by Liz Meldon
She looked up sharply at the contact, and Finn made no apologies for the way his fingers trailed over the shell of her ear, then ghosted down the column of her neck. If he grazed her pulse point, would he feel it racing?
She inhaled sharply, her eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder. “Finn.”
“Skye.”
A flicker of something passed across her face—desire, concern, interest, perhaps a combination of the three. Although his name might have been meant to come across as a warning, Finn focused on the slight tremor, the whispery quality of her voice. It emboldened him. He had always been a fearless man, facing life and all it had to offer without batting an eye.
Skye made him afraid—afraid to lose her for good, afraid to fuck it all up.
But the way she said his name, half warning, half plea…
Finn wasn’t afraid anymore.
His hand curved around her neck before sliding down to the base of her throat. He felt her gulp, and tipped her head up with a thumb under her chin. Slowly, cautiously, her eyes lifted to his, hazel to ebony. He hadn’t come here for this. Finn had just wanted to talk to her and eventually steer the conversation toward a reunion. But here they were. Alone. Her pulse pounding beneath his fingertips, her eyes asking a thousand questions.
Questions for which there was only one answer.
Tightening his hold on her, Finn leaned down and captured her lips in a curious, gentle kiss. Her hand shot to his elbow, clutching it lightly, and he caught the way her eyelashes fluttered—as though she fought to keep them open. Her lips, soft and pliant and deliciously kissable, trembled beneath his, before she pushed against his chest, retreating.
“I’m sorry,” Finn said quickly, clearing his throat and dragging his hands away. “I didn’t mean to do—”
He was so worried that he’d taken things too fast that he missed the signs of her surrender; the way her eyes darted to his lips, the twitch in her fingers as her hand hovered between them, the barely audible breath catching in her throat. With all the speed of a cracking whip, she grabbed the untucked hem of his shirt, half yanking him back to her and half using the momentum to fling herself onto him. Their mouths met in a frenzied storm of tongue, teeth, and swollen, sensitive lips.
Even if this wasn’t what Finn had intended to do when he and Skye first saw each other again, there was no stopping it now. They were in a free fall. The only way to stop was to crash, and Finn had no intention of letting that happen.
Grasping at her messy red waves, he walked them both back, turning just in time to press her up against the closed door. She whimpered softly, her body arching beneath him, molding to his in a synchronicity Finn had never experienced before. A perfect fit. Two puzzle pieces slating together—if only she realized that a third piece would make them whole. It didn’t need to be one, the other, or nothing at all, because from the way she kissed him, the way her hungry hands tugged at his clothing and clumsily yanked open his belt, nothing at all wasn’t working for her either.
He swallowed his groan when she brushed over his achingly hard cock, so desperate for her that all it took was a little hot and heavy petting and he was at full mast. While Finn preferred a slow, tortuous approach to lovemaking, always eager to work his lover into a panting, dripping, whimpering mess before unleashing a volcanic eruption of pleasure, he feared they might not have the time for their usual song and dance. He yearned to taste Skye again, to fuck her with his tongue, to suck at her clit until she screamed his name. He’d had fantasies of tethering her delicate wrists to his bedposts and having his way with her for hours, watching her climax over and over again until he couldn’t stand the thought of not being buried balls deep in her. Unfortunately, today might not be the day for that.
Luckily for both of them, Finn was adaptive. If slow, agonizingly sweet lovemaking was out the window today, hard and desperate fucking would be an apt placeholder.
Dragging himself away from their frantic kiss, he scraped his teeth along her jaw, reveling in the way she twisted and arced beneath him, her hands fumbling as they delved into his briefs. While he wanted nothing more than to truly feel what those hands could do, what torment they’d wreak on his painfully erect shaft, there wasn’t time for that either. Finn retreated slightly, his body palpably mourning the distance from hers, then ripped open Skye’s jeans, yanking the zipper down hurriedly.
Her panting encouraged him, aroused him, demanded his speed. Never one to leave a woman wanting, Finn unceremoniously dragged those dark jeans down her lovely legs, fighting the urge to stop halfway and bury his face between her thighs. She helped once he reached the ankles, an unsteady hand resting on his shoulder as she stepped out of the tight pants, remaining there until he’d tugged her silken black panties down too.
He hadn’t kept the last pair—a regret he’d realized only after, when awareness struck him at just how badly he had fallen for Skye in so short a time. This pair found a home in his pocket, and when he glanced up, he caught her watching with heavy lidded eyes and delectably pouty lips—and not once protesting the thievery.
Finn grinned, slowly sliding his hand along her inner thigh as he stood. Much to his surprise—and delight—he found her wet and wanting when he cupped her sex, so much so that he couldn’t resist probing between her folds. Eyes fixed on her face, he watched her shudder under his leisurely exploration, then forced himself to keep quiet when he slipped two fingers into her unhindered. Her eyes shot open in surprise, back arching and stance widening. Unable to help himself, Finn swooped down and caught her lower lip, sucking as his fingers pumped in and out of her below.
As if tumbling out of her stupor, Skye responded vigorously, edging up onto her tiptoes to take back the power in their kiss, her hips bucking against his hand.
“Finn,” she whimpered, but before he could respond, a teasing limerick about patience on the tip of his tongue, she wrenched his briefs down further and nipped at his lip. Only a fool would mistake what she needed—and Finn had never fancied himself a fool.
Your wish is my command. He said the words with his eyes, with the way he deepened the kiss, the way his slick fingers circled her little bud before he withdrew. She squirmed against him, hands scrambling for purchase along his arms before finally knotting together behind his neck. Hooking his own hands beneath her knees, he hoisted her up with ease as his mouth trailed down her neck, where he stopped and sucked again, hoping he’d leave a mark for at least a day or two. Skye cried out, her heels digging into the small of his back, urging their bodies together.
Slow, torturous teasing be damned. He hadn’t the patience anymore—not after all this time apart. He reached between them and maneuvered his straining cock against her entrance. A quick flicker of his gaze to hers, one last chance to stop this, to turn him away. He wouldn’t hold it against her. But she tipped her head back in wild abandon, fingers twining around his hair, her unspoken yes please dancing across his skin.
Teeth gritted, Finn pushed into her, eyes clenched shut as her delicious, wet tightness wrapped around him and wouldn’t let go.
“Fuck me,” he hissed against her skin, sinking in until there was no room between them—until finally the distance had truly vanished. Her response, a mix between a moan and a delighted cry, echoed throughout the storage room, and Finn clamped a hand down over her mouth. If someone found them because she couldn’t control herself… Well, Finn would be rather proud, but also incredibly fucking annoyed with whoever dared open the door and force an abrupt end to their perfect reunion. She murmured something weakly against his palm, eyes fluttering closed when he swirled his hips against hers.
He had missed the moment where he took her, the moment he always savored with a lover, but as Finn slowly thrust in and out of her, he decided there would be many opportunities in the future to make up for that. There had to be.
With Skye in mind, he kept his thrusts short yet firm, hoping to graze her inner and outer pleasure sensors each time. From the way she tugged at his h
air, the little jerks of pain blending seamlessly with the blissful tightening of his body, Finn suspected he had succeeded. Her muffled squeaks were nearly his undoing, forced out each time his cock pounded into her, and Finn distracted himself with a study of her features—the lovely red flush on her cheeks, the smattering of freckles over her nose, the length of her eyelashes.
She really was beautiful, but it wasn’t her beauty he had missed over the last month. An added bonus, surely, but Finn had longed for her wit, for her banter, for the way she laughed at his ridiculous puns. Skye was the first woman who hadn’t tried to immediately change him, to mold him to her liking, and she was the only woman Finn hadn’t wished were just slightly different in one way or another. Strengths, flaws—he wanted to learn them all. He wanted to watch her grow, and he wanted her to keep him grounded.
Thank goodness he had kept his hand over her mouth, because when she came with a muffled cry, her sex clenching around him so tight that he saw stars, the whole building would have been alerted to the scandal. As her fingers finally started to loosen in his hair, as the redness began to fade from her cheeks, Finn slowly removed his hand, kissed her gently, then buried his face against her neck and took her. Hard. Fast. Pistoning in and out until he found his own blessed release. He groaned her name, hands pinching her thighs as he spilled himself into her.
He had seen stars before, but climaxing now dragged galaxies across his field of view, and he found himself sagging, totally spent, against her. Finn blinked rapidly, trying to eschew the visions, worried he might be crushing her—until Skye wrapped her arms around him in a hug and kissed his cheek ever so sweetly.
Eyes closed, he stood there, breathing her in, with no intention of releasing her. Not until she made him.
What on earth had she been thinking?
Skye had worked so hard over the last month to push Finn Rai and Cole Daniels out of her mind—no easy task, given that she lived in Cole’s apartment and still had the remnants of one of Finn’s chocolate bouquets in her freezer. She might have been miserable suppressing her feelings. She might have hated not speaking to either one of them. She might have spent about five minutes in the bathroom mirror every morning giving herself a pep talk, but damn it, she was trying. Usually failing, too, but never mind that.
And now Finn had strolled back into her life, seemingly out of nowhere, playing the dashing hero and the orgasm king simultaneously—and all her hard work went right out the window.
If only she were stronger. If only she hadn’t walked into that storage closet. Maybe she should have made him carry everything while she supervised from a safe distance. Maybe, if she only had some fucking willpower, she would have pushed him away when he kissed her instead of flocking to him like a moth to a flame—
“You really need to stop that,” Finn said, his voice shocking her out of her thoughts. Blushing, Skye went for her purse, rooting through the enormous thing to dig out her sunglasses.
“What? Walking quietly, keeping my thoughts to myself?” When had they arrived at the parking lot? Had she been so lost in her head that she hadn’t even noticed them navigate the convention center and go outside?! Good grief. After their hasty lovemafucking in the day care storage room, they had cleaned up, dressed, and snuck out of there like a couple of guilty teens. It was only then, as they strolled through the now quiet, half-lit hallways, that Skye had realized what a colossal error she had made, and she’d been chiding herself ever since.
“The walking part is fine,” Finn told her as they neared the curb, the parking lot ahead of them only a tenth of the way full now. “It’s the keeping your thoughts to yourself part. I don’t think you realize how plainly they read on your face.”
“Oh.” She touched her cheek, swallowing hard, then slipped her sunglasses on. “Sorry. I was just… thinking.”
Finn sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. “Yes, that’s been established. Might I offer a penny for those thoughts?”
“I don’t think you’d want to know,” she said. There was no point in lying to him. Skye had made her feelings about Finn and Cole clear the day they showed up at work and forced her into that conversation.
“Skye…”
She braced herself, expecting him to dredge everything back up. Instead, he turned and stared straight into her eyes, that near-black gaze penetrating through her aviators. “I really think you need to give yourself a break.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “W-what?”
“I know you’ve been feeling guilty for what happened between you, Cole, and myself,” he remarked, and her stomach twisted into a painfully tight knot. Finn, however, showed not even the slightest bit of discomfort. “I want you to stop. It’s unnecessary.”
“But—”
“We understand your concerns, your fears, and your reservations,” he pressed on, buttoning his jacket and peering around the parking lot. “But I really hope that you’ll give us a chance to change your mind. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about today. A chance. Some of your time and patience to hear us out. What do you think?”
She shook her head slightly, then flinched when her phone buzzed from the depths of her purse. Feeling a little waterlogged with information, her mind slowly processing what he’d said, she dug into her purse again and fished out her phone. Theresa. Curator’s senior assistant. She had offered to give Skye a lift back to Coral Bay as long as Skye helped her shop for a swanky party she was throwing for her husband’s law firm partners tomorrow night. After all, Skye had a bit of experience with the rich and petulant.
“I… I…” She stared at Theresa’s text message. The woman was sitting in her car near the service entrance. Was Skye ready to go? No. Not really.
“You need time to consider it,” Finn offered. “That’s fine. Do you have a ride home?”
“Yes,” she answered automatically, her hand falling by her side as she tried to figure out what was happening with this conversation. “Thanks.”
Nodding, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, then flashed a breathtaking smile before sauntering into the parking lot. She watched him go, numb, until the realization hit her.
“Wait… Give us a chance?”
What was he talking about? Her phone buzzed again, and she headed in Theresa’s direction on unsteady legs, trying to put the pieces together—and coming up short.
17
Meddling Meddler
“Mr. Cocksman will be with you in a moment. Can I get you a coffee or tea while you wait?”
Skye shook her head, smiling politely. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
Mr. Cocksman. Yikes. What an unfortunate name to say out loud. She wasn’t sure how his secretary managed to keep a straight face, but the woman in the red pantsuit did so unflinchingly. Clearing her throat, Skye reached into her purse at the foot of her chair and dug out her phone. As subtly as she could, she checked her hair and makeup, pleased that the ungodly winds outside hadn’t ruined either, then did a quick time check. She had arrived fifteen minutes early, and with five minutes to go, she was no less confused as to why the hell she had been summoned here in the first place.
Sunday, no more than twelve hours after running into and fucking Finn at the fair, she found herself seated in the management building of another museum. These offices managed a whole chain of popular museum locations that operated throughout the state, focusing on frontier-era history, with a special emphasis on the gold rush. They’d been pretty successful with their historical reenactments, frontier cottage camping retreats, gold digs and washes for kids, and spectacular in-house exhibits. This location was about a twenty-five-minute drive from Coral Bay and was one of the first places she’d applied to. Skye had sent her résumé to almost every department, despite having never performed a historical reenactment in her life—not even a grade school theater production. Her logic at the time was that there was opportunity for growth since the chains were plentiful with a lot of on-site staff, and she had been disappointed when she received a f
orm letter rejection shortly after her submission.
Imagine her surprise, then, when she got a call at nine this morning asking her to meet with the guy who ran everything. Not just the owner of one location, but the head honcho of the whole operation. His secretary hadn’t been very specific on the phone, nor had she provided much more information since Skye arrived at the office. All Skye had been told was that she’d been invited to meet with Quintin Cocksman, and, oh, sorry it’s such short notice. Out of sheer curiosity, Skye had dressed up as if attending yet another interview, taken a cab out to the location, and sat in the waiting room—all the while clueless as to why she was even there. It couldn’t be for an interview, as she’d been outright rejected already.
So, there she was—guessing. Fidgety. A bit uncomfortable under the intense blasts of AC.
Mercifully, she wasn’t left waiting for long. About two minutes before her two o’clock appointment, the secretary cleared her throat and nodded to the big black door across the room.
“Mr. Cocksman will see you now.”
Right. Skye grabbed her purse and stood, smoothing a hand down her high-waisted skirt and fluffing out her beige blouse so that it wouldn’t stick to her. With her hair up in a sleek ballerina bun, she padded across the curiously modern reception area—everywhere else screamed eighteenth-century colonial chic—and opened the door.
“Ah, Miss Summers. Please come in.”
Resisting her face’s need to twist with confusion, she slipped inside and closed the door, noting that the hard lines, neutral tones, and subdued wall décor had continued in from the reception area. There, behind a thin glass desk, sat Quintin Cocksman, a man in his late forties by Skye’s best estimate, with a pencil-thin black mustache and enormous designer frames—with no glass in them. While there was nothing wrong with trying to prove you were not your brand, this was a little ridiculous. She crossed the room with her hand outstretched, smiling when he rose to shake it. Slim and narrow-shouldered, he wore a fitted grey suit, a white dress shirt, and the emblem for the New England Patriots on his cuffs.
