Nina (Beach Brides Book 3)

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Getting physical with him would one hundred percent guarantee heartbreak on her horizon, and she’d had more than enough of that to last forever.

  Still…none of any of that was his fault, and she couldn’t just continue to sit here with a romance book she hadn’t really been reading anyway. Setting aside physical attraction, she’d like to think they’d become friends, which meant she owed him an apology.

  With a resigned sigh, she set her book down and slid off the bed to make her way downstairs. The house was as dark inside as out. Not even Kismet came to greet her in the lonely quiet. A quick detour past the front door showed Finn’s truck still out in the driveway, and his jacket hung on the hook next to hers.

  She took a moment to straighten their boots lying on the floor and turned on lights as she made her way to the empty kitchen. There was no fresh coffee. No dinner plate or glass to show he’d been down to eat.

  After a moment of debate, Nina went to the cupboard where she’d stowed some of her dry groceries. During one of their breakfast conversations, they’d talked about desserts, and he’d mentioned cake was his favorite. Vanilla with lots of frosting. She’d bought a box of chocolate cake mix and muffin pans that first day with the intention of making cupcakes for herself on Valentine’s Day.

  Not vanilla, but they’d have to do as her apology cupcakes to Finn.

  She mixed the batter, divided it between the paper cups lining the muffin pans, and slid them into the oven. While they baked, she made some fresh coffee and cleaned up the few dishes she’d dirtied.

  At some point, she expected him to wander into the kitchen, either curious as to what she was making, or lured by the enticing scent of the baking batter. But the cupcakes cooled on the porch, she spread butter cream frosting across all the tops, and lined them up on the counter, and he still hadn’t made an appearance.

  By now, she’d have thought he’d come looking for dinner at the very least.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she poured a mug of coffee, grabbed a napkin and a cupcake, and started searching. He wasn’t in any of the downstairs rooms, and a quick peek into the basement revealed it to be completely dark. She circled around from the kitchen to stand at the foot of the stairs.

  Her pulse picked up speed as she looked to the top. Going into his bedroom was a stupid thing to do, but she didn’t want to let this wait until morning. She’d just give him the cupcake, apologize, and leave.

  She set her foot on the first step and headed up. On her way down the hall, she saw a very faint sliver of light under his bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar. The hinges creaked when she nudged it open with her shoulder. It was a huge master bedroom, almost like a suite, with a large bed on one side. An arched doorway led to a separate sitting area with a west-facing picture window overlooking the valley full of Christmas trees.

  The light from the bedside lamp didn’t fully illuminate the adjacent sitting area, but she clearly saw the profile of Finn’s head and shoulders in a chair angled toward the large window. Kismet lay at his feet, her chin resting on the top of his foot.

  Normally, the dog would have bounded forward to greet her, but the shepherd only shifted her gaze for a glance at Nina before looking back to her master. All without even lifting her head.

  That was very odd.

  Nina took a few tentative steps into the room. “Finn?”

  “Go away.”

  The clipped order made her falter. He still sounded mad. She frowned, but forced her feet to carry her forward. “I, um, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Not now.”

  “I need to apologize.”

  “Not now, Nina. Get out.”

  The words were rough and full of gravel. Her frown deepened as resentment sparked to life. If he really was still this angry, maybe he hadn’t changed that much. She strode forward with determination and rounded the front of his chair.

  “I came up here to say I was sor—” She broke off when she caught sight of his shadowed face. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and furrowed his sweaty brow.

  He wasn’t mad, he was in pain.

  She quickly set the coffee and cupcake on the end table to his right, then kneeled beside the chair. “What’s the matter?”

  “Just go,” he grit out.

  “No.”

  A pair of cotton gym shorts revealed the scaring from his injury on his thigh. Nina fought not to react, but wasn’t so sure she kept her horror hidden. Not for the scars, but for what he’d been through. As she stared, she saw the muscles spasm, and his knuckles went white where he gripped the chair arm.

  He cursed under his breath through gritted teeth before whispering, “Nina, please…”

  “Can you take something?” she asked, ignoring his plea. “Can I get it for you?”

  “I already took some ibuprofen.”

  “You gotta have something stronger than that.”

  He shook his head, his blue eyes dark. “I didn’t refill my prescription.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t think I’d need it anymore. I haven’t needed it in over a month.”

  She read between the lines—he hadn’t wanted to need it anymore. “We shouldn’t have gone so far on the snowshoes,” she admonished.

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  Gulping back her anxiety in the face of his sarcasm, she hesitantly laid her palm on his good leg. His muscles tensed beneath her touch. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Leave.”

  She remembered him rubbing at his leg when they were sitting on the log. “What if I massage it for you?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Does massage help?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I’m doing it.”

  Nina moved to kneel between his legs and splayed her hands on his right leg. Gently kneading the rock-hard muscles, she inched upward. His fingers remained clenched on the chair arms, and he sucked in a breath when she first brushed his scarred flesh.

  “Sorry.” She pulled back, afraid she’d only hurt him more.

  “No, please, keep going,” he ground out. “Higher.”

  Her pulse pounded as she touched him again and moved her hands to the upper part of his thigh.

  “There.” The word was barely a breath as he laid his head back against the chair.

  She worked at his tight muscles while he methodically breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. She kept her gaze downcast, ironically feeling like she should now give him some privacy as she tried to ease his agony.

  A good five minutes later, her fingers began to get tired, but she kept going when she realized his grip wasn’t digging into the chair fabric quite so desperately. And his breathing had eased slightly.

  “Tell me about your screenplay,” he suddenly requested, his voice rough and pleading.

  She glanced up to see his eyes still shut, his jaw still tight. Was he looking for something to take his mind off the pain? After a moment of hesitation, she decided it couldn’t hurt to tell him. Talking to Peyton about her last one had resulted in a cool plot twist, so telling Finn might spark an idea, too.

  “It’s about a group of strangers who meet online in a book club and become friends over the years.”

  Completely inspired by a true story, but she didn’t plan on revealing that detail.

  “What kind of book club?”

  “Romance.”

  “So all women.”

  “There could be guys,” she protested.

  “Are there?”

  “There are now.” His lips twitched in a quick smile. Before he could disparage the romance genre, she said, “They’ve all had bad luck with love, and on a group vacation, they write these messages describing their perfect guy—or girl—and stick them in a bottle, then toss them out to sea.”

  “Group vacation to where?”

  “The Caribbean.”

  “Nice.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “No.
But I’m thinking with the ocean currents, the bottles could end up anywhere. What’s your story?”

  Her pulse skipped as she glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  “They toss the bottles, and then what?”

  “Oh. Well…I’m really only writing about one of the girls.”

  “Does she find her perfect guy?”

  Pretty much. Not that it does her any good.

  “She doesn’t toss her bottle.” Nina cut off a wistful sigh as she enjoyed the feel of Finn’s warm, firm muscles beneath her hands. Then she felt guilty for getting pleasure from his pain.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she thinks it’s a ridiculous notion that she’d find the guy she was meant to be with because of some silly message in a bottle found by some random person out in the world.”

  It was completely ridiculous—although, Meg and Tara would likely argue the opposite.

  “But if he’s who she’s meant to be with,” Finn countered, “it’s not random at all.”

  Nina glanced up in surprise, but his eyes were still closed. The lines around his mouth had relaxed, along with the rest of his body, and his gruff voice had gone all soft and sleepy.

  “It’s fiction is what it is,” she fibbed, focusing her attention back on his injured leg. “I can do anything I want with the character, and it has nothing to do with fate.”

  “Are you going to give her a happily ever after?”

  “It wouldn’t be a romance if I didn’t.”

  A note of longing crept into her voice. She cast Finn an anxious glance, but his eyes were still closed, and he didn’t even respond. For a moment, she let her gaze trace the lines of his handsome, masculine face. She really did want her own happily ever after some day. How amazing would it be if it was with him?

  Shaking off her impractical thoughts, and she worked in silence until she heard a quiet snore and looked up to see he’d fallen asleep. Her hands stilled as she slowly sat back on her heels, grappling with the emotional rush tightening her chest for having succeeding in helping him so he could rest. Even more so, she hated that he’d tried to hide here in the dark to endure the crippling pain all by himself. It hurt her heart to see him hurting.

  All of a sudden, Kismet lifted her head off his foot and nosed at Nina’s hand. She released her earlier suppressed sigh and smiled wistfully at the faithful shepherd while stroking her head. She wished it were possible to be with Finn, to make sure he never had to go through the pain alone again, but like the bottle toss, that idea was just as ridiculous.

  Wasn’t it?

  ****

  Finn woke very early in the morning to find his dog still lying at his feet, but Nina was nowhere to be seen. If it wasn’t for the blanket tucked around his shoulders, and the cupcake and cold coffee sitting on the table at his side, he might have believed the previous evening was a dream.

  Conflicting emotions warred as he pictured Nina kneeling in front of him, her hands working their magic while the ibuprofen took the edge off his pain. Much as he appreciated her assistance, he was uncomfortable with the fact she’d seen him at such a weak point.

  While he pushed aside the blanket, his stomach churned at the thought of her feeling sorry for him. Sure, he’d used the wounded veteran angle when they’d first met to get her to let him stay in the house, but after the time they’d spent together, the last thing he wanted now was her pity.

  Kismet rose and licked his hand with a low whine. Knowing she probably needed to go outside, he stretched gingerly, careful not to tense his muscles too much and set off another round of spasms. He picked up the coffee and cupcake, and followed the shepherd down the hall to the stairs.

  Nina’s bedroom door was closed, which meant she was in bed. No surprise at four a.m.

  After he let Kismet outside, he popped the mug of coffee into the microwave, then peeled the wrapper off the cupcake and ate half of it in one bite.

  Mmmm. Sweet cupcakes.

  His context didn’t have the same meaning, and yet it triggered a smile as he thought about her response to their first kiss up in the woods. And then she’d come to his bedroom to apologize with the sweet treat. She’d remembered that he liked cake and made him some—which meant he wasn’t totally in the doghouse for walking away from her after their argument in the foyer.

  Good. That gave him something to work with before the auction in three days.

  He polished off the other half of the cupcake, then ate a second one with his warmed coffee before letting Kismet back inside. With the caffeine and sugar, and the eight hours of sleep he’d gotten by falling asleep so early in the evening, he stayed up and had a breakfast of French toast, bacon, and fruit all ready when Nina came down the stairs a little after seven.

  She paused in the doorway, her hazel gaze bouncing from him, to the fully set table, and back.

  Finn tossed her an off-hand smile to mask an unexpected attack of nerves. “Morning.”

  “Hi. You look like you’re feeling better.”

  “Much better, thanks to you.” He pulled out a chair for her, discreetly appreciating her hip-hugging jeans and soft, pink sweater. “Coffee’s on the table already.”

  Color infused her cheeks as she approached. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “You didn’t have to help me last night.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “Well, considering the jerk I was earlier—”

  “You weren’t,” she cut in. “I was the jerk.”

  He shrugged and gestured to the chair for her to sit.

  She paused and raised her eyebrows. “Not going to contradict me?”

  “Nope.”

  She finally sat, and he pushed in her chair before sitting kitty corner.

  “Okay, fine. I know I was. I can admit it. And I am sorry about what I said.”

  When she didn’t look at him with the apology, he couldn’t help but tease, “About not sleeping with me? Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.” Her face flushed even more, and she quickly reached for the coffee. “About you…dating…a lot.”

  His smile sobered. “I used to. I don’t anymore.”

  Finally her gaze met his. “I know.”

  Something intangible passed between them and started his heart racing in his chest. “Thank you for last night. And the cupcakes, too.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The cupcakes had been great. Thoughtful, sweet, and delicious. But Finn preferred another taste of watermelon instead. He dropped his gaze to her lips, then abruptly straightened in his chair and speared his fork into a couple slices of French toast.

  Nina didn’t do flings, so he was going to take this slow and do everything right. He only had a little over two weeks left to win her over.

  Chapter 11

  Nina’s well of words had gone bone dry. She’d gone from unable to write fast enough, to unable to wring out a single usable syllable. And this time, she gave Finn one hundred percent of the credit.

  Or blame.

  After their Thank You/Apology breakfast, they’d fallen into an easy routine the past couple days. Completely unspoken, they took turns cooking, shared each meal, and even went to a movie last night.

  It would seem he’d completely contradicted his claim that spending time together was a waste. It almost felt like they were dating, and yet, despite plenty of opportunity, he hadn’t even so much as kissed her since the day they’d gone snowshoeing.

  A time or two it had looked like he might want to—and boy did she want him to—but each time he’d walked away as if he wasn’t strung out on breathless anticipation like her. Other than a good ol’ boy pat on the shoulder in the hall at night when he left her at her bedroom door to go to his own, she got nothing.

  No long, deep kisses, no meaningful touches, and now, no words.

  At first, she told herself she should be flattered Finn respected her choice by not pushing her to become physically involved. Then she found herself offended that, change
d or not, the former playboy didn’t even make one single attempt to seduce her.

  You just want an excuse to give in to the man, and someone other than yourself to blame when you do.

  She couldn’t deny that truth—not that it mattered since he didn’t seem interested anymore.

  To say she was frustrated was an understatement, and to make matters worse, today was February thirteenth—the day of the auction. She really wished she’d been stronger when Peyton twisted her arm into taking her place. Being put on display to be bid on, and then having to go out with a stranger, held below zero appeal.

  Yesterday, Finn had asked if she had plans for tonight. When she reluctantly told him yes, he’d casually shrugged the subject aside as if it didn’t matter one bit to him. Then this morning, she’d found a note by the coffee pot telling her he would be at the tree farm all day, he hoped she had a good time on her night out, and, for the piece de résistance, he’d signed it, See ya later.

  She glanced over at the note beside her computer, her gaze tracing over the strong, masculine penmanship as regret burned in her chest.

  If only things had been different. She could’ve told him about the auction, and maybe he’d have even gone to bid on her date.

  Yeah, that would be great—because you’re not in enough trouble already.

  She cringed at that truth. After the night she’d massaged his leg, there was no denying a small piece of her heart had become his in those intimate moments.

  The sudden blast of Peyton’s ringtone made her jump. She reached to the other side of her computer and scooped up her phone to answer. “I hate you, you know that?”

  Her friend laughed. “Then you’re all set for the auction?”

  “I’d rather just give Whispering Pines the two grand for the veterans and be done with it.”

  “Nina, you agreed—”