Beah reached behind her and covered his erection with her hand, squeezing his hard shaft. He was big, impressive and, despite making love to him on countless occasions, she still wondered how he fit.
Beah felt his mouth on her shoulder, and his fingers slid over her right breast to find her already-hard nipple. She tipped her head back and stared at the bright blue sky, feeling like she was part of the water, of the sky, immersed in Finn.
Finn unsnapped her bra and the material dropped to the ground. Spinning her around, he tugged her toward the bed, pushing her down to the edge. He stood between her knees, not touching her with anything but his eyes.
But Beah needed more than hot eyes and appreciation. “I need you to touch me, Finn.”
“In a moment,” Finn said. “Let down your hair, sweetheart.”
Beah didn’t think about objecting, she just tugged on the band and tossed it away, not caring where it fell. Finn gently pushed so her back hit the cool linen on his bed. He knelt beside her on the bed and pulled his fingers through her curls, spreading them out to lie against the snow-white duvet.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you here, like this.”
She believed him because she’d also, back in London, thought about him in her bed, often wished he was there. At one point they’d meant the world to each other; it was natural to miss the best parts of your life.
That didn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t allow it to mean anything.
She was so tired of thinking, of overanalyzing. But when Finn touched her, her overloaded brain shut down and there were only feelings, delicious sensation. Needing to lose herself in him, she reached for him, touching his muscled shoulders and chest, fingers skimming over his flat nipples.
She needed to stop thinking and this was, bar none, the best way to do it.
Lifting her torso to a half-sitting position, she pushed her fingers under the band of his underwear, looking for his heat and hardness. Finn looked down and licked his lips, his eyes closing as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft. He was so smooth, so deliciously, wonderfully male…
Beah knew she was wet and so ready for him. She tugged at the fabric, trying to push the briefs down his right hip. “Off, now.”
Finn stood up, shed his underwear and gently pushed her thighs apart, looking down at her most private places. Beah felt the urge to cover up, to squirm, before remembering he’d seen all of her before.
Finn dragged a finger through her short red curls, slipping inside to test her readiness. “So hot, so wet.”
“Finn.” Beah panted, reaching for his neck and dragging his mouth to meet hers. His tongue slid past her teeth as his erection scraped her sensitive spot. Beah thought she just might come if he did that again.
Finn muttered a curse, leaned across her, his tip probing her entrance, and yanked open the bedside drawer. Beah heard him curse, heard a book hitting the floor, and then the drawer bounced off the hardwood. Finn released a few more curses and then a sigh of relief.
He sat back, ripped the packet open and rolled the condom down his gorgeous length, stroking himself as he did so. Man, there was nothing sexier than a man touching himself, his big hand wrapped around his hard shaft. Beah groaned and Finn’s eyes slammed into hers.
“That’s hot,” Beah told him, looking for any moisture in her mouth.
“This?” Finn stroked himself again and Beah nodded. If he didn’t touch her soon, spontaneous combustion was a possible outcome.
Unable to stop herself, her hand sneaked between her legs, but she had no time to pleasure herself because Finn released a hard curse, slid his hand under her butt and lifted her up to push inside her warm, wet channel until he was buried to the hilt.
She welcomed every inch of him, loved his heavy, reassuring weight. The smell of his cologne mingled with the heady scent of sex and her perfume. Beah sighed and, needing more points of contact with his hard body, arched her back to rub her breasts against Finn’s chest. Finn, not moving, gritted his teeth.
Beah, not sure why he was waiting but fixated on her own happy ending, lifted her hips in a rhythm designed to ramp up her pleasure.
She didn’t know if she could wait for him, didn’t much care if he was with her or not. Beah felt the tips of Finn’s fingers pushing into her butt, the look of pain-pleasure on his face, the jumping muscle in his jaw. He didn’t move, allowing her to set the pace, to take what she needed.
Time stood still, galaxies collided as the stars ducked and dived and planets spun around each other. Beah arched her back, reached for more and when she found her soul-shattering release, she spun away, hurtling from star to star, passing through the sun, shattering the moon.
When she started to float back to earth, Beah gripped Finn’s big biceps and stared up into his forest green eyes, burning with a golden fire. He was still inside her, hard and heavy.
Finn slowly smiled as he pulled a loose curl out of her eye. “Was that good?”
Beah, having lost her ability to talk, just nodded.
Finn pumped his hips and Beah felt another spurt of pleasure, deeper and slower but no less wonderful than before.
“Good.” Finn smiled, his eyes intense. “Now I want you to come again.”
It was one of the few orders Beah was happy to obey.
* * *
Ten days later, Beah was trying to get Finn to concentrate on making decisions about Ben and Piper’s fast-approaching wedding but Finn, standing behind her office chair, kept distracting her by nibbling her neck or playing with her hair.
Beah felt his clever fingers tracing the edges of her collarbone and slapped his hand away. “Finn Murphy! Concentrate! These decisions are not going to make themselves and the wedding is three weeks away.”
Finn responded by sliding his hand down her chest, under her top and cupping her breast, his fingers playing with her nipple. Beah tipped her head sideways, keeping an eye on the door, on the glass walls, leaning her temple against his forearm, taking a minute to enjoy the ripples of lust running through her.
“I haven’t seen you for ten days, and you’re asking me to concentrate on flowers and fripperies. Not a chance.” Finn bent down to murmur in her ear as his thumb swiped over her nipple, making her harder than she believed was possible.
“Someone might see us.”
“Relax, honey, I’ll hear someone walking down the hallway before they see us,” Finn told her. “But there’s an easy solution to your dilemma. Come down to my office. We can lock the door and hide away for an hour. Maybe two. Or three. Hell, let’s just ditch work—it’s after four.”
Man, she was tempted. So tempted. But she couldn’t. She had a meeting with one of her newest clients, a dot-com millionaire who was flying in to see her, wanting to talk about starting an art collection. And she had to remind herself, Finn’s house was not home. Her home was her apartment in Notting Hill, even though she hadn’t been back to London in nearly a month.
It was true, she could work from anywhere.
Her client was due in—Beah glanced at her Cartier watch—five minutes. He could be walking down the hallway at this very minute. Dammit, no time to do anything interesting. And by interesting, she meant running down to Finn’s basement office and stripping him naked and exploring his ripped body with her tongue and teeth.
Beah sighed and reluctantly pulled Finn’s hand from beneath her top. Finn wasn’t the only one who was as horny as hell.
Beah stood up, glanced through the glass walls of the office. Seeing no one in the hallway outside, she dropped a quick, hard kiss on his sexy mouth. “Later. Now behave!”
Beah stepped back and tried to move the chair but Finn kept it in front of him. When she tried to push it beneath the desk, he raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Give me a minute, honey. Nobody needs to see the steel pipe in my pants.”
Ah,
no, they didn’t. She blushed but met his eyes, knowing hers reflected the same desire he was feeling. “We’ll have our own private party later, I promise.”
“My place? As soon as you can get away?”
She couldn’t resist him, nor did she want to. It had been too long. Nearly a fortnight ago Ronan sent her to São Paulo to meet with the board of directors of a private museum in the city. They were thinking about thinning out their collection and wanted Beah’s opinion on what art they should sell and keep and whether they, and Murphy’s, could strike a deal.
From São Paolo she’d taken the opportunity to travel to Bariloche, a quaint Alpine town in southwest Argentina. A resident of the town had, a few months back, sent a photograph of a possible Renoir via the contact form on their website and it looked enough like the real deal to warrant the trip to the pretty town.
Much to the owner’s disgust, she’d decided the painting was a fake, a good fake, but still a forgery. The volatile owner of the painting had yelled and screamed and told her she was going to get a second opinion and Beah shrugged, left her card and left town.
It wasn’t the first time she’d told a family their much-treasured piece of artwork, passed down through generations, was a fake and worth nothing. It wouldn’t be the last, either.
But while Beah was away, she’d thought about Finn often—okay, all the time—and missed him intensely. Her dreams were hot and filled with memories of his hands and mouth and the way he loved her…
“Seriously,” Finn growled, “if you don’t take that look off your face, I’m going to place you against the nearest wall and kiss you senseless. And to hell with anybody watching.”
Beah shook her head and held up her hand. Right! That was for later. Beah sucked in a breath, walked around the desk to put some space between her and Finn—better safe than sorry—and pointed to the stack of wedding magazines on the desk. She grabbed the nearest one and flipped it open to a page she’d marked with a bright yellow Post-it.
“White roses and jasmine or bright, cheerful gerbera daisies?”
Finn looked at the pictures, frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Men. “It’s simple, Finn, which one do you prefer?”
“Either. Both. I’m sure Piper will love both,” Finn replied. “Why don’t you ask her?”
Beah frowned. “I’ve sent her a couple of emails and text messages but she hasn’t replied. Have you spoken to Ben recently?”
Finn shook his head. “Actually no, not for a week or so. But I’ve been slammed.”
Weird. Beah chewed on her bottom lip. But they were running out of time to organize their big day and they couldn’t wait for Ben and Piper to get in touch. “We have to make the decision today. The florist needs to get the order in.”
Finn pushed the chair away and placed his hands on his hips. “I trust your judgment, Bee, and they did ask us to organize this wedding. Make the call.”
Flowers were a big deal and a very personal choice. This was too much pressure. “Why don’t you?” Beah wailed.
Finn gestured to his clothes. “I wear black and denim all the time because it matches and I don’t have to think about it. My place was decorated by an interior decorator. This isn’t what I’m good at. Just choose, Bee.”
Okay, then. Beah’s eyes danced between the pictures in the magazine. The daisies were fun but roses and jasmine were romantic. Those were the flowers she would choose if this was her wedding. “Okay, jasmine and roses. Next, the cake.”
Finn grinned. “We decided on raspberry and white chocolate. Three tiers because my brothers will be there and they’ll demolish a tier each on their own.”
“And you’ll eat the other tier.” Beah joked, making a note in her diary.
“Have you managed to look at the menus the caterers sent over?” Beah asked, looking at the next item on the list.
Finn winced. “Yes, I did. Sadly, they don’t have time to prepare a tasting menu.”
The man was always thinking about his stomach. Or sex. “Due to the short time frame, we are going to have to trust them to deliver. What menu did you choose?”
“The one featuring roasted duck. I’d just be happier if we had the opportunity to do a taste test.”
“They are one of the best companies in Boston. Their food will be exemplary,” Beah told him, making a mental note to cross “food” off her wedding list. “You’re just thinking with your stomach again.”
“When you bend over the desk and show me the edges of your very pretty pink bra, that’s not all I’m thinking with…”
Beah slapped her hand against her top and her eyes slammed into his. Lust, want, need… Man, she had to cut this meeting short and take care of this raging fire burning between them.
If she didn’t, they might set Boston on fire.
“Jeez, Finn, stop looking at me like that.”
“Not possible,” Finn growled.
Beah heard the ding of an incoming text message and saw that it was from Eli, telling her that he was on the way with her client. Beah held up her phone to show Finn the message and he pulled a face and stepped behind the back of her chair again. Right, he needed another minute. She could do with a couple herself to get her composure back, too.
The thought both thrilled and scared her. She had to get whatever was burning between them under control. Because if she didn’t, it was going to incinerate her.
But she could work on her lack-of-control issues later; right now she had a job to do, a client to talk to. Business to conduct. And she had a decision to make. Beah glanced down at her phone, thinking about the email she’d received from Michael Summers en route from São Paulo to Boston. He needed a definite answer and he needed it soon. She was pretty much out of thinking time.
It was all a bit too much. Between the upcoming sale, her demanding clients, Michael, traveling and organizing the wedding, her plate was overloaded. And then there was Finn…
Built, gorgeous and sexy. And, despite his flirty banter, still as emotionally remote as he’d ever been. Right now, she felt 3 percent human and 97 percent stress.
Stressed or not, she had a job to do. Beah hauled in a deep breath, touched her hair to make sure her curls were under control and smoothed her hands over her hips. Pushing back her shoulders, she walked over to the closed door, pulled on a smile and opened the door.
She greeted Eli, Ronan’s PA, before holding her hand out to Marshall Ford, her newest client. He was six foot something, built like a linebacker and not like anything she’d imagined he’d look like. Weren’t computer nerds supposed to look nerdy?
Marshall Ford was, well…wow.
If she didn’t have a sexy ex-husband in her bed, she might be tempted to flirt. Or more…
“Beah, this is Mr. Ford,” Eli said. “I can organize coffee and pastries if you’d like?”
Beah shook Marshall’s hand and lifted her eyebrows. “Coffee and pastries, Mr. Ford?”
“Please call me Marsh and yes, both would be good,” Marshall replied in a deep, clear voice. “I’m starving.”
“For me, too, Eli, thanks.”
Beah heard Finn’s voice behind her and wrinkled her nose. Was Finn planning on sticking around? Why? Beah narrowed her eyes at him as he approached them. Finn ignored her, holding out his hand for Marsh to shake. “Finn Murphy, director.”
Beah wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t. Finn normally introduced himself as their head of art, emphasizing his position rather than emphasizing his, well, Murphy-ness.
Could her ex be feeling a little threatened, a bit jealous? The thought amused her since she hadn’t thought him capable of that particular emotion.
But, jealous or not, she would not let him hijack her meeting. This was her turf and he was not welcome. Beah turned back to Eli. “Finn will have his coffee in his office, Eli, since he was on his way out.
”
Finn opened his mouth to object but Beah sent him a shut-the-hell-up look and spoke before he could. “I’ll talk to you later, Finn.”
Beah turned her attention to Marsh Ford and gestured for him to enter the office. “Come in and take a seat. Maybe you’d be more comfortable sitting on the sofa than at the desk.”
When his back was turned, Beah slapped Finn’s arm and gestured for him to leave. He sent her an annoyed look but did, thank God, step into the hallway. Eli, Beah noticed, was trying not to laugh.
Beah rolled her eyes at both of them, shut the glass door behind her and, when she turned back to Marsh, knew Finn’s eyes were burning into her back. She kept her expression pleasant and released a small sigh of relief when Eli tugged Finn down the hallway.
“Marsh, welcome to Murphy International. Let’s talk art.”
* * *
Finn dumped the Thai prawn curry—a favorite of Beah’s—into a storage container and slapped on the lid. He emptied a pot of water into the sink and put the packet of egg noodles away.
Thank God he’d yet to open the champagne. He’d taken the effort to cook Beah’s favorite meal and he was annoyed he’d wasted both the food and his time. But having a bottle of two-thousand-dollar champagne—Bollinger 1996 Vieilles Vignes Françaises—go flat would’ve upped his blood pressure.
Finn pulled the bottle from the ice bucket and put it on the granite island.
Opening the fridge, he reached for a beer and popped off the cap, then headed for the deck, snuffing out the scented candles on the dining table.
So much for the romantic welcome-back dinner he’d planned.
Finn stepped onto his deck and placed his forearms on the railing, resting his beer bottle against his biceps. The mist rolled across the calm sea, shrouding the boats. It was slightly warmer tonight; maybe winter was finally releasing its grip on Boston. Finn couldn’t wait for spring, and for summer. Not only would the pressure of the Mounton-Matthews sale be over and they could all, somewhat, relax, but he could go white-water kayaking, kitesurfing, get back into the water.
Harlequin Desire June 2020 - Box Set 1 of 2 Page 39
