She stopped breathing. Just stopped. Fear and anticipation holding her lungs hostage.
His husky, whispering lips called her bluff right back. “You’re messing with fire, Joselyn.”
She shivered, hating how much she liked the foreign feeling of being held, even by Finn Carson. Even while it nearly scared her to death. “Good thing I’m cold as ice, right Finn?”
Chapter 12
Finn Carson
They were being followed.
The same older model sedan had tailed them at a distance from Kirkwood to the windy back roads leading to the Whyte’s estate. Coincidence? Not likely.
Finn shot a discrete text to Archer, not wanting to cause unnecessary anxiety for Joselyn if it was only Sal or another FBI tail.
They made another turn, and the car still followed. Finn’s eyes were glued to the side-view mirror of her luxurious Range Rover. The cool metal of his concealed .38 Special remained hidden against his low back, the firepower doing little to assuage his paranoia as he waited for confirmation from Archer.
After another two turns, his escalating nerves forced him to action. He made the call.
“Arch, tell me you have a tail on us.” He kept his voice steady, but Joselyn’s gaze darted to the rearview mirror. Her teeth tore at her bottom lip, a sure sign of the fear Finn had hoped to spare her.
“Negative. Where are you? I’m leaving now.”
Finn rambled off a mailbox address as they passed it. “I can’t see the license plate. He’s hanging too far back. It looks like a late nineties Grand Prix. Dark green.”
“We’re almost to my dad’s house. Sh-Should I keep driving or should I pull up to the gate?” Joselyn’s voice wobbled.
“I radioed the local PD,” Archer said. “They are approaching from both directions. Tell Joselyn to call up to the house and have them open the gate. I want you guys out of harm’s way.”
The whole thing was orchestrated in a flash. Joselyn whipped her car into the long drive and tore through the gates with less than an inch to spare before the black spear-tipped metal jaws started to close again.
The Grand Prix had passed without pause, but something still didn’t feel right. Finn ended the call with Archer who promised to call back when he had something to report.
“Nice driving, pumpkin. You okay?”
She nodded a little too enthusiastically. And the fact that she hadn’t challenged him on the pet name spoke louder than words about her current state of mind as she drove silently up the mile-long entrance, around a marbled stone fountain to the cusp of the circle drive.
“Whoa.” Finn knew he was gawking, even felt his jaw dislocate. Not only from the gorgeous view of a pewter Bond-issue Aston Martin, but also from the sight beyond it. The massive brick and stone structure couldn’t be classified as a house. It was a castle. Sloping European roof lines, arched dormers with scrolled wrought iron terraces, and a flippin’ turret were only a few details that made the Whyte Estate look like something out of a fairytale. The manicured grounds and picturesque rolling hills in wintery shades of muted green seemed to extend for miles to each side and were lined in the distance with a thick border of trees. The word was wow. It would seem Declan Whyte possessed the most beautiful things on earth.
He slipped the gun under the seat and stepped out of the car, but stood unblinking, awed anew. What would it be like to grow up in a place like this?
“Are you coming?”
He honed in on Joselyn’s voice and found her looking back from the ornate fifteen-foot wood, iron, and glass entry doors.
“Yeah.” Jogging to catch up, Finn met a salt-and-pepper-haired Ann Bancroft look-alike, Gloria, the housekeeper, who ushered him in and collected his coat.
Once inside, he couldn’t help but let his eyes sample the grandeur. The gleaming wood floors were an exotic grain he’d never seen, arched doorways graced endlessly tall walls to ceilings adorned with carved beams and enormous chandeliers. Exquisite furnishings flanked every nook and cranny with an aesthetic elegance that reeked of class. He followed Joselyn into the great room and was greeted by three stories and about a hundred yards of windows overlooking the distant edge of a lake.
“Your father is on a conference call in the west den. Dinner will be in another thirty minutes or so. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” Gloria turned to Joselyn and gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. “Glad you’re home, Josie.”
Joselyn watched Gloria’s retreat with a stilted smile. And Finn watched Joselyn. Such an interesting peek into her world. Now that he’d breeched her fortress he was tempted to press her for some answers, delve a bit deeper into the mystery that was Snow Whyte. Yet something held him back.
Fear. The feeling slithered around him like a boa constrictor. He promptly shook off the absurd notion that he had anything to fear from Joselyn, but when that false pretense fell away too, it exposed the old scar he’d been tending for years.
Why reopen that wound? Nothing she could say would change the past. And history would not be repeating itself.
Then again, he wasn’t entirely immune to his baser instincts. Nor could he forget the memory of Joselyn in his arms, the illicit thrill of skimming his fingertips over that silky skin. The faintest touch like a spark flirting with a stick of dynamite. And the white hot flare in her eyes, well …
The truth was they were both playing with fire. And as a firefighter, it defied every ounce of logic in his brain. Their mutual hatred teetered on the edge of something much more dangerous. Combustible.
It was a good thing Dodger had been there to douse the fire. Smart little pup had a knack for breaking the tension and keeping Finn from doing anything stupid—like kissing Joselyn in his bedroom. When Finn got home later, Dodger was getting an extra treat and a belly rub.
“So, are you gonna give me the tour?”
“Uhh, sure.”
She began ushering him around the mansion like a docent guiding him through a museum, complete detachment in her tone as she pointed out her father’s prized possessions. Among them a priceless Renoir painting Finn remembered seeing in his art history textbook in high school.
He and his best friend, Cody, thought it’d be a blow off class, but the more Finn learned, the more fascinated he became with the incredible beauty of not only the paintings, but with the object of his affection that sat across the table.
“I remember learning about Renoir from—”
“Our art history class,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing with something he couldn’t decipher—something like shyness. It was a look he hadn’t seen on her face in over ten years. And it took him back in a way that was heartbreakingly familiar.
“I remember, Finn.” Her voice shriveled to a wispy thread. The unspoken fragility of those memories stretched between them in the vast room, giving first breath to things long since smothered.
“Yeah. Me too.” With a stranglehold on his composure, Finn dragged his eyes away from Joselyn and stuffed down those old reminders of his meager worth.
They finished perusing the first floor with minimal conversation and ventured up a large curved staircase. Finn kept his phone in hand, constantly checking for updates from Archer. Nothing. Nothing to distract him from the stupid trip down memory lane.
Aha! “What do we have here?” He forced open a door she’d intended to pass over—one with a theatrical dressing room star that bore her name.
The bedroom was bigger than his whole apartment. Finn counted eight windows at eye level, but the light coming from a loft area above, accessed by an iron spiral staircase in the corner, suggested more.
He whistled, turning in a circle. “Not a bad place to hang your hat.” A king-sized sleigh bed was dwarfed by the enormity of the room. A white chaise graced a window cove near a large mirrored armoire. Purple and white floral decor gave the room its only youthful element. Lemon-scented furniture polish tinted the air and gleamed from every immaculate surface.
Joselyn followed him in, not mask
ing the reluctance in her stride. She shrugged in response to his appraisal of the room, whether in agreement or ambivalence, he couldn’t tell.
“Well, it’s not giving me anything to work with.” Finn lifted the lid of a small mirrored box on the dresser. Empty. “What a shame. I was hoping for some first place pony ribbons and awkward prepubescent photos of gangly legs and big teeth.”
“Sorry. All my ribbons and evidence of braces are safely stowed—away from malicious intruding eyes.”
“You mean you really rode horses?”
She nodded. “We have stables on the property. I still ride about twice a month.”
“Seriously?” Finn stopped his search, absorbing the new tidbit. “I’ve never ridden.”
“Oh, I would love to see you on a horse.”
He preferred her sassy. That placid, empty expression she utilized so often made him want to shake her.
“Aww, come on. Look at me. I’d be a natural. Give me a Stetson and a belt buckle the size of a salad plate and I bet I could pass for a gen-u-wine cowboy.” He threw in a twang and saw the corner of her lip twitch. “Can we go, please, Sally Mae? If ya teach me, I promise I’ll help you get that burr out of yur britches.” He winked, and her grin finally cracked enough to ease the tense bind of her shoulders.
Still she shook her head, the light reflecting off her shiny espresso hair. “It’ll be too dark after we eat. But I’m sure we’ll be forced to dine here again before this whole mess is over. I’ll take you next time. Should be good for a laugh—as long as you don’t get too cocky and wind up with a broken neck.”
The woman was exhausting. He looked heavenward for patience and saw a spill of amber-colored light painting the ceiling. “What’s upstairs?”
Her smirk froze and mirrored the sudden flicker of ice in her eyes. Ooo, secrets. Before she could manufacture a lie he darted across the room and started up the winding steps.
“Finn! Stop!” She was hot on his heels, grabbing at his legs as he raced to the top. Her cool touch seized his ankle and tripped him onto something spongy. Puzzled, he looked up from his sprawl on his stomach and took in the small room not much larger than the bed below, the floor as soft as a mattress, and dozens of purple and white throw pillows, all differing textures and fabrics, littered the floor. The pitched roof was low on each side rising to a standing height in the center. The walls below the slant were built-in book cases filled with novels, fashion magazines, and girly knickknacks. Though no pictures.
“This is sweet.” Finn regained possession of his leg and stood. “It’s like your secret sanctum.”
“What is that? Sci-fi geek speak for my private space that you just invaded.”
Ignoring her comment he perused the walls, gaining insight into a very complicated girl. “These are all chick books. Pride and Prejudice, The Notebook, Shopaholic something-or-other.”
“In case you failed to notice, I am a chick.” She crossed her arms and angled her body against a small door built low into the wall.
What was she hiding? It had to be something good. Time to push. “Trust me. I’ve noticed. How could I not, the way you keep practically prancing around naked to get my attention. Subtlety is not your forte, Snow. Luckily, a photographic memory is one of mine.” He tapped his temple, as if reminding her it was all stored there.
A rush of red strangled her neck. “I have not! Could you be more repulsive?”
“I could try.”
“Ehh! Tour’s over. Let’s go.” She strode in a huff toward the staircase.
Oh, she played so nicely into his hand. Push her, and she ran. Exactly as he’d predicted. And riled as she was, she didn’t seem to notice that while she was fleeing in her embarrassment, Finn was now opening the door she’d been trying to hide. Reaching his hand into the shadowed cubby, he gripped a leather-bound book and pulled out … a diary.
Interesting. Leaning against the wall, he flipped it open and started reading little adolescent scribbles.
Dear Diary,
Today is my 10th birthday. Yia-Yia thought it would be fun to take some of the cupcakes we made up to my daddy’s office. I am so excited! You see, I made a wish on a star last night. I wished my birthday would be special this year. And today THIS! So cool! Maybe wishes do come true. Maybe he got me a special present, you think? I’ll report back later … :)
Well, I’m back. And I learned something important. Wishing on stars is stupid. I’m sorry I’m crying on you Diary, but it didn’t go good. At all. I’m so confused. When we got to daddy’s work, there was a row of people in white coats in his office. All looking at their shoes except one. And daddy was yelling really loud. His cheeks got so red and his eyes looked crazy scary as he got in their faces like the bullies do at school. One guy’s hands were balled up into fists, but he just stood and stared while daddy screamed. Those people must have done something really bad because daddy doesn’t really ever yell. Or smile. Or really talk that much. Well, to me anyways. And when daddy looked up and saw me he—
Finn was about to turn the page but stopped to grin at the overly dramatic retelling from a child’s eyes. That, and the sad faces and broken hearts penciled in the margins. Poor thing. Declan Whyte probably had to buy her a pony to make up for it.
“And you know what?—” Joss turned back and gasped when she saw what he held. “Finn! Put that back!” Regaining the two steps from her descent back down the staircase, she barreled toward him in attack mode.
Finn darted away from her advances. “You’re very predictable, Snow Whyte.” Holding the diary above his head, he flipped to the middle. He couldn’t read the scribble from the arm’s length distance, but that didn’t stop him from heckling her in a high-pitched imitation.
“Dear Diary, Finn Carson is sooo dreamy! All the girls go wild when he smiles, including yours truly …”
“I’m not kidding. Give it!”
Finn was really starting to enjoy himself. She clawed at his arms, but he turned and slipped from her grip. She jumped as high as she could, but tall as she was she was no match for his six feet three inches. He blocked each attempt without much effort and continued his taunting. “… I bet he’s a good kisser. I wish he’d give me a big, fat smooch in front of the whole school …”
Attempting to climb his back proved to be the most effective in her progress until he abruptly sat and rolled forward, causing her to somersault onto the spongy floor.
The savage rage on her face fueled his fun. He laughed and saw something spark in her eyes as the slightest lift tugged at those stubborn lips, showing something she was trying to hide.
If he would’ve blinked he’d have missed it. But he’d seen it, all right.
She was having fun.
She was getting into the game now. A lioness hunting her prey, she circled around him, her eyes narrow and fierce, targeting him and her next course of action. Finn struggled to his feet, tilting on the mound of pillows sinking in the soft padding. She took her shot right then, gaining on him in a blink and knocking him down. He tucked the book behind his back as he fell deeper into the cushions.
“I am gonna kill you, Carson! Give it to me!” He detected the faint smile slipping through her heated words as she started flinging pillows and digging around his waist to pry at his tight grip.
“You’re no match for me.” He roared with villainous theatrics and writhed against her digging.
“Wanna bet?” Her eyebrows danced. A slow grin about knocked him cold a second before she dove over him, forcing his body to roll, exposing the diary. Her fingers grazed it, but not in time to gain full possession. “Ahhh!” Her high-pitched squeal tumbled into laughter as he slammed her right back, rolling over her, pinning her arm down with one hand, holding the diary high with the other.
She poked at him with her free hand, attempting distraction while she bent forward, straining against his weight, and threw her leg over his midsection, knocking him over and rolling him back again.
Losing his balance in the
constant shift of wrestling in memory foam, he grabbed onto her back, his fingers curling into her shoulder blade. An explosion of laugher erupted, and her body went berserk. Wedging the diary back beneath him, his other hand joined forces with the first and went to town on her tickle spot.
Her hysterical laughter squeaked and hiccupped, and Finn had never heard a more endearing sound. But it was nothing compared to the look on her face. A carefree, all-access pass to the real Joselyn. Her smile wider and truer than he’d ever seen it.
He slowed his torment when her face was starting to resemble a radish and tears of laughter were streaming from the corners of her eyes. Playtime should probably be over, before it got any more out of control.
But the second he released his hands she amped the rivalry back to life by digging her fingers under his arms, exposing the one weakness in his tickle-proof armor.
“Stop it!” Thick belly laughs he hadn’t shed in years poured forth from the work of her frantic prodding fingers. “Joss, I’m warning you!”
She giggled harder, sinking down until she’d pinned his hips beneath her thighs. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots.”
“You should be.” He threw an arm around her shoulders and rolled over, trapping his forearm between her neck and the floor. She was completely caught up in the madness. But Finn, as he leaned forward onto her, stretching her arms above her head with his one free hand, finally felt the awareness sink in.
Her legs bucked playfully for a moment until it sank in for her too.
Their breaths heaving, smiles fading. Eyes searching. The gravity of it cementing in the sudden stillness.
Joselyn’s plush pink lips parted, driving his eyes and his desire to the same place. His body sent a warning of their current position. His lips, inches from hers, drew closer, until their breaths intermingled and his brain shut down. Vanilla and peppermint invaded his senses, begging him to have a taste. Just one. Just once. Just … because he couldn’t not.
From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two Page 9
