"I'm not attracted. And she's engaged," Finn said dampeningly.
"She's not married, though. Not yet."
Finn scowled. "Engaged is close enough. To Sam Fletcher, for God's sake!" Anita—and everyone else in New York with any business savvy at all—knew Sam Fletcher.
"Really? Sam Fletcher, hm?" Anita considered that, then gave him a sympathetic smile. "Guess you've got your work cut out for you then."
It wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. He didn't want to take Izzy away from Sam Fletcher. Hell, what would he do with her once he got her?
A certain sudden tension in the seat of his masculinity answered that question promptly enough. Finn scowled as he stamped up the steps to his apartment. Besides that, he thought savagely. Hell, she couldn't leave soon enough to suit him!
He could hear the girls giggling upstairs when he came in. Izzy was talking on the phone. She sat on the kitchen table with her feet on one of the chairs. She was still wearing the ubiquitous chartreuse T-shirt, but the shorts at least were new. A deep peach color that complemented the honey tan of her legs. She waggled her fingers at him and grinned, then mouthed, "Sam!" and the grin widened.
Finn, expecting to feel an immediate lightening of spirit, was surprised to find he was only annoyed.
"No," Izzy was saying now. "I understand completely. No, not tonight. It's fine, Sam. Really. Jet lag is nothing to take lightly. Sleep tonight and by tomorrow you'll be raring to go."
Finn's jaw tightened. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. It was sweltering in here, even with the windows open. He wondered why she didn't ever use the air-conditioning. He stripped his shirt off.
Izzy averted her eyes. "How early?" she said into the telephone. "Oh, I think that'd be fine. I'll see you in the morning, then." She made a kissing sound with her mouth, then, as if she suddenly remembered when she'd last been kissed, she stopped abruptly and stared at Finn, stricken.
Their gazes met; hers slid quickly away.
"I love you, Sam," she said, then she hung up and turned to face Finn. "Sam's got back this afternoon from Paris. He's exhausted so—"
"Poor guy," Finn said unsympathetically.
"So," Izzy went on firmly, "he won't be coming by until tomorrow. But he'll be picking me up at nine. I hope that's not too early."
"And what am I supposed to do with the girls?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Izzy said breezily. "We'll take them with us."
"What? Take them with you?"
She shrugged. "Well, I know you don't have to work tomorrow, but I didn't know if you'd made other plans, and I did agree to watch them until you got a nanny. Have you, by the way, set up any more interviews?"
"No."
She arched a brow. "Have you looked?"
"Of course." Not much, but she didn't have to know that. He would look. And soon. "How come you're willing to take them? I figured you'd be dying to fall into bed with Mr. Millionaire."
"Just because you—" She broke off, her words sputtering to a stop. Then, "Do you have to undress the instant you get in the house?" she demanded, her eyes flicking from his face to his bare chest and back again.
A grin twisted Finn's mouth. "Why? Worried I'll turn you on? Again," he added nastily.
Izzy clutched her arms across her chest. "About last night… I never intended … that kiss wasn't—"
"No. It wasn't," he said, relenting in the face of her obvious dismay. "You didn't mean anything by it? Well, fine. I didn't mean anything by it either."
"It was an aberration," Izzy said after a moment. She ran her tongue over her lips. "Right?"
"Right."
"Good." She hugged herself and rocked back and forth on her heels, then gave a little giggle.
Finn shot her a hard look. "What's funny?"
"I was just thinking that maybe it was… the Finn MacCauley seal of approval?" There was a tiny grin on her face as she said the words. But then it faded, and the look she gave him was equal parts innocence and hopefulness.
He felt that earlier very masculine tension snake through him and he turned away abruptly. "Maybe it was," he said gruffly He glanced around, then focused on the childish noises coming from upstairs. "What are the girls up to?" he asked. Then, "Never mind. I'll go see."
It was a hell of a thing, he told himself, when things had deteriorated so badly that to avoid Izzy he found himself actually seeking the company of a pair of little girls.
* * *
She counted the minutes until Sam was due to arrive, keeping out of Finn's way for the rest of the evening, reading the girls stories and playing Go Fish until it was their bedtime, then retiring to her own room to read.
Or try to. But though she kept her eyes on her book, her mind seemed to be on the sound of Finn moving around downstairs. She didn't know what he was doing, but it seemed to involve a lot of pacing about, a little thumping of this and that, and the French doors being opened and closed. He left shortly after ten, right before she was going to shut off her light.
A late date? she wondered.
With which one of the bevy of beauties who surrounded him all day long? As far as she knew he hadn't had a date since she and the girls had been there. She didn't imagine for a minute that he was usually so solitary. She only had to look at the photos stored in the back of her closet to know he had a definite interest in the opposite sex.
She only had to remember the way he kissed her—
Drat! She didn't want to remember the way he kissed her.
She wanted Sam. In only a few more hours she would be seeing him again, touching him again. Kissing him again. She rolled over and hugged her pillow against her chest. She shut her eyes. She was afraid to go to sleep.
What if she dreamed about Finn?
She didn't remember what she dreamed—which she took as a good sign. She did know she had got blessed little sleep by the time the alarm went off at six and she got up to take a steamy bath. After, wrapping a bath sheet around her, she washed and dried her hair. She debated using the laminates that Sierra had told her would make her hair "move." She decided she'd rather have it in one place. She fluffed her fingers through it, and hoped Sam would like it as much as she did. Her hair was the best part of this whole makeover Finn had put her through.
The makeup was a different story. She put it on the way Tonio, a makeup artist friend of Finn's, had showed her the same day Carlota had given her the manicure. She used just the lightest foundation and only the tiniest bit of blush. Then she stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find the old Izzy Rule.
She tried to waggle her eyebrows, but they didn't waggle anymore. They arched now—"the way they're supposed to," Tonio had told her. "No one wants ugly thick caterpillars crawling across their face," he said flatly. "Do they?"
Izzy had never thought about her eyebrows like that before.
She picked up the lip liner he had chosen for her. It intimidated her. But she figured if she tried using it now, at least it was early enough that her hand wasn't shaking from nervousness. Yet.
She laid out first one outfit, then another, tempted by the basic black dress that had inspired Finn's kiss. Would it have the same effect on Sam?
Heaven help her, it better, Izzy thought. But nine on a Saturday morning of a day she was planning to spend with him and the girls didn't seem like the time to be trying out its charms.
So she opted for a pair of jeans, a French silk T-shirt in a shimmery russet color, and the chunky silver necklace and earrings that Anita had helped her pick out. But when she was all dressed, she still had an hour to go before Sam was to arrive.
She could hear Finn prowling around below, talking to the girls as they got out cereal and bowls and silverware. Ordinarily Izzy would be with them. Today she was lurking about in the upstairs hallway, feeling idiotic.
Go down, for goodness' sake, she told herself. What was she afraid of? He certainly wasn't going to kiss her again! Not when the infamous black dress was
tucked safely away in the back of the closet.
What was it Grandad had always told her? "Gotta face your fears, Izzy, my girl. They just get bigger if you run away."
Izzy was quite sure she had no desire to face an even bigger-than-life Finn MacCauley. So she sucked in a deep breath and marched downstairs. She couldn't help remembering last night when she'd come down modeling the dress, and her knees quaked at the memory.
But just as she got low enough to see into the kitchen, Tansy made a wild gesture at the table and knocked over her milk. "Oh, no!"
"Oh, hell!" Finn glared at her.
"Here now," Izzy said soothingly, hurrying in, ignoring the way his gaze locked on her as she grabbed the roll of paper towels from the counter and bent to wipe up the milk. "It's all right, Tansy. Happens all the time. We'll get it mopped up in a second." She got on her knees with the paper towels, concentrating all her attention on the rapidly expanding puddle, and did her best to ignore the very masculine bare feet that managed to stay within the scope of her vision.
Suddenly a rag appeared in front of her face. She took it gratefully and flicked Finn a quick glance. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." His tone was dry. He took the wadded-up sopping paper towels from her and threw them away.
Izzy mopped the area where the milk had spilled. Another damp rag appeared just when she needed it. She took it. He held out his hand for the one she'd used. She hesitated for a split second, then gave it to him and kept mopping. A dry rag appeared. She used it, too. She didn't know how long she'd have stayed down on the floor if the downstairs doorbell hadn't rung.
Finn pushed the intercom button. "Who is it?"
There was a silence. Then, "Sam Fletcher."
Izzy scrambled to her feet. Finn shot her an unreadable look, then pushed the button to open the front door. Izzy brushed at the knees of her jeans, ran her fingers over her hair, licked her lips nervously.
"You look fine, damn it," Finn growled.
She could hear footsteps coming along the hallway toward the door, then a knock. The girls ran to open it.
And there he was, tall and lean, and as dear and familiar and wonderful as ever. Izzy beamed at him.
He stood stock-still in the doorway and stared. "I— Izzy?" His jaw seemed in danger of dragging on the ground. "Is that—?"
"Don't tell me you don't recognize me."
He shut his mouth, swallowed, then raked a hand through his sun-streaked brown hair and shook his head slowly, looking dazed. "Took me by surprise," he admitted, a slow grin spreading across his cheerful face. "What can I say? Wow." Then he opened his arms and took a step forward.
Izzy flew into them, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, reveling in the comfortable strength of his embrace, in the cool press of his cotton shirt against her cheek and the brush of his freshly shaven jaw on her temple. But it wasn't enough—this hug, this desperate clinging.
She fused her mouth to his, seeking the jolt she'd found last night in Finn's hungry kiss, in her own sudden desire.
She saw Sam's eyes jerk open wide. He held the kiss for an instant, then wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and lifted her bodily away so that they stared into each other's eyes.
He sucked air, then gave a half laugh. "Not in front of the children," he said shakily.
Izzy flushed. "S-sorry." She lifted a hand to her cheek, self-conscious, not daring to look at Finn. "I…was just… it's been so long."
"Too long," Sam said, drawing her around so that he was able to slip his arm over her shoulders. "You really do look… wonderful." He sounded almost awestruck.
"Well, I didn't want you to be embarrassed by me so some of Finn's friends gave me some pointers." She wasn't about to tell him the details of their deal.
"Finn?" Sam said, his gaze flicking toward the man who was scowling at him from the kitchen. "Perhaps," he said to Izzy, "you ought to introduce us."
"Of course." Izzy felt her flush deepen. "Sam, this is the girls' uncle, Finn MacCauley. Finn—" she still didn't look at him "—this is Sam."
Sam held out a hand to Finn. "Pleased to meet you."
"Yeah." But there was certainly no reciprocal pleasure in Finn's tone. He dropped Sam's hand and folded his arms across his chest.
Sam kept on smiling. "Izzy says you're a photographer?"
Finn nodded curtly. The look on his face didn't encourage further discussion.
"For magazines?" Sam persisted.
Another nod.
"Fascinating. I bet you get to do a lot of traveling." He looked at Finn expectantly.
"No more than you."
Izzy could see Finn wasn't in one of his charming moods. She turned a bright smile on Sam and took hold of his hand. "The girls and I are ready," she said. "Shall we go?"
They started out the door. Then Tansy looked over her shoulder. "Are you comin', Uncle Finn?"
"No."
"No, he's not!" Izzy said at the same time. Their eyes met for a split second, then Izzy jerked her glance away and herded the girls out the door.
Sam started to follow, then paused. "Nice to have met you."
Finn grunted. Over Sam's shoulder he gave Izzy one last steely look, then shut the door with a decided click in Sam's face.
Her fiancé turned and met Izzy's worried look. "Not much of a morning person, is he?"
Sam took them to the Bronx Zoo—not precisely the sort of place a romantic reunion ought to take place, but with a pair of six-year-old twins in tow, romance wasn't exactly on the menu.
The four of them oohed and aahed over elephants and tigers, watched snow leopards both in slumber and on the prowl, peered across ravines separating them from hungry crocodiles and capped the afternoon off with a ride on a camel. They ate hot dogs and ice cream and giggled and laughed, and Sam gave each of the girls a ride on his shoulders when they were tired. He told Izzy all about his travels—the street bazaar in Bangkok, the silk merchant in Singapore, the pearl dealer in Hong Kong—in the same easy way he'd always told her about them when he'd passed through San Francisco.
And all the while she watched and listened, she thought, I wish he'd kiss me again. She tried to play over in her mind the kiss they'd shared when he'd come in the door that morning. She tried to remember the caress of his lips, the crush of his mouth on hers, the taste of him.
She kept remembering Finn.
The memory was like a double exposed film. You could see one event, but not without seeing the other. She told herself it was because she'd been so stunned, so jarred by Finn's kiss that it had completely thrown her. She hadn't been ready for Sam's—not completely ready, so Finn's had intruded upon it.
But now—now she was. Kiss me, she thought. Kiss me again.
But Sam was telling Pansy about some calligraphy on rice paper that he had seen. And when he looked at Izzy, he smiled and squeezed her hand, but he didn't look as if kissing her was even on his mind.
She shouldn't expect it. Sam was a discreet sort of guy—not one given to public displays of affection. He was holding her hand in his. That was enough.
There would be time for more later. In private. Without the girls. They were having dinner together, just the two of them.
And then …
Izzy hugged to herself the thought of what was to, come. But she made herself focus on the moment, enjoying it—just sitting on the bench and listening to Sam talking, turning her face to the sun and feeling the tension of the past couple of weeks begin, at last, to seep out of her.
Sam was home. Now everything would be all right.
So she'd gone out to dinner with Fletcher? So what?
The guy wasn't an ax murderer.
He was one of the most successful, highly respected, wealthiest men in New York City. And a gentleman, to boot.
So why was he pacing the floor like a man who'd let his only daughter go out with the town rapist? Finn asked himself.
He didn't like any of the answers.
H
ow the hell long did it take to have dinner anyway? He and the twins had had their dinner in less than an hour—and that counted walking all the way to the Korean grocery on Columbus and getting salad fixings and a pack of hot dogs, then coming back and fixing the meal themselves!
Of course it wasn't a five-course meal. But who said Sam Fletcher was taking Izzy out for a five-course meal? Who knew what they were doing?
But whatever it was, it didn't include him and the twins. They'd brought the girls back at six, tired and happy, and had told him they were on their way to dinner.
"You won't mind fixing them dinner, will you?" Izzy had said.
He'd grunted a reply with enough bad grace that she'd said, "You didn't have a date, did you? I guess we could stay here." She'd looked at Sam for confirmation.
But Finn had growled, "No, damn it, I don't have a date! Go on!" And if he'd banged around the kitchen all the time she was showering and getting ready, doing his best to ignore Sam Fletcher's well-meaning conversational attempts, well, too damn bad!
And he hadn't even acknowledged their departure because he had other things to do. It had been months since he'd defrosted the freezer! Could he help it if he was hacking furiously at a chunk of ice when they left?
But that had been just before seven. Hours ago. It was almost eleven now and they weren't back yet.
"Uncle Finn?"
He jerked up from the daybed where he'd finally slouched after pacing got him nowhere. There was a twin crouched on one of the steps of the spiral staircase, looking worriedly down at him. He frowned. "What's wrong?"'
"Where's Izzy?"
He dragged in a deep breath. "She went out to eat, remember?"
"An' she's still gone?"
"It's not that late," Finn said quickly, exactly the opposite of what he'd just been thinking himself. But heaven knew the girls had had enough worry in their young lives just thanks to their mother—they didn't need more brought on by some thoughtless young woman who ought to know better.
"It's been hours."
"Listen, Tan—you are Tansy, aren't you?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm P-Pansy."
Finn's Twins! Page 9
