by Jean Oram
“You can do what you want, but I need to eat,” she replied.
“There are a few munchies here. Do you like shrimp?”
Her pace increased as she spied the exit.
Finn picked up his own pace in order to steer her in the opposite direction.
“I know just the place,” he said.
“This way is closer to my car.”
“Trust me.”
“I think we’ve already established--”
He spun her into a hard kiss to stifle her objections.
“Do you want this night to be memorable, Hailey? Or do you want to traipse back to that life of yours that gives you frown lines?”
She paused as if deciding whether to be offended or not, so he pulled her into a French kiss, his hand on her left butt cheek. He consumed her in the crowd, then, snatching her hand, tugged her, breathless and unresisting, out of the hotel and down the sweeping, lit up lawn to the lake’s edge. Where docks lined the shore he found the man he was looking for, waiting in a boat.
“You forgot to take pictures of me,” Finn murmured in Hailey’s ear, and her steps faltered.
He shot her a grin as a uniformed man came up, holding her camera bag. Right on time.
“What on earth?” She whirled around.
“The valet. He’s allowed to have the keys to your car.” Finn slipped a bill in the man’s hand and took Hailey’s bag.
“I said I was hungry,” she snapped, snatching it from him. “I’ve been working for you all afternoon and need to eat.”
“You weren’t working a few minutes ago.” Finn moved closer and her cheeks flushed. She began walking toward the hotel again, clutching her hips in a way that reminded him of a runner with cramps.
“There’s nothing to eat in town at this hour unless we go back to the hotel,” she said.
Not what he had in mind, nor what he had planned.
“Hailey, do you trust me?”
She turned. “No.”
“Good. Come on.” Finn held out his hand and she hesitated before walking carefully toward him.
He led her to the large speedboat with the waiting driver. When Finn stepped onto its deck and offered his hand to her, she hesitated, her hand trembling ever so slightly.
“To Port Carling, please,” he said to the driver, when he had Hailey settled on board. The man gave Finn a nod, and within seconds they had cast off and were heading across the calm lake.
Hailey’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight and her lips curved into a small smile as the boat’s breeze flipped her hair. Just as he’d thought. She could be swayed and dazzled by a little special treatment. He leaned closer and laid a kiss on her lips.
He was getting further away from his original plan to tick her off so she’d expose him, but it felt right being with her. He couldn’t intentionally hurt her, but maybe if he got close enough she’d understand what he needed to do, and would help him. They could be a team.
He kissed her again, wanting to stay in this moment with her. She was everything he no longer deserved, and everything he thought he’d left behind.
She leaned against him, the cool air whipping around them as the large craft picked up speed.
“You’re cold.” Finn whipped off his tuxedo coat and draped it over her shoulders, drawing her closer in the process. She was a beauty. Pure. And someone he could only lose or hurt.
He gave the top of her head a kiss, wrapping his hand in her soft curls.
What if he took over his life again? What if he risked it all and took a long shot? A long shot that could maybe, one day, make him a happy and successful man. Would he be able to rebuild his old community like he’d promised? Or would he lose everything, including Hailey?
“You look sad,” she said.
“Then I guess I’m not doing it right.”
Finn managed to shake his melancholy by the time they hit the docks in Port Carling. It was time to show Hailey how fun it was to let loose for a night. To be free and have a good time. Hand in hand, they walked the short distance up the hill, meeting up with the sidewalk that took them to the restaurant overlooking the locks. Gently, he ushered her inside.
“Hi, cutie.” The server sidled up to Finn and he almost laughed at how obvious she was.
“Table for two, please.” He slipped his tuxedo jacket off her shoulders and caressed her exposed shoulder.
The waitress, eyes on him, led them to a table by a large window.
“I’ll bet you’d like your usual drink? A scotch on the rocks?” She batted her lashes.
Finn blinked. The usual? He’d never been here before.
And he hated scotch. It tasted like spider pee.
Oh, right. Famous. And it looked good in a glass. Fit the image, blah, blah, blah.
He gave a short nod, not bothering to fill her in on his true tastes.
“What would you like?” he asked Hailey, annoyed by how the server’s back was angled to shut her out in order to gain more attention from him--the person she presumed would be tipping her.
“Just water for now,” Hailey said, her head buried in the menu.
“We have a nice sparkling water,” the waitress said. “I could add a refreshing slice of lemon.”
“Tap water,” Hailey clarified, looking up, hands splayed across the table’s linen cloth.
“We have a--”
“Tap. Please.”
Finn hid his smile as the waitress hurried off. He closed his heavy menu, watching Hailey frown at her own. Her eyes skimmed the right column, then the items. Next page. Skim the prices, then the items.
He reached over and closed her menu, ignoring her downturned mouth.
The server appeared. “A scotch on the rocks for you, sir.” She did a little curtsy as she lowered his drink. She set down Hailey’s water and turned back to Finn. “Now, what can I get you for an appetizer? I think you’d enjoy the roasted tomato and whipped goat cheese spread on our fresh sourdough. It’s fresh and delicious. Shall I bring that out along with a side of hot smoked salmon on our homemade crackers?”
Finn gave her a wave in agreement. He didn’t care what they ate as long as Hailey was happy and stopped frowning at the prices--which really weren’t too bad, compared to the places Jessica usually tried to take him. In fact, this converted house was casual, yet sophisticated in a way he’d come to equate with Muskoka.
“No, thank you,” Hailey piped up. “Unless you wanted that, Finian?”
“I’m cool either way.”
“Great, I’ll go put that in.”
Hailey vanished behind her menu again and Finn resisted the urge to tip it down.
“That color looks nice on you,” he said when she finally closed it. “The red brings out a certain…life in you.” The lights above them were dimmed and the soft glow highlighted the natural strands of gold in her curls. She looked healthy. Alive.
But she could look happier. Less uncomfortable.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
“Beige.”
She placed her fists on the table, eyes twinkling. He took a sip of his drink, waiting for her to call him on it.
“I can’t believe your pants have yet to burst into flames,” she said.
“My pants?”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she sang. “Hanging on a--”
“I am familiar with the reference. I did have a childhood.”
“Since when?”
“Since ever. I wasn’t born famous and fully grown. I grew up in a crappy rented town house, with loud neighbors who did drugs and had fights on the communal lawn. I learned to ride a bike without training wheels, teased and fought with my brothers. Got my heart broken at the prom. The usual. I am real, you know.”
“So, then…” She placed her hands under her chin, the picture of innocence. “Which parent are you closest to? Your mom or your dad?”
“Why does this feel like a test?”
“Because it is.”
“Really?”
“No. Quit stalling. I won’t tell the parent who loses that they didn’t make the cut.”
“Everyone has a parent they feel closest to.”
“And the winner is?”
“My mom. And you?”
“I’ve never met your mom, so how would I know she would be my pick?” Hailey winked over the rim of her water glass.
“What’s in that water? It’s turning you into a tease.”
“So?” he asked. “Are you dodging my question? You’re like honey, all sweet and innocent, pulling me in.”
“Better to catch Hollywood flies that way.”
He leaned forward. “Have you been following me?”
“So, my dad’s dead--accident when we were teens--and my Mom had a debilitating stroke a few years back. The parents I grew up with are no more, and the roles have been reversed. So your question of which I’m closest to doesn’t really apply.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m flattered.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “This is real life, Finian. This is what it looks like. What it feels like.”
“Why do you always call me Finian?”
“Last I heard, it was your name. Or is that another thing that’s been faked about you?”
“What’s fake about me?” He grabbed her hand, keeping her at the table. She was preparing to put distance between them again.
He wasn’t sure why he cared what she thought or why he felt so insulted by her comment, but it was as though her answer could sweep away everything he’d worked toward like the swoosh of the final curtain.
“For one? Your bad-boy image.”
Finn placed his palms on the table, stared at her. He glanced away, then back at her, letting out a massive sigh. “Come on, more details. Please.” He must have given her a pathetic look because the tension in her gorgeous shoulders eased and her chest expanded, thrusting up a hint of cleavage. But all he could think about, other than how sexy she was, was that he depended on her answer as though it were his last meal. “Is it obvious that it is mostly faked?”
“To me it is.”
“Gimme more.”
“Manners?” She sent him a saucy look.
“Mother, may I, please?”
Hailey snorted, but the corners of her lips curved into a smile. “The hints add up, the more I get to know you. And honestly, when was the last time you’ve done something bad? It’s not in your nature. It’s merely a role you’re playing.”
He stood, hooking his fingers under the table as though he was about to flip it over.
“Don’t!” She held out a hand, eyes wide with panic.
“Just kidding, Hails.” He sat again, arms resting on the table. “Could you help me?”
“With what?”
“Building up my image again. We could work as a team.” He held his breath, forcing himself to remain quiet. He had just one shot at this.
She laughed, rich and deep, as if the laughter was bubbling up from the depths of her soul. She placed a hand on her chest, her eyes merry. “Me? Hardly.”
“You’re a photographer, aren’t you?”
The merriment vanished.
“Help me with my image, as a photographer, Hailey. Please.”
“See? Bad boys don’t say please.”
“You’re helping me already.”
“Finian, I’m not the kind of girl who creates images for movie stars.” She played with the edge of the tablecloth. “That’s not my thing.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking you to take photos. Sell them. Make money.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a whisper. “A ton of money. A win-win partnership.”
She averted her eyes, something warring within her. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
The server arrived with plates racked up her arms. “Here we are.” She began sliding appetizers onto the table.
“Wow.” He gazed at all the food. “This is a lot.”
“I’ll get you more serviettes. Would you like fresh pepper? A glass of wine, perhaps? We have a lovely Bordeaux that would go nicely with the dip.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Would you like another finger of scotch?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve put in an order for our surf and turf, as well.”
“Oh, I think this will be plenty for me,” Hailey said, her eyes round.
“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks.”
“Oh. Okay.” The server’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“This is lovely, though. Thank you.”
“You don’t want to miss our desserts. Save room for that. In fact, I’ll bring you a dessert menu, as well as the wine list, so you can see what you need to save room for.”
“Thank you.”
Hailey’s eyes flicked over the appetizers as though tallying the cost. The skin between her brows pinched and she reached for the small purse she’d set beside her plate.
“My treat. After all, I broke some labor laws today by not allowing you the time to get fed properly. This is my appeasement.”
She opened her purse, fingering through its contents.
“No, really,” he insisted. She paused, her blue eyes assessing him. “Haven’t you been on a date before?” he asked.
“It’s been a while. And I thought we were working?”
11
“We’re going to what?” Hailey took a step away from Finian, her stomach pleasantly full, as a light breeze picked up off the lake back at Windermere. It was a perfect night. Full moon. No wind.
But it sounded as though Finian had just said they were going to go--
“Parasailing.” A few helpers came down the hill to the docks, and before she knew what was happening, they had pulled the string of buoys out of the swimming area and she was standing barefoot in the small beach’s cold sand.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Me, neither,” he said with a grin. “Well, okay. I have. But not here. And not tandem.”
“Tandem?”
“You and me, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” She gave him a playful shove. “Isn’t that sexual harassment?”
“What?”
“We’re working right now. Although I have no idea how I’m going to photograph you if you’re strapped to my back, sugar buns.”
He let out a laugh, allowing the attendants to strap him in, his arms wrapped around her waist.
“I’ll show you sexual harassment,” he growled in her ear.
“Is that a promise or a threat?” Her voice came out breathy with desire, and she didn’t know whether to squelch it or run with it.
The helpers began doing up the harnesses.
“Wait! I’m wearing a dress.” She squealed and tried to turn away from Finian.
“Don’t worry, it’s dark out. Nobody will see your underwear. Live free, Hailey.”
She closed her eyes. If only her whole life was like tonight. Then she might believe in living free. But she’d already done a hundred things she’d never dreamed of. Well, not quite a hundred, but the night was far from over and there was so much potential in the tentative connection between her and Finian.
“On three,” said the parasail assistant, “I need the two of you to run across the sand for liftoff.”
This was going to be interesting. Running with Finian strapped to her back?
“One, two, three…”
Hailey took a step forward and they were launched into the air as the sail behind them lifted.
“Wow!”
It was as though she weighed nothing, like an angel, or one of Tigger’s fairies. Finian held her close, his warmth protecting her from the cool, soft air swirling around them as they quietly floated above the lake. The moon glanced off the water’s surface, racing them as they soared along.
“Look, our shadow,” Finian said in her ear. Her dress’s soft fabric danced acros
s her smooth legs, as sensual as his husky voice.
“I wish I had my camera.” Even though she knew the camera couldn’t pick up what she saw--the small glimmers, the reflections, the way she felt--Hailey would have something tangible to hold on to. Something to remind her that this night was more than just a dream. A dream she’d want to repeat every night for the rest of her life.
Finian’s arms tightened around her and she allowed herself to believe that he felt the same way she did. That he’d never done this or felt this with another woman. That she was special. That she was his.
He kissed her ear and she pointed in the direction of Nymph Island, telling him stories of her life as they glided along, letting him into her world one island at a time.
The boatmen let them down in the damp sand, the assistant easily catching them. Hailey felt graceful, beautiful, alive. And maybe a little bit in lust with Finian.
The helper unstrapped them and the cool air hit her back as Finian stepped away from her. She turned to face him. “You were nice and warm.” He wrapped himself around her again as the boat puttered off, the moon’s reflection dancing across its wake. She let out a small sigh of contentment, safe in Finian’s warm embrace. She never wanted this evening to end. Ever.
“Let’s walk,” he said, taking her hand.
She let him lead her to their shoes, her camera bag resting in the sand beside them, Finian’s tux jacket draped over it.
They wandered up a quiet, narrow road, away from the water.
Finian let out a laugh and stepped into a yard. “Check this out.” Under a window was a flower bed filled with petunias, whirligigs, and gnomes.
“Finian! That’s private property!” she hissed. She ducked behind a large tree just off the sidewalk, wishing the streetlight above her would burn out.
What was he doing? Trying to prove he really was a bad boy?
And if so, why did she want to run away more than snap a photo of him?
“This guy looks like Santa!” He waved the gnome at her, a clump of dirt falling from its joined feet. “Doesn’t it?”
