by Liz Meldon
Was just offered gainful employment. Count me in!
Finn Rai needed to find more entertaining dinner companions in Coral Bay. Three hours and a five-course meal at a brilliant penthouse restaurant downtown had resulted in him wanting to either fall asleep or blow his brains out at least twice, respectively. It was the usual Coral Bay crowd, which made matters worse; he should enjoy his usual crowd if he kept hanging around them. However, sometimes it felt like they only did all this—dinners, drinks, dancing, galas, gallery openings, fashion shows, charity auctions—because they were the local elite. Like they had to see each other once a week because their tax bracket demanded it.
Maybe he needed to host another sex party. Finn frowned. No. Even those had grown dull with this crowd, and there was only one woman these days he was interested in stripping down and worshipping—and she didn’t technically run with the local elite. Not in any official capacity, anyway.
He should have forced Cole to come tonight. At least he could have endured the torture of dry conversation and predictable drunken antics with a friend, a friend who was so seldom on the same continent as Finn that it was a fucking crime. Alas, the bastard had to work. As usual. It was his standard excuse, the one that got him out of everything scot-free. He buried himself in it, his excuse. On purpose, too, though Finn could never understand for the life of him why. Cole had never been in it for the money, not really.
Whatever the reason, Cole had backed out at the last minute. Finn had sat through veritable hell all by his lonesome—again—and barely managed to escape with his patience intact. But that was behind him. The night ahead. He shifted gears and his sleek little grey corvette whizzed around the taxi slowing in front of a nightclub, mindful to keep an eye out for inebriated tourists.
His eyes widened at a familiar figure.
Apparently, he needed to keep an eye out for redheaded minxes too.
Finn did a double take when he swore he spotted a Miss Skye Summers strolling away from the club all by her lonesome. Shoes in hand, she wore a short green dress so sinfully tight it was probably a hazard for him to keep driving. He slowed instantly, pissing off the driver behind him—who then raced around, flipping Finn off as he went. The chocolate prince paid him no mind, waving absently as he stared down the gorgeous, teetering sidewalk creature, trying to determine if she was, in fact, the very woman who had captured and held his interest longer than any woman had.
He’d spent much of his adult years philandering around, never staying in one bed long enough for it to get cold. But there was something about her. A flicker of light. A spark that ignited something inside him, the fire spreading, swallowing him whole for the first time in, well, ever.
Of course, it was too soon for him to croon love songs and hold a boom box up outside her window, but he was damn interested. And it wasn’t because she kept fending off his advances, either. He wasn’t a man who desired something more when it was denied to him, although that had been part of the fun these last few weeks.
Finn couldn’t put his finger on it. He grappled with it daily, his curious infatuation with Skye, but at this point he had just decided to go with it and see where the interest would take him. Something in the way she made his heart happy told him the chase would be worth it in the end.
And, for once, that didn’t scare him.
Another careful study of that lithe body, firm and toned, thighs exposed where her dress cut off just under her perfect backside, confirmed his suspicions. This was, in fact, Miss Summers, and she appeared to be a little drunk. What kind of man would he be if he let her walk anywhere by herself?
A fool. That’s what he’d be.
Grinning, Finn zipped into the opening between two parked cars a few spots ahead of her, then rolled down the window, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see through the dark tint.
“And what’s this?” he called out when she stumbled by, jumping nearly a foot in the air at the sound of his voice. “Doth the lady require transportation?”
Skye stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed, then cautiously approached. Her features brightened with recognition, and Finn patted the passenger seat.
“Get in, you ridiculous creature,” he ordered. “I can’t stand the thought of what the sidewalk must be doing to those perfect little feet of yours.”
“What, are you stalking me now?” she asked, the purr of her voice doing terribly wonderful things to his cock. Finn cleared his throat and shifted in place, only mildly annoyed that he turned into a teenager who’d never seen a pair of tits before whenever he was around her.
“Hardly. On my way home from dinner,” he told her. “Thought I’d do something charitable. Get in.”
She pursed her pink lips into a sumptuous pout, then clambered in with a little less grace than she perhaps intended. Her cheeks flushed as she drew the seatbelt across her body, and Finn’s gaze lingered on the way it cut between her breasts. Memories of his tongue sweeping between those two perfect mounds… Oh, this wasn’t helping. He sent his dark stare up to her face instead, noting the constellation of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Minimal makeup. A little sweaty, honestly. As if reading his mind, she swept her long red locks up into a messy bun on the top of her head, snagging a hair elastic off her wrist.
“Nice car,” she noted as she took the two-seater in.
“It does its job.”
“One of many, I’m sure.” She shot him a saucy little smirk, one he wanted to kiss right off her face. However, Finn knew he had been forward enough. He didn’t want to send her running by being too aggressive with his advances, even if Skye seemed to enjoy them. So, he flicked on his turning signal and checked that the way was clear.
“Where to, my lady?” he asked as he pulled out. “Mi chariot es su chariot.”
“Home,” she said with a long, tired sigh. In his peripheral view, he caught her rubbing her eyes, smearing what little makeup she had there.
“Did you really intend to walk the whole way?” She lived closer to the center of town. The club was in the north, and while not a terribly long way—Coral Bay’s core was quite walkable—Finn couldn’t imagine it’d be an enjoyable stroll with no shoes on. Although he would have liked to see her wearing those heels. Black. Deliciously high. They probably made her long legs and pert bottom look spectacular.
“I gave the last of my cash to my friends,” she admitted with a shrug. “Brynn… My friend threw up in the bathroom, so the bouncers kicked her out, which meant our night was over too. My other friends are taking her home and there was no room in the cab. Weather’s nice. Thought I’d walk.”
Finn chuckled. “Well, aren’t you a giver.”
“I aim to please.”
“I can attest that you succeed.”
He heard the leather seat groan as she shifted onto her side, facing him. Finn, to his credit, kept his eyes on the road. While it wasn’t exactly busy this time of night, summers in Coral Bay were known for tourists who thought themselves untouchable. Finn had no interest in hitting some idiot who figured nothing mattered because they were on vacation.
He would have preferred to be staring elsewhere, of course. The exposed soft skin of her thighs. The sweet neckline of her dress, barely concealing a perfect pair beneath. Her eyes… Hazel. Beautiful. The kind he could stare into all night if she let him.
“Hey,” she said softly, “look, I’m sorry I haven’t followed up on the lunch plans yet.”
“It’s fine.” And it really was. Finn could be patient if it meant getting precisely what he wanted. “I’m ready when you are.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, but—”
“It’s complicated?” he offered. Yeah, he’d heard that one before. If he were a smarter man, he would wash his hands of complicated, but here he was, riding out the storm. Skye sighed, fidgeting with the heels of her shoes. He glanced at her quickly, and the silence extended until they reached a light that had just turned red, even though there was no one else at the inters
ection.
“I had sex with Cole last week,” she admitted quietly. Finn ceased drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the news like a punch to the gut.
Cole had been at the back of his mind ever since he had realized, and confirmed, that Skye was the woman his friend supported. He had always spoken fondly of her, but when Finn pressed for more details, slyly hinting around to find out if it was a love connection, Cole shut down. Buried himself in work. Changed the subject. For a while, Finn had assumed that was answer enough. Maybe there were genuine feelings, or maybe his friend was just embarrassed to have a fake girlfriend on his payroll.
When he had asked Skye if she loved Cole, he’d needed to know for certain he wasn’t stepping on any toes. He could never do that to Cole, a man who had entered his life almost a decade ago as a pet project. Finn had been in the midst of his transition away from playboy, party boy, and tabloid darling for the sake of his family’s reputation. He had needed a man like Cole, so obsessively dedicated to his work, to keep him on track with his own career aspirations. In turn, Finn had seen a bit of himself in the young, up-and-coming millionaire, new to the scene and noticeably struggling. Under Finn’s guidance, he had worked with Cole, an uncouth former programmer thrust into a social circle he wasn’t ready for, on social etiquette and style.
Beyond that, Finn had wanted to keep Cole from making the same mistakes he had when he was a twenty-year-old blessed with an ungodly amount of money to his name.
And here they were, years later, closer than ever despite the physical distance these last few years—and now, apparently, sharing a woman. It wasn’t the first time, though before, the women had always been one-night stands. Something to do on the rare occasion they were both feeling adventurous in a new city. Just a bit of fun, really. With Skye, things were different. She was fun, but she wasn’t for fun.
The light changed to green, but the conversation didn’t resume. Skye repositioned herself to face forward again, her head bowed and her hands still. The silence carried on until they reached her apartment, and Finn parked at the end of the street. Even with the tinted windows, he thought she might want some privacy from the doorman.
“When I asked if there was anything going on between you, I really meant what I said,” he told her, cutting the engine and unfastening his seatbelt. “I’m not a man who fucks my friend’s girl. I’m just not, Skye.”
“I know,” she said, her voice quivering in the sort of way one does before they start crying. Finn closed his eyes for a moment. It hadn’t been his intention to make her cry, but he needed to be clear on this.
“Skye—”
“And I wasn’t trying to lead you on or trick you,” she insisted with a sniffle. When her gaze met his, it watered. “Really, I just liked talking to you. I kind of… I’m feeling things I know I shouldn’t, because I really do care for Cole, and I…” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, then stared down at her hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Fuck.
“What does Cole have to say about all this?” was the best Finn could do on the spot. There were a thousand other things he would have rather said instead. That he had enjoyed speaking with her too. That she was the first thing he thought of when he woke up in the mornings, and that she was quickly becoming the last to cross his mind before he fell asleep. But that wouldn’t help the situation. Not now, anyway.
“I don’t know,” she muttered miserably. “I tried to give him a chance to say something, but he didn’t. It’s like he wants things to stay the same. Maybe… Maybe pretend it hadn’t happened at all.”
“Rather typical of him, I’m afraid.” Finn smoothed a hand over his hair, sighing. “He’s never been very adept at expressing himself.”
“Yeah, that isn’t news to me.” She gave what sounded like a forced laugh, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and then set a hand on his arm. A pulse of energy, of gravity, raced through him, and Finn found himself leaning toward her.
“I don’t know what’s happening with him, and honestly, I hate feeling like this,” Skye told him, gripping his arm gently before pulling away. Finn yearned to follow, but he held firm as she carried on. “But I don’t want to call it quits on us either. I… I can’t imagine not waking up to a message from you, and I’m so sorry for that. Really. I’m sorry for all of this. It’s all my fault.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. With a hand half covering her face, she tried to excuse herself, but Finn reached out for her, the brush of his fingers along her back stopping her.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” he murmured. “Shit happens, Skye. That’s life. I’m not…angry with you, if that helps.”
He always felt so helpless when women cried, because all it took was one wrong word, a slip of the tongue, for everything to go from bad to worse. If they weren’t in the car, he would have wrapped her in a hug and not let go until the tears stopped. Given their current situation, however, that didn’t seem possible, so he made do with what he could. Finn rubbed a hand up and down Skye’s back, stopping it at the nape of her neck.
“Hey,” he whispered, catching her chin and steering her back to him. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“Sometimes it feels that way,” she told him, tears flecked with mascara streaking down her face. Finn smiled and brushed the damp trails away with his thumb.
“I know. Love has a habit of doing that to you, the merciless bitch.”
Skye laughed, a real one this time, and set her hand on his knee. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He caught the way her eyelashes fluttered, wet and sticking together, when she looked from his eyes to his lips, lingering there. Finn knew he ought to dissuade her, to say something else to make her laugh, to break the tension—but he didn’t. He waited. He stroked the back of her neck and leaned just a breath closer, if only to catch a hint of her natural scent again.
That was all it took. Eyes fluttering closed, Skye closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. There it was again—that feeling. He’d had it the first time he saw her, standing there covered in wine and cursing up a storm. Affection. A warming in his gut, a tightening in his chest.
Before he could deepen the kiss as he wanted, eager to explore every inch of her, she pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have done that. I…”
“Yes,” he cupped her face and dragged it back to his, “you should have.”
Finn cherished the little gasp that escaped her before he reclaimed her mouth. Her hands wandered along the length of his forearms, the tender caress of her fingertips igniting a fire within that he knew would be damn near impossible to extinguish. So, Finn savored her while he had the chance. The taste of her tongue—she’d recently enjoyed a mojito—as he stroked it with his own, the kiss deep and desperate and verging on unhinged. The feel of her in his arms again, her body quivering at the touch of his hands, exploring at will, determined to commit every dip and curve to memory—until she started to pull away, a groan caught in her throat.
Finn knew he could have held her tighter, dragged her across the seats, albeit a bit awkwardly, and planted her squarely in his lap. She’d feel his hardness against her, and perhaps it would encourage her…
He sighed softly and opted for restraint instead. Tonight wasn’t the night for that. Not when she was drunk. And had been crying about all this. He couldn’t do that to her in good conscience. Besides, Finn wanted her to remember and savor every perfect moment of it too. If their previous fucking suggested anything, it was that Skye Summers was just as eager as him to indulge her sexual appetite.
She withdrew gasping, as though breaching the water’s surface after the tsunami struck, cheeks flushed, her eyes wild with desire. Finn recognized that look. He’d seen it before, staring back at him in the mirror when he’d worshipped her lovely body for the first time. Only tonight, he knew the look wouldn’t last.
“I should…” Skye tucked loose red stra
ys behind her ear. “I should go.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” He stole one last nibble of her supple lips before easing back in his seat. “I mean it.”
With a nod and a little half smile, she climbed out of the car and scurried back to her building. He watched her go in the mirror, and once she was inside, Finn slumped forward and sighed.
It was time to get this sorted, and he knew precisely where to start. Unlike a certain someone, Finn had no problems putting his feelings on the table. Taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, he tapped around until he reached Cole’s profile, then pressed the call button.
Cole answered on the second ring.
“Lunch,” Finn ordered before his friend could get a word in beyond hello, “tomorrow. Put your work aside for a half hour, you tit. There’s something we need to talk about…urgently.”
12
A Gentlemen’s Agreement
Finn tapped a finger twice on the brim of his glass, eyes narrowed at Cole as he wove through the patio seating, a hostess at his heels. When his friend was finally within hearing distance, Finn nodded to the seat across from him.
“Sorry I’m late—”
“Sit,” Finn ordered. “Now. And turn your phones off, for goodness sake.”
The hostess batted her fake lashes as she looked between them, then set a menu down in front of Cole and scuttled off. Pleased that his friend was merely fifteen minutes late rather than the standard half hour, Finn took a quick sip of his rum and coke, ice rattling against the glass, and then uncrossed his long legs and straightened. He had specified this particular table to his assistant when she made the reservation, knowing it was the farthest from the kitchen and closest to the water. A white wood fence enclosed the outdoor dining area, and, given the time of day, post-lunch-rush, it was about half full of quietly chatting patrons. The Pacific crashed against the shore some ten feet away, a soothing accompaniment to what was bound to be an awkward conversation.
