But Ray-Lynn took the mystery into her own hands, and extended her ring-laden fingertips. “I’m Ray-Lynn, Giselle’s ex-sister-in-law.”
“Fin Hensen.” He shook her hand gently and threw her a grin that sent her other hand fluttering to her collarbone.
Ray-Lynn didn’t let go, seemingly waiting for him to clarify. He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m sorry for your loss.” He brought the wattage of his smile down with his voice.
Ray-Lynn opened her mouth, but closed it again as Giselle took Coco’s hand and snuck her toward the doorway.
Fin’s fingers touched the small of Giselle’s back as he led her down the aisle.
This was definitely her best plan yet.
• • •
As the minister spoke, Fin glanced around, absorbed in the smell of shoe polish and bad aftershave. He wondered which was the ex. Must be the dude sitting up front, with the doctor glasses on—the one who kept twisting his neck toward Giselle.
At his fourth or fifth glance, Fin was certain. He reached for Giselle’s hand in her lap.
Giselle about leaped out of the pew.
He let go quickly and reassigned his hands to peeling off his jacket. Damn, it was hot in here.
He didn’t know what she wanted. And he didn’t know whether he should touch her. Touching her, in fact, just might be off the table because now, after touching her hand in her lap and accidentally brushing her thigh, his mind had gone into complete sexual overdrive. He let it continue for about twenty seconds, but then reminded himself where he was, and who she was, and how inappropriate this was on so many levels. He inched away and pretended he needed to get something out of his jacket pocket.
A wrapped mint crinkled against his fingertips—it must have been from Javier’s Cantina down on the beach—probably his last date with Catalina Caesar. He held it across Giselle’s body to Coco, who sat on the other side. She took it and swung her little shoes back and forth under the pew.
He leaned back and pretended he was listening to the minister. This might have been a terrible idea. He needed to talk to Giselle. Maybe they needed some ground rules.
“As we all come here together,” the minister continued, “to grieve for Joseph, we allow ourselves to think back to all the joy he’s brought us. . . .”
Fin surveyed the crowd. A lot of people here. Jennifer’s funeral had brought about this number of mourners, too—all those surfers from around the world. He’d been a pallbearer at the request of her parents, who had regarded him kindly but probably wished he’d never met their daughter: If only he hadn’t convinced her of her talent. If only he’d been watching her more carefully on that last session . . . They probably had a million regrets about him.
Fin accidentally met Giselle’s eyes, which seemed to carry some kind of apology. God. That look was so sweet it killed him. Sort of like Lia, only Giselle had a wisdom about her that Lia didn’t quite have yet. He knew there was another sister too, but he didn’t know much about her. Giselle was enough of a surprise—her kindness, her humor, her patience with Coco, her curves, her softness. But he knew he’d be doing her a service by getting the hell out of her way as soon as possible. He wasn’t a good person for her to have brought here. She should have brought someone with honor—someone who would impress these people, who were all losing a man who brought a crowd like this to his funeral. She shouldn’t have brought a guy like Fin, who let his life go from bad to worse and didn’t seem to know how to stop the train wreck.
Fin glanced again at ex-husband-the-doctor and wondered what kind of man he was. Obviously a fool for letting Giselle go, but he must have had some kind of redeeming qualities to have won her over in the first place. And he sure helped create a cute kid. That, in itself, was something to be proud of.
While he watched, the ex cast another glance over his shoulder. And then Fin saw it.
Or her, actually: the young blonde at ex’s side, who leaned toward the good doctor’s shoulder, whispering something to get him to focus on the sermon.
Damn.
Now he got it.
He shifted in his seat and blew out a breath.
Giselle was a scorned wife.
And left for a younger woman.
She was bringing him here to get even. She’d said so in the sand—young enough, hunky enough, pro surfer enough—but he hadn’t fully understood. But now he did.
Damn.
What was the matter with that guy? He must be some kind of jerk to take off for that young thing there, who probably didn’t have half the grace of Grace Kelly here. And to leave a daughter? Who was only five?
But this was none of his business. He needed to stay removed. She hadn’t invited him here to get involved—she had invited him here to look a certain way and play a certain role.
The ex turned around again, as Fin figured he would. Although the asshole waited, at least, for an appropriate moment, when the congregation was turning to one another to give peace. Fin leaned forward, just as the good doctor turned, and put his lips against Giselle’s ear.
“How sexy do you want me to be?” he asked.
CHAPTER
Six
Giselle froze against the wood of the pew.
Fin’s breath against her neck was so unexpected, so unprecedented, she couldn’t meet his eyes.
Goose bumps prickled down her arms. She wasn’t supposed to have goose bumps. She was supposed to have fake feelings, with fake shivers. This was her fake date. She needed to separate her attraction to a man of twenty-eight from real feelings that were supposed to elicit goose bumps—things she could look forward to, perhaps, in the future. Maybe from a nice accountant who would speak nicely to her and wouldn’t mind taking on a new daughter.
Of course, she had had real feelings for Roy and couldn’t quite remember the goose-bump stage. Maybe it had just been short.
“Joseph was survived,” continued the minister, “by his wife of forty-seven years, Lovey; his son, Roy; his daughter, Ray-Lynn; and a granddaughter, Coco. . . .”
Coco twisted in her seat with wide eyes.
“It just means you were Grandpa Joe’s granddaughter,” Giselle whispered.
Coco nodded, still uncertain, and wriggled back into her seat. She clutched Giselle’s arm and nestled her head near her shoulder, putting her thumb in her mouth.
Giselle bit her lip. Coco hadn’t done that since she was two. She reached over with her other hand and stroked her little girl’s hair.
The minister’s words danced through the air like a lullaby and, for a second, Giselle’s shoulders began to relax. She even thought it might be safe to glance at Fin.
He’d spotted Roy. He’d taken her hand, leaned in, and had even asked her that exquisite question at a moment when Roy had turned to gape at them. So Fin knew. She was glad she wouldn’t have to spell it out, say the words: He abandoned me for a younger woman. . . . She was glad she wouldn’t have to risk crying. She was glad she wouldn’t have to seem even more pathetic.
“. . . and as Joseph goes to his new place in Heaven,” the minister went on, “so, too, will we prepare for ours, and for the day when we will meet him, once again. . . .”
The minister’s words sent a sudden wave of shame through her.
“As we live our lives in preparation of that wondrous meeting . . .”
She closed her eyes. Live our lives in preparation. . . . Her breath shook as she tried to fill her lungs. She shouldn’t have brought Fin here. This was a church. She was supposed to feel forgiveness. So what if Roy had this laughably young nurse at his side? So what if everyone blinked at Giselle with pity? She was used to it in Indiana, with the neighbors giving her sidelong glances in the grocery store; she could get used to it here. And the funeral was only one day. Was her pride so great she couldn’t deal with a day of pitying glances?
“As we prepare ourse
lves for that meeting . . .” the minister said.
And what about Fin? He didn’t deserve to be here as some kind of fraud, being forced to lie. He probably wanted to be anywhere but here—anywhere but with a woman almost a decade older than he was, who was covered in black funeral clothes and trying to seem like she didn’t deserve to be left for a beautiful younger woman. Maybe the decent thing to do would be to let him go. Just because she was playing some kind of sick game of one-upmanship didn’t mean she was free to drag along innocent bystanders. What was she becoming?
“Fin,” she whispered. The minister was saying something about preparing their souls to meet God.
“What do you need?” He covered her hand, right there in her lap, then let go quickly and dipped his head to try to meet her downcast eyes. He smelled so good—like intrigue and dubious morality. It sent a delicious shiver down her arms.
“Giselle?”
She couldn’t look at him. She shook her head, tried to focus on the minister: “. . . the glory of the kingdom of Heaven shall await . . .”
She’d talk to Fin outside.
When she could breathe again.
• • •
The June sunshine assaulted her as she tugged Coco to the car, hoping to avoid Roy’s family. The three of them scurried through the gravel until Fin grabbed her arm and swung her around.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“I shouldn’t have . . .” Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She was a terrible person. How could she bring this guy, whom she didn’t even know, and ask him into a house of God, to lie, straight out, along with her, to all these people who loved her—or once did—in front of her daughter? At a funeral?
“Giselle . . .” He started to reach toward her, but then dropped his hand and studied the other mourners, the cars—anything but the tear that just escaped down her cheek.
“Hey, Coco,” he called, stepping toward the fence where Coco was searching for big rocks among the gravel. “Can you pick some of those flowers over there?” He pointed to a group of daisies that ran along the fence below the oleanders.
Coco squinted. “How many?”
“A bunch.”
“Like a bouquet?” she asked delightedly.
“Yes, big,” he said, showing her with his hands.
“We can bring them to Grandpa Joe!”
“Great idea.”
She nodded and ran off.
Fin spun toward Giselle and grasped her elbows in both hands to move her a few steps away. “I pushed it too far, didn’t I?” His hands felt warm and solid. “We might need some rules. I don’t fully understand this situation or what you want me to do. You didn’t mention the hot number in the high heels.”
Giselle shot Fin a frown. That was all she needed. The stand-in fake boyfriend leaving her for the young nurse, too.
Her shame pulled at her until she felt like sinking into the gravel, letting the pebbles cover her, bury her. But instead she brought her hand to her eyelids and pressed. She couldn’t cry like this. She needed to be strong.
“I shouldn’t have made you come,” she said. “This is awful. I’m terribly sorry. Do you want to drop me off? I can find a ride back.”
He frowned. “We’re at a funeral, Giselle. I’m not dropping you off.” He stepped back for a second and took a deep breath. “I just need to know what you want me to do. I thought you wanted me to . . . you know, be the bastard who stole the doctor’s wife.”
Giselle sucked in some air and ran the phrase “stole the doctor’s wife” through her head a couple more times, memorizing the sexy way he’d dropped his voice, and then had a hard time remembering what she’d planned to say.
“I need to know if the touching is too much,” he said quietly.
Oh yeah, she thought. The touching is definitely too much. You’re sending shivers down my spine, and you shouldn’t even be here, and you shouldn’t have to know that a PTA mom is feeling hot for you, and you shouldn’t have to be part of this at all.
Coco’s patent-leather shoes began crunching through the gravel behind them. She would have a big bouquet by now—an overachiever just like her mom.
He glanced over her shoulder at Coco and stepped closer to prompt an answer. “What do you want?”
The footsteps came louder. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch . . .
“Quickly,” he said.
“Gis-elle,” she heard from a different direction—Ray-Lynn. Criminy, Ray-Lynn was coming.
“Kiss me,” Giselle whispered.
Fin’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Kiss me. Now.”
He glanced over her shoulder. Ray-Lynn was yoo-hooing again through the parking lot, and Giselle could see the exact moment Fin put all the pieces together. He took Giselle’s jaw in both hands and leaned toward her—but stalled before touching his lips to hers. All sound fell away—the crunching, the calling, Ray-Lynn, the crowds, the cars’ tires pulling out for the procession. The world simply, softly, came to a halt. Fin’s lips moved gently across hers, then pressed more seriously. His fingers entwined in her hair, and he covered her mouth with his. He kissed with a sense of discovery that Giselle met, pulse for pulse, while her bones melted into something warm and slow, sliding down her body. She brought a shaky hand toward his jaw, but before she could touch him, he stepped away. Averting his eyes, he dropped his hands and retreated, looking as if he didn’t know what had just happened.
“My, my,” said Ray-Lynn, who was now at Fin’s shoulder, grinning from one to the other.
Giselle’s face grew hot. She’d thought maybe Ray-Lynn would give them some privacy if she saw an intimate kiss. But apparently Ray-Lynn didn’t do subtle hinting. Or not-so-subtle. Whatever. Either way, she was right there. And now Giselle’s newest plan had backfired in more ways than one: The expression on Fin’s face bordered on something between shock and horror.
Coco tugged at Giselle’s skirt. “I told you he was a prince.” She shoved the daisy-and-oleander bouquet toward Giselle.
“We have to go, Ray-Lynn,” Giselle said, trying to disguise the tremor in her voice.
Fin grabbed Giselle’s arm, steering her toward the car. With his other hand, he took Coco’s bouquet and guided her, too, past the dispersing cars in the parking lot.
“Hope I’ll see you at the house,” Ray-Lynn singsonged toward Giselle’s back.
Giselle didn’t know who, exactly, Ray-Lynn was talking to. But she guessed it wasn’t her.
• • •
Okay, Fin thought, as he marched Giselle and Coco to the car. Okay, okay. He pressed Giselle’s elbow to speed her along, causing dust to fly over the tops of their shoes. That meant nothing.
But he refused to meet Giselle’s eyes.
He got Coco buckled into the backseat, the flowers settled in her lap; then he straightened and finally faced Giselle.
If this were any other woman, he’d step out of the line of sight of her kid and would grab her, right here, and see if that kiss could generate more of the heat he’d felt back there. He’d have her bent back across the trunk of his car—kid or no kid—and would be seeing whether those lips of hers—which, hot damn, were everything he’d imagined them to be—were as yielding as the rest of her body. And—if this were any other woman—she’d comply. Because he dated those kinds of women.
But this was Giselle.
And damn. But damn. That was hot.
He motioned with his hand for her to get into the car.
This was Giselle.
He walked to the other side and ran through all the reasons to ignore that kiss: He was supposed to be doing her a favor. And she was too sweet to comply with his usual debauchery. And her kid was too sweet. And Lia was one of his only true friends. And he was in a church parking lot, for Christ’s sake. . . .
By the time he got to the driver’s side,
and his jacket off, he was pretty sure he’d convinced himself it was a temporary madness.
“Hot today,” Giselle said quietly, after they’d driven a mile or so.
He murmured an agreement, loosening his tie.
“Is it always like this?”
“Not usually this early.”
“Thought so.”
That was all she said until they got to the grave site. Fin didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he had the strong feeling they were both talking about a lot more than the weather.
CHAPTER
Seven
The grave site gathering was as awkward as anything Giselle had ever experienced, with ex-aunts, ex-uncles, ex-cousins, and even an ex-grand-aunt who cast glances her way as they got out of cars and wandered over the low green hills.
Giselle’s stomach knotted. She worried about seeing Roy up close. Worried about what he’d say. Worried about Coco. Worried that she’d just kissed her fake funeral date—and about melted into the gravel—and he’d responded with a look of horror. . . .
A few of the relatives pointed toward Coco, probably wondering whether they remembered her from Indiana family picnics or trying to recognize her from Christmas photos Giselle had sent to Roy’s seventy-seven friends and relatives for ten long years. Giselle glanced down the paved road that bisected the rolling green of the cemetery, searching for Roy’s car. Certainly, he would say hello. But Giselle wished it were sooner rather than later. Coco was glancing from side to side.
Meanwhile, Giselle continued her list of things that needed to be banned from her thoughts: Coco’s probable abandonment by this family, and now Fin’s kiss.
She bit her lip and tried not to think of how soft his lips had felt. She hadn’t experienced a kiss like that since . . . well . . . she supposed since she met Roy. But Roy didn’t kiss like that.
A bead of sweat slipped behind her ear as she tried to keep up with Fin’s footsteps. He’d been frowning pretty much the entire drive. He frowned as they got out of the car. He fell silent as they balanced across the mounds of emerald grass. He refused to look at her as they found a place at the back of the grave site gathering. While she was obsessing over his lips, his arms, the way he’d gripped her elbows, he was frowning as if he’d just made the worst, most regrettable mistake of his life.
The Red Bikini Page 7
