by Lila Kane
“Yes.” My voice echoed in the space. The bathroom wasn’t huge, but it was bigger than my last one. And comfortable.
“I have your wine. Would you like me to bring it in?”
I opened my mouth automatically to say no. No, I’m naked! But Finn had seen me naked before. He’d seen me naked a lot before. There were days we’d spent a lot of time in bed. A lot of time in each other’s arms, and…that wasn’t something I needed to think about right now. Already, my body was heating up with thoughts of him naked. Imagining his sculpted body sliding into the tub with me and his hands sinking under the water to touch me.
Arranging the bubbles to make sure I was covered, I said, “Sure.”
He walked in with my glass and his in hand. Candlelight flickered on the planes of his face. He’d unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and untucked it. He’d even taken off his shoes.
I accepted the glass from him and took a long swallow. “Thanks.”
“Feel better?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “The wine will help.”
I shifted, sliding a little higher and arranging the bubbles again.
Finn laughed. “Afraid I’ll see something I haven’t seen before?”
I was ready for a quick retort, but it died on my lips. Finn was trying. Part of him was still so much the same. Laidback, easygoing, sarcastic, caring. Smart and confident. All the things I’d fallen in love with. And the rest of him, the part that hadn’t worked for us…was gone. He was who I’d always imagined myself with. He was the Finn I thought at one point I was going to marry and have kids with.
“I’m not ready for that, Finn,” I said, taking another sip of wine. “I’m sorry.”
He sat on the edge of the tub, setting his drink aside. “It was a joke, Charlotte. Don’t apologize. I know it’s going to take time. I just…”
“What?”
“I wish I could help. I feel like…if I knew what happened or if you’d just open up to me, I could do something.”
I hated the tears that welled in the corners of my eyes. I was supposed to be done crying over Mark. I was supposed to be done crying over Finn, too.
“Sometimes I feel like the more steps I take to moving on, the further back I slip.”
He scratched his jaw, looking like he was weighing his words. “If you mean me—us—it’s still moving forward. I promise.”
I swallowed, trying to believe him. “Talking about…what happened.” I didn’t even want to say Mark’s name out loud. “It feels like taking a step back.”
“Maybe it would help.”
“I can’t.” I sipped more wine and forced the tears away. “Not now.”
He sighed, so quietly I barely heard it. But he didn’t press it. “I understand.”
My wine glass was almost empty, and Finn reached for it. “I’ll get you a refill and wait for you out there.”
Before I could say anything else, he’d gathered his glass as well and left me in silence. Regret churned in my stomach. I chided myself for not knowing what I wanted—or not being able to express it how I wanted. Finn was steady. And strong. It drew me to him.
But I didn’t want that to be the reason I was giving in. I didn’t want him to protect me or take care of me. I wanted an equal relationship. I wanted Finn to know that I was as strong as he was. That I was capable. That I could deal with this.
Whatever this was. A new job. A new relationship. Maybe Mark.
I finished my bath and by the time I returned to the living room wearing sweats and a tank top, Finn had stored the wine bottles in the pantry and set out sandwiches at the coffee table with a blanket on the floor. He’d started a fire and turned the lamps on the lowest setting.
Something about the simplicity of the whole thing made my heart twist. I found Finn in the kitchen, making napkins out of paper towels, and hugged him from behind. Finn straightened, folding his hands over mine.
His deep voice reverberated in his chest when he said, “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I said, closing my eyes. “Did you make us a picnic?”
He turned in my embrace and wrapped his arms around me. “Yes.”
I pressed my cheek to his chest with a smile.
“Is that funny?” he asked.
“I’m dressed in sweats. Maybe not for me. But you…you’re still wearing your work clothes. Maybe a little overdressed for a picnic.”
“I could remedy that pretty quickly,” he said, reaching for a button. “Another joke, by the way. I’m not the kind of guy who pressures a girl to get to the next step.”
I looked up into his eyes. “I don’t feel pressured.”
He backed me up against the counter, mouth on mine in an instant. I was surprised at his restraint so far. There had been electricity between us since the instant we saw each other again.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He hauled me up and set me on the counter, making me gasp. And when he pressed in between my thighs, my body throbbed in so many places I nearly melted right there on the counter.
I shoved his shirt off his shoulders even as my mind swirled with yes’s and no’s and drowned in sensation. I was giving him the wrong idea here, but I didn’t want to stop.
His hand slid under my shirt in the back and I arched into him, my lips parting as his tongue pressed into my mouth. I matched his speed, his urgency, running my hands over his shoulders almost frantically.
Finn’s hands traveled along my bare skin, hiking my shirt up almost enough to uncover my breasts. When his fingertips brushed one of my nipples, I moaned and closed my eyes.
Yes. I missed this. Another man’s touch. No, Finn’s touch. The sureness of his hands and how he knew where and when to touch me just right.
I exhaled and lifted my chin, giving him access to my neck. His lips touched the hollow of my throat and froze there. His hands stopped moving.
“Charlotte,” Finn murmured, his mouth moving against my neck.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.
He lifted his head, and his eyes were tortured when he met mine. “I don’t think…” He cleared his throat. “This isn’t the time for this.”
I focused on his face, trying to force my thoughts to make sense. Willing my heart to stop racing. “You’re…” I shook my head, and then straightened my shirt, and nodded this time. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m—I got caught up. Finn, I didn’t mean to—”
“No.” His laugh came out strained. “I didn’t mean to either. Let me just…”
He dropped his chin, forehead resting against mine, and propped his hands on the counter on either side of me. When I reached for his shoulders, he gathered my hands in his. “If you touch me again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
Words stalled in my throat. God, I was completely going against what I’d said I’d wanted—to take it slowly—and Finn was the one with the level head. What was wrong with me?
Finn met my gaze. “It’s not you.”
A low laugh escaped my lips. “I know. I feel like an idiot. What was I thinking?”
I tried to scoot the edge of the counter, but Finn stopped me. He fixed the hem of my shirt, pulling it down to cover my exposed skin before speaking. “You were probably thinking the same thing I was. But I’ve been thinking it a lot longer. I want this, Charlotte, but only when it’s right.”
“I know. Clearly your willpower is stronger than mine.”
“That’s got to be a first.”
I smiled. God, he was sexy without a shirt. With that slow smile that burned all the way to my middle and made me squirm. My body was still yearning for his. But he was absolutely right, it wasn’t the time for this.
“I appreciate it,” I said. “You keeping a level head.”
“Barely,” Finn murmured, his eyes tracing my shoulders before roaming back to my face. He helped me off the counter. “Food will distract us.”
I followed him to the living room after he put his shirt b
ack on. The setting was romantic and made it hard to forget what just happened in the kitchen. I tugged my tank top down, feeling self-conscious all the sudden.
“It’s just dinner,” Finn said. “We can go back to talking about work if you want. Or we can talk about other things.”
I knew he meant the rose. And what happened this afternoon in the Commons. I shook my head and sat on the blanket. “No.”
“Charlotte,” he said, exasperation in his voice.
I changed the subject. “So how’s your family?”
He sat on the blanket as well and slid a plate with a large club sandwich in front of me. He’d settled our wine glasses on the table nearby, and I snatched mine while waiting for him to answer.
Finally, he said, “My mom’s doing well. She’s met someone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she remarries within the year.”
“Really?” I’d always liked Finn’s mother. Where he was aggressive, she was shy. Where he aspired to bigger and better, she was content with what she had. However, what she had was plenty of wealth, even if she was good about keeping it low-key.
Finn nodded and nudged my plate. “Eat.”
I took a bite of the sandwich. “It’s good.”
“One of my favorites.”
Again, so simple. “You’ve changed,” I said.
“How’s that?”
I shrugged. “Just…you seem so settled. Simple. I mean…more like your mom. Not flashy or over the top. Content.”
He angled his head, eyes focused on mine. “Tell me how you’ve changed.”
I ate another bite and hoped he’d forget the question. He didn’t, but I didn’t want to talk about me.
“Last time I saw your brother, he was with that girl. The one in the band.”
A muscle twitched in Finn’s jaw. He nodded. “Kaycee. Right. They were only together for three months.”
“I heard he got married?”
“And divorced. Charlotte—”
“Would you like some more wine?” I stood, snatching my glass off the table. I took his before he could answer and returned to the kitchen.
This was harder than I thought. Catching up. Pretending like it was all new when there were so many things that weren’t. But mostly my past. How did I tell Finn that Mark was a rebound? Someone who was supposed to help me get through the long days of missing him? And how was I supposed to admit that I might have fallen in love with Mark simply because he was nothing like Finn? Because I wanted so badly to be with someone as far from Finn as possible.
I really, truly thought I’d fallen in love, but looking back on it, there were a lot of unhealthy emotions involved. In the kitchen, I leaned against the counter and rubbed my hands over my face. I’d even defended Mark to my family. I’d cut them off because Mark was my fiancé when they were just trying to look out for me. I’d cut them off for other reasons, too, but it didn’t change the fact that I’d chosen him over them.
Finn’s low voice reached me from the living room. Like he could see straight into my soul.
“Come here,” he said softly. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
I returned the living room empty-handed and sat next to Finn. He snagged a pillow off the couch and set it in his lap.
“You look tired,” he said. “Rest your eyes. You don’t have to tell me anything.” He smiled when I reclined, resting my head in his lap. “Or tell me something completely random.”
Finn stroked my hair. I closed my eyes, but they fluttered back open.
He chuckled. “Come on. Rest.”
I closed my eyes again as Finn continued to run his fingers through my hair. I focused on slowing my breathing. On forgetting Mark and what used to be. For now.
“Ice cream,” I whispered.
“Ice cream?” I heard the smile in Finn’s voice.
“Yeah. I miss that place we used to go to on the corner. They had the best sugar cones.”
“I agree.”
“You’d always have cookie dough,” I said, a lag in my voice as my body rested further.
“And you’d always have something different each time. You said you couldn’t experience everything life had to offer if you didn’t try something new when you had the chance.”
My throat tightened. “Finn…”
How did he remember these things? How come things hadn’t been different between us and I’d never met Mark?
“Relax,” Finn whispered, stroking my cheek.
So I did. Even with emotion thick inside, I relaxed and felt myself slipping away.
His hands were around my throat. I clawed at the fingers that cut off my air, but they were too tight.
“You’ll never leave me. Never!”
My eyes flew open, and he was still there, leaning over me. Mark. His hands on me, murder in his eyes. We’ll be together. Forever.
“No!” I shoved the figure in front of me and then tried to scramble to my feet, completely disoriented. Where was I?
“Charlotte—”
I shoved again and turned, falling off a bed and to the hardwood floor. My breath left my lungs in a rush but I scurried to my feet. He was around the bed in an instant.
A scream lodged in my throat as I held up my hands to ward off the large shadow in front of me. “Don’t touch me.”
“Charlotte, it’s me. Finn.”
My hands shook. His words poked logic into my brain. I backed up and swallowed. “Finn,” I whispered.
My eyes adjusted. I was in my bedroom, cowering beside the large dresser. Finn was in front of me, arms out like he’d trapped a wild animal and he wasn’t sure how predictable it was.
It was late and dark. I searched for the alarm clock and read 2:30 am. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Finn said. He opened his palm. “Come here.”
My feet wouldn’t move. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. “I thought you were someone else. It—” My throat closed.
“A dream,” Finn said. “It’s okay, Charlotte. It was just a dream. I’m here. Come on.”
I shuffled forward, settling my hand in his. He pulled me to the bed. The covers were only pulled back on one side. Where was he sleeping? On the couch?
Climbing in, I choked on words. “I’m sorry, Finn. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“Shh, it’s fine. Can I stay in here with you for a bit?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
He lay down next to me and pulled me close, my wet cheek against his bare chest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t apologize.” His low voice rumbled in his chest, soothing me.
It was quiet for a long moment, the only sound our breathing. Finn’s was steady, in and out, low and smooth. Mine was ragged, choppy. Frightened.
“How long?” Finn asked.
“What?”
“How long have been having the dreams?” I shifted against him, but his arms tightened. “They’re not going to go away if you don’t deal with them.”
I thought I had dealt with them. “I haven’t had one in months,” I whispered.
“Did you have them a lot before that?”
Almost every night. But I only nodded.
Finn’s arm squeezed tighter. “Would you like me to stay in here?”
“You don’t have to.”
He brushed a tear from my cheek. “I’m not asking for you to give me an out, I’m asking if you want me to stay. For you.”
No. And yes. I wanted to get past this on my own. But I was afraid the shadows would come back. That I’d forget where I was again and the fingers would close over my throat and I’d panic.
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
“Of course.”
It was that simple for Finn. But not for me. So I lay there, listening to his breathing and trying to force myself to go back to sleep even with shadows lurking all around me.
CHAPTER TEN
When I woke blurry-eyed the next m
orning, Finn was in the kitchen cooking. He wore sweats and a T-shirt, with a jacket zipped over the top. When had he left? And when had he had the time to shower?
The whole night was a blur, except for the dream. That was crystal clear in my mind. Every detail, down to Mark’s hands. I could still feel them on my neck, squeezing until the edges of my vision went black and my limbs went weak.
My fingertips traced just above my collarbone where I’d once had horrible bruises the size of Mark’s fingers.
Finn turned with a plate of toast and saw me. He smiled but his eyes dipped to my hand. I dropped it to my side and said, “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he returned, walking to meet me where I stood.
A part of me shrunk away from the contact. I wasn’t used to being so close to people. Or having them in my house.
Finn’s throat moved in a swallow and he brushed a simple kiss on my temple before stepping back and keeping his hands to himself. He looked like he wanted to say something. That he’d seen me tense up, maybe. That it bothered him because he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d lay a hand on a woman—and I knew he wasn’t—but it was habit. And I felt vulnerable after last night. Like I’d made a mistake. A mistake I wouldn’t have made if I’d had my head on straight and kept Finn where he was supposed to be.
In my past.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, turning to the kitchen.
My stomach twisted. “I’m not sure.”
“Have a seat. You can take your time.”
I sat at the counter and eyed the spread he’d made. Toast, eggs, bacon, pancakes. “You made all this?”
He grinned, reaching for a glass and pouring me orange juice. “Coffee too?”
I nodded.
“Yes, I can cook.”
I sipped the orange juice. “I know you can. But you don’t.”
“I was up early and after I showered, I needed something to do.”
Shifting in my seat, I said, “You could’ve stayed at home once you changed.”
“I didn’t go home.” He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. “I had someone bring me a bag, and I used the shower in your spare bath.”
And I’d slept through all of it. “Who brought you your clothes?” I tried a smile. “Leslie?”
