fist started to tingle. "Ouch," she muttered, and blew on her clenched hand.
"Poor baby," he commiserated. "Here, let me kiss it better." Suddenly, the laughter was gone. Ron found is thumb stroking her hand, which trembled in his own. The driver, the cab, New York all disappeared. "Hermione," he said huskily, and kissed her knuckles – one by one. His senses picked up every tiny speck of information about her – the way her pupils contracted as he leaned towards her, the soft, floral scent of her perfume. He heard the small, quick intake of her breath before the pounding of his own heart took over.
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Theo, right on the taxi trail, saw through the rear window the intimate gesture and snorted. Hand-kissing? Was this guy French or what? He supposed he'd better find out. Damn it. When was he going to get some action?
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"This is as close as I can get," the taxi driver said, starling them both. Quickly, Ron pulled away and glanced out. He shook his head, and smiled ruefully at himself. Hermione caught the smile, even as he leaned over to pay the taxi driver, and it made her spirits soar back up into the stratosphere.
So he was affected by what had happened as she was. Suddenly, as they entered the crowded elevators that would take them to the roof of the most famous building in New York, she wished they were anyway else. Anyway quiet and deserted. Her apartment for instance…
The wind was the first thing Ron noticed as he stepped out onto the roof. Then, as they approached the wide steel barriers and nets, the view. Hermione looked at the city that was her home with new eyes as Ron happily queued to use one of the telescopes. When it was his turn he stuck in his coin and swung it around. "That's some view you've got New York girl," he said at last after an awestruck silence, then beckoned her to his side. She didn't need asking twice. "Here. Show me where you live," he said his voice husky now. "I want to see it."
Hermione smiled tremulously. "Why don't we go there next? I want to change my clothes anyway," she added hastily. "I thought I'd take you out on a cruise around the harbour."
Ron's eyes were on her, soft and gentle, and she didn't care how aggressive she might have sounded, or how silly. Somehow, with this man, she could never be misunderstood, or judged. It was a new feeling for a girl who'd always been the Granger Princess. Quickly, she picked out her father's hotel with the telescope and he moved to look, standing so close to her that she couldn't resist leaning against him. In unspoken understanding, he looped and hand gently around her waist.
"If you see any bi-planes come buzzing around," he muttered from behind the telescope, glad that she couldn't see how his loins were hardening or his chest heaving for breath, "Tell them King Kong went that-a-way." He pointed to his left, and Hermione began to laugh.
"You're a clown."
"I know," he said. "But your accounts department must think I'm a competent clown. They offered me the job." He turned her in his arms and looked at her carefully, his eyes for once, totally serious. "Do you mind?" he asked softly.
For a second se wondered what he was talking about. Se opened her mouth to laugh and say that of course she didn't. Then, with that uncanny and growing way in which they were beginning to read each other's mind, she realised what he meant. He'd be working for her. As an accountant. A long, long, way down the ladder from Special Assistant to the President, and heir apparent. No doubt her father would not approve of her seeing a lowly accountant and her friends would think she had gone mad. Suddenly she laughed. What the hell did she care what they thought? What did the world matter at all? What did her father's approval matter when she felt like this? For the first time ever, she felt alive. Like a woman. Like someone who might, just might get a shot at love after all. Deep in her heart, she knew she was already in love with Ron. It was as if, in a single morning of fun and silliness, he'd somehow managed to perform a miracle a wipe out every last niggling thing that had made her feel so down before. And now that she had a taste of hoe life could be, she'd never let them grind her down ever again. "No Ron," she said at last. "I don't mind at all."
Ron felt his breath leave him in a long, slow sigh. "I was hoping you would say that," he admitted with a rueful grin. Then more gently, "do you still want to stop by your apartment to change?"
Hermione knew that the question meant more than the sum part of its words. She knew she could back off, slow things down, and he'd let her. With him, there was no sense of saying one thing, and meaning another. "I want to show you the decadent place where I live," she made up her mind quickly. "Just so you'll know the worst from the beginning."
Ron's smile faltered. He already knew the worst, but how was he going to tell her? She looked so trusting; she was so open and honest that he felt like Judas. He had not expected to fall in love at first sight, and he knew that was exactly what he had gone and done. This girl already held his happiness in the palm of her lovely hand. "Come on then," he said softly at last, taking her and in his, this thumb tenderly rubbing against the inside of her palm. "and I promise not to laugh at your million dollar Picassos or get upset over your Ming vases."
"That's so magnanimous of you."
"I thought so."
As they got into the crowded elevator, Hermione felt his hand close around hers. In the packed little box, she squeezed his hand back. They were still holding hands when they emerged.
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Theo pulled the car forward, almost level with them. Just then a yellow cab appeared around the corner. The girl saw it and raised her arm, about to take a step off the kerb. Suddenly his heart leapt. Tom wanted the girl out the way, didn't he? What if she had an accident? Hit and runs happened all the time, so there was no reason for Leslie Granger to be unduly suspicious. Only a bare half-second had passed, and the girl was now leaning right over the kerb, waving furiously. The man beside her was laughing and making some joke comment. It was now or never. Theo rammed his foot on the accelerator, and the Ford engine, surprised by the sudden demand for power, roared nosily.
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Ron heard the sound and whipped his head around in surprise. He saw a large car, a flash of colour he didn't have time to assimilate, and is mouth opened to give a cry of warning. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he screamed her name and launched himself towards her. Hermione heard his voice, distorted with fear, just a second after hearing a noisy engine. She half turned and saw the car bearing down on her. Then strong hands were around her waist, and she felt her feet being lifted off the ground. She had a dazed sensation of immense strength, and then the car was upon her, the front tyre only inches from her leg. She was yanked backwards. The car roared away, and she fell back, her body landing on a soft cushion that turned out to be Ron Weasley. He let out his breath in a whoosh as Hermione's elbow dug into his ribs. Dimly, he heard the tooting of angry horns as the car shot off into the traffic. Hermione lay still for a moment and then she twisted around awkwardly, looking down at him. Passers-by gave them a wide berth.
"You ok?" she asked her voice breathy. "I forgot how crazy New York drivers are."
Ron managed a weak grin, but the fear still clenched his insides with a cold hard fist. "Another second, another inch and… maniac!" he finally yelled at the street, but the car was long gone.
Hermione shivered. "I know." Slowly she leaned her cheek against his coat lapel, and heard the strong beating of his heart. They lay like that for several moments on the sidewalk, oblivious to the people watching them. His arm looped around her shoulders and held her close.
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Harry picked up the dossier on Gin Weasley and Ravenheights, and read it again. But no matter how many times he re-read it, the facts remained the same. The loss of the farm had been inevitable. Even if he hadn't made an offer for the Weasley's land, the banks would have foreclosed anyway.
But there would be no convincing Ginevra of that. She held him firmly responsible for her losses, of that he was sure. Why else would she alter her whole appearance, change her name, and track him down? It was like being stalked by a tigress, except that instead of fear, he felt something else totally. It was as hot and sharp as fear, but much more pleasant. Much more insidious. It was intoxicating. Hell, she was intoxicating. A stunning mixture of innocent and avenging fury. Beauty and danger. It was almost addictive… with a sigh he tossed the document back on to his desk and forced his mind to think straight. It was hopeless. No man could be expected to be immune to a woman as beautiful and angry as Ginevra Raven. She was a challenge that was as old as desire itself. And therein lay the danger. Only a fool let a tigress snap at his heels, no matter how beautiful she was, or how wild. Or how much he wanted her…
It was no good putting it off. The insanity had to end before one of them got hurt. He punched out her phone number.
"Hello?"
"Ginevra. We have to talk," he said crisply. "About Coldstream farm and my offer for it." Who knew, perhaps if he offered her enough she might think of it as compensation, and take the money and run. Yeah, and I'm Mary Poppins, a little voice sniggered in the back of his head.
"Oh. Oh, yes, of course," she said, her voice hesitant and a little dismayed. "Are you at the hotel? I'll be right over. Give me ten minutes."
As soon as she arrived, he led her to the office, his face blank. "Before you say anything, I want to apologise for last night," she plunged right in. he looked particularly handsome today, the usual business suit replaced by casual jeans and a white tight fitting sweater. She could almost believe he was just a normal human being, instead of the cold, calculating business machine she knew him to be. "I'm afraid the wine went straight to my head," she continued awkwardly, and slumped into a chair. Her head ached with its first hangover, and vague memories of last night made her uneasy. Had she made a complete fool out of herself?
She looked so beautiful, so cunning, so naïve and so dangerous that Harry didn't know where to start. "Ginevra… is there anything you want to tell me?" he asked, as surprised as she by the words. "I mean… is there anything… personal, that you feel I should know?" why did he feel obliged to give her a chance? He must be getting soft!
Ginevra went hot, then cold. Se shook her head. "No. No, I don't think so. Besides, what would anything personal have to do with my selling you the farm?" she asked, deciding that attack was the best form of defence. "Oh, by the way, I do have a second party interested in the farm," she exaggerated, watching him closely for signs of a reaction. If he wanted to land, it stood to reason that Grangers' would want it too.
"I'm sure you have," he said, his voice cold. All right. He'd given her a chance to bow out gracefully, but she was determined to play hard ball. Ok, so he'd let her. He was interested to see just how far she would go. Give her just enough rope and then… "Ok, Ginevra. I'll contact my bank and lawyers, get some figures rolling. I'll call you when I have a deal ready."
She smiled. She was going to enjoy stringing him along, dangling the farm in front of him, and then snatching it away again. It was wonderful to have him right where she wanted him. "Ok I'll wait to hear from you. But, as I said, there are other interest parties…"
He didn't take the bait. He showed her out, even smiled as he said goodbye then went back to his desk. He still felt guilty about Ravenheights, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. For a long, long while he sat staring vacantly into space. He'd offer her a fortune for the farm, but he knew in his heart that she wouldn't take it.
For better or worse, they were locked together in combat. And she would lose. There was just no way she could possibly win, not when he held all the aces.
The thought, far from exhilarating him, made him feel curiously depressed.