well. Now she could only pray the rest of their vacation would be just as rewarding.
“What can I say, Gin? For the past five years, you’ve kept my hair looking great. When you were awarded that money from your lawsuit, you told me you decided it was time to do something for yourself. You wanted an out-of-this-world vacation—I figured the least I could do was make sure you got one.”
Chapter Two
Zach was convinced he’d died and gone to heaven.
He had come downstairs ten minutes early. He spent some time in the gift shop, looking at bright-colored T-shirts and beach towels.
It was a man murmuring “Now that’s what I call a woman” that first caught his attention.
He turned around in the direction of the elevators. He instinctively knew the man was talking about Ginna.
Nick would have called her a hottie. For once Zach wouldn’t have disagreed.
Ginna had dressed for the warm climate in a silky cobalt-blue handkerchief halter top and a blue tropical-print ankle-length skirt. The high-heeled sandals she wore put her almost eye level with him. An exotic-looking white flower was tucked behind her right ear while her hair tumbled down her back in loose curls. Even with the sexy picture presented to him, all he could see was the intense blue of her eyes.
“When I look at your eyes, I feel as if I’m looking into the ocean,” he murmured, walking up to her.
Her smile warmed considerably. “Why suh, I do declare you are flattering lil ol’ me unduly,” she said in a syrupy Southern drawl.
“Sorry, sweetheart, Scarlett O’Hara, you ain’t.” He grinned.
“Damn Yankee,” she said, deadpan.
“Wasn’t that a baseball movie?” Zach took her arm and tucked it under his.
“Flatterer and quick on the uptake,” she said with a smile filled with approval. “I like that. Just don’t think your charming and witty answer will get you out of my drink with an umbrella in it. I intend to order the fanciest drink they offer.”
He inhaled the scent that drifted off her skin and at the same time noticed the shimmering glow on her bare shoulders.
As the hostess led them to a table on the lanai that overlooked the beach, he thought about the evening ahead. He didn’t need a psychic to tell him this was going to be an evening he’d remember for a long time.
Ginna didn’t disappoint him. She was warm and friendly to their waitress, discussed a variety of drinks and finally settled on one called Tropical Sunset. She was delighted that the drink not only sported an umbrella but a pineapple spear.
“There is nothing like the Hawaiian Islands,” she confided as she nibbled on the pineapple. “The minute you step off the plane you instantly relax. You want to put on your bikini, slather on some sunscreen and just lie on the beach.”
“I think I’d go for something that covers a little more than a bikini,” Zach said. “I’m the modest type.”
Ginna grinned. “Come on, Zach, tell me more about you. Likes and dislikes in foods, what you like to do on the weekends, any pets, where you go for haircuts.” Her bright eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Hate broccoli and cauliflower, like squash and green beans. Like to go hiking in the mountains when I can.” He doubted running after the kids at the local playground qualified as a weekend activity. “No pets. A very nice guy named Rupert cuts my hair every four weeks.” He grew suspicious at the look on her face. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Hate corn and lima beans, like green beans also, and carrots. I have Casper, a white German shepherd, who enjoys long runs on the weekend,” she replied. “One of my friends cuts my hair, and yours could use a good conditioner and some shaping. Sorry, occupational hazard. Rupert gives you a decent cut, but I can give you a better one.”
Why did he feel as if she’d just suggested something a lot more intimate?
He was ready to give her an enthusiastic yes, but managed to remain silent.
She leaned forward. “Am I unnerving you, Zach? For a minute there, you looked panicked.”
“I think it’s more panicking that I won’t remember how to relax,” he said. “You seem to have it down to a fine art.”
“I work very hard. I realize some people think that hairdressers are flaky individuals who don’t understand what work is. Trust me—” she lowered her voice “—it’s not easy standing there listening to a woman explain just how she wants to look, while deep down you know no matter what you do, there’s no way you can make her look like Heather Locklear. Explaining to her what will work better for her is diplomacy to the nth degree. But I love it. I love seeing women brighten up when they leave the salon. I love knowing that my efforts help them feel beautiful.”
“An artist,” he murmured, finding himself just enjoying the sound of her voice.
“Artist?” She looked delighted with his description. “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler. I was the only child in my school’s history to flunk fingerpainting. Although, unlike my brothers, I didn’t stick the paintbrush in my mouth. Mark, my older brother, had a purple tongue for a month.” She stopped speaking and wrinkled her nose. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I? It’s a problem I have. Probably comes from growing up in a large family. If you don’t speak up, you don’t get heard.”
As their dinner was placed in front of them, Ginna dug enthusiastically into her mahi mahi.
“No, I like your candor,” he told her. “I have to admit I haven’t been out with a woman in a while, but I don’t remember enjoying a conversation so much.”
“What do you usually talk about with women?”
Whether Emma should take dance classes or tae kwon do with her brother. The subject of my next column on single fathers. Listening to a woman stockbroker tell me what I need in my portfolio.
“Stocks, bonds, whether I have enough life insurance,” he admitted. “I know it’s not manly—” he twitched his fingers to indicate quotes “—to admit I haven’t dated much, but I was never much for intimating I’m a party animal when I’m not.”
“No, you’re obviously a man secure with yourself. I have a male client who thinks he’s Stud of the Year and feels he has to prove it. Luckily for him, he’s all talk. He tried propositioning me once. I then explained what my sharp scissors could do to his precious hair. He’s behaved since then.”
“I would, too.” He chuckled. “So tell me what it was like growing up in such a large family.”
“Chaotic. Noisy. Wild. My dad restores vintage automobiles. He has his garage on the property. All of us can change our own oil, change a flat tire, even replace all the hoses. Except for my brother Brian. He’s a total klutz with a car. Now he uses the excuse that he saves his hands for better things. He’s a paramedic, as is my brother Mark. My brother Jeff is a fireman, and my sister, Nikki, is in her junior year of college and talking about going on to medical school. Brian and Jeff
