Before Finn could make any additional attempts at conversation, Delilah had extracted her phone from her chic black leather handbag and begun scrolling through messages, not even glancing up once. Finn had been decidedly taken aback, for he hadn’t been able to recall the last time a woman had outright ignored him, as though he wasn’t standing mere inches from her.
And he’d had to stifle a little moan as the intoxicating scent of her slightly spicy perfume assailed his nostrils. It was a subtle scent, not overwhelming as some perfumes could be, but more than enough to stir his already aroused senses.
He’d moved quickly to hold the elevator doors open for her when they reached the ground floor, all but forcing her to mumble a rather grudging “Thank you” before she’d strutted away on those sexy stilettos, their heels clicking in a rapid staccato on the polished marble floor of the lobby. Finn had thought about rushing after her, but given how icy cold her attitude had been he’d thought better of the idea.
He had left his condo at the exact same time for the next two days, just as she was leaving her place, but hadn’t managed to make any further progress with her. She’d coolly rebuffed his offer to join him for coffee, or dinner, not offering up any sort of excuse for her refusal, just flat out shutting him down. With any other woman, Finn would have cut his losses and simply moved on to one of the dozens of willing females who’d be all too eager to go on a date with him, or share his bed.
But Delilah’s stubborn refusals only served to make him more determined than ever to have her. She was a challenge that he wasn’t used to dealing with, a novelty, even. The fact that she definitely wasn’t playing hard-to-get, or some other sort of game intended to grab his attention, only intrigued him more. He couldn’t remember the last time when he’d actually had to woo a woman, and realized that he was way, way out of his comfort zone where this female was concerned.
On the fourth consecutive morning that he’d timed his exit to coincide with hers, she hadn’t shown up. He’d waited out there in the hallway like a lovestruck fool for close to half an hour, figuring that she was going into work a little later this morning, before finally growing impatient and heading down to the lobby. Once there, Armando had rather sheepishly informed him that Ms. Ferris had left the building some time ago, leaving Finn to realize that she’d caught on to his strategy real quick and had just as quickly moved to outmaneuver him.
But he’d been fortunate enough to run into her in the lobby last evening on his way out to meet one of his former NFL teammates for dinner. He’d thanked his lucky stars that his friend had suggested an upscale restaurant for their meal, which meant that Finn had dressed up a bit in a pair of tailored khaki slacks and a forest green cashmere pullover, instead of his usual Saturday night attire of jeans and a T-shirt.
As for the very fashionable Ms. Ferris - well, Finn’s tongue had practically been hanging out of his mouth when he’d spotted her waiting by the concierge’s desk. She’d been wearing red last night - bold, vivid, sinful red, a fitting color for the she-devil he’d likened her to. The little dress had hugged her curves like a second skin, the wrapover bodice showcasing those really remarkable boobs, and the short hem displaying her slender, shapely legs enticingly. And those damned shoes she’d been wearing - black stiletto sandals with an ankle strap. Finn had instantly envisioned fucking her while she was wearing those sexy shoes - and nothing else - her ankles locked around his neck as he rammed his cock as deep inside of her petite body as he dared.
Her luxurious mane of dark brown hair had fallen in loose curls about her shoulders and back, her plump, tempting mouth glossed over in a shade of red that almost exactly matched her provocative dress. She’d been carrying a black clutch bag, a black wool coat draped over her arm as she’d gazed expectantly at the front door.
Finn hadn’t wasted even a moment before he’d swooped in with his best sexy smile, and the lazy, seductive drawl that had never failed him yet.
“Well, this is good timing, isn’t it?” he’d inquired as he’d walked over to where she had been standing. “I was about ready to head out and meet an old friend of mine for dinner, but since I’d much rather spend the evening with you, I’m sure he won’t mind if I take a raincheck. In fact, if he could see for himself how gorgeous you look this evening, he’d insist on cancelling our dinner.”
Delilah had barely spared him a glance, her dark eyes raking over him dismissively. “I already have a date for this evening,” she’d replied brusquely. “And unlike you I have zero intention of cancelling it. I also have zero intention of going on a date with you, Mr. McManus – ever - so you can save yourself the trouble of asking me in the future.”
Finn had pretended to clutch his chest in pain, and had staggered backwards a step or two. “Such cruel words coming from such a beautiful mouth,” he’d scolded playfully. “But tell you what, darling Delilah. Let’s not call it a date then, hmm? Instead, let’s just consider it two neighbors going out for a drink or coffee or maybe dinner, and just getting to be - well, more neighborly. Does that change your mind about my invitation?”
She’d glared at him, and he could have sworn she had actually stomped one of her tiny feet in indignation. “No, it does not,” she’d retorted irritably. “Look, don’t take this personally - though I suppose that’s really not going to be possible - but you just aren’t my type. Okay?”
Finn had snickered, giving her a playful little chuck on the chin. “Now, that’s impossible, Ms. Ferris. Because I have it on very good authority that I’m everyone’s type. Uh, every female’s type, that is,” he’d amended hastily. “I, uh, don’t swing the other way.”
She’d all but slapped his hand away, giving him the evil eye as she’d done so. “Hands off, got it?” she’d hissed. “I study martial arts and self-defense twice a week. And while I might not be able to toss you on your arrogant ass, I have other ways of inflicting pain. Like breaking your pinky finger, for example.”
He had given her an unholy grin. “Ooh, but maybe I like pain, did you ever consider that? As for you doing any damage to me, I’d pay good money to see that, darling Delilah. I’m more than a foot taller than you are, even with those sexy shoes you’re wearing - love them, by the way - and I’m guessing I outweigh you by a good eighty pounds. And - fuck it! Ow!”
She had caught him completely unawares, ramming the dangerously pointed heel of the aforementioned stiletto into his instep. She’d actually had the nerve to laugh as he had hopped around on one foot, still cursing from the pain in his other foot, and he had thought darkly that his instincts had been exactly right - she was definitely a she-devil. A wicked, bad-tempered, and dangerous she-devil.
“Like I said, Mr. McManus,” she’d cautioned, waggling one scarlet-tipped finger at him, “I may not be very tall or strong, but you’d be surprised at all the ways I can hurt you. So I’d advise you to keep your distance. It’s pretty obvious you think you’re God’s gift to women, but I definitely don’t share that opinion.”
The witty comeback he’d been about to make had been pre-empted by the untimely arrival of Delilah’s date for the evening - a tall, dark-haired, attractive man in his early thirties dressed in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit. He could have been a clone of the two other men he had seen her with recently, or a younger version of Max, for that matter.
Clone Number Three had smiled winningly at Delilah before slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, then turned to gaze quizzically at Finn.
“Hey, you look really familiar,” the younger man had begun, and then snapped his fingers. “I know! You’re Finn McManus, aren’t you? I watch your pre-game show on the NFL Network all the time. Hey, do you think I could get your autograph?”
Finn had longed to give the other man a good, hard shove, furious that the bastard was allowed to touch and kiss the delectable Delilah while he was forbidden such pleasures himself. But he’d always prided himself on being gracious to his fans, and
it had been those long ingrained habits that had prompted him to ask the concierge for a pen and sheet of note paper.
“Who should I make this out to?” inquired Finn, trying not to smirk when he glimpsed the annoyed look on Delilah’s face. She might not have any idea how famous he was - or care - but at least her dopey date for this evening was a fan.
“Oh, if you could make it out to Phil, that would be great,” gushed Delilah’s date. “I’m Evan, by the way. Phil is actually my father. He was a big fan of yours when you were playing. Before my time, of course, but my dad always likes to reminisce about the good old days. He’s going to be stoked when he learns I got your autograph for him.”
This time, Finn had had to restrain himself from throwing a punch at the little prick, especially when Delilah’s dark eyes had twinkled with unholy mischief at his obvious irritation, and she hadn’t been able to hold back her laughter. She was definitely, he’d thought darkly, at least part devil woman. But that realization had only made him more determined than ever to tame the shrew and tempt her into his bed.
He had hastily scribbled out his autograph and thrust it at Evan, before he’d mumbled a rather grouchy “Good night” and strode out the front door to hail a taxi. He’d been in a sour mood the rest of the evening, something his former teammate Gregg Hunter was quick to pick up on. After hearing about the unintentional dig Evan had made about Finn’s age, Gregg had spent the better part of their dinner trying to cheer his friend up - after having a good laugh about it first, of course.
But no amount of booze or New York strip steak or even Finn’s favorite potatoes au gratin had been able to lift his spirits. And when Gregg had suggested hitting up a singles bar or two after dinner and hopefully meeting a couple of hot babes, Finn had shocked his old friend by stating that he just wasn’t in the mood.
Gregg had stared at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted three heads. “Since when is Finn McManus not in the mood to get laid? Man, whoever this chick is that’s messing with your head had better be worth it.”
In reply, Finn had opened up the website for Delilah’s design firm - Ma Belle Petite - and scrolled through until he’d located the page with her bio, complete with a photo. Gregg had whistled admiringly as he’d studied the image on Finn’s phone, and then nodded his head in understanding.
“Okay, I get it now,” Gregg had admitted. “She’s definitely something special, isn’t she? Gorgeous and hot but also classy. You already know which one of those three characteristics isn’t on your usual checklist when it comes to picking up women. And I hate to say it, buddy, but this one might just be a little out of your league.”
Finn thought the same thing as he once again found himself staring longingly at Delilah’s image on the bio page of her company website. That plush, tempting mouth of hers was curled up in a half-smile, the expression on her face one of bold confidence. It would have definitely taken a woman of such steely strength to start her own very specialized fashion design firm - one that catered exclusively to petite women - and, more importantly, to have achieved the level of success that she apparently had, and within just a few short years at that.
There wasn’t a whole lot of personal information about her, simply the facts that she had grown up in Orinda, an affluent suburb about fifteen or so miles east of San Francisco. Finn knew that Delilah’s hometown was one populated by multi-millionaires, and that her upbringing, therefore, must have been one of wealth and privilege. She’d completed her education at the Fashion Institute of Design in New York City, earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, before returning to the Bay Area to start her own company. The idea behind Ma Belle Petite had stemmed from Delilah’s inability to find chic, fashionable clothes that actually fit her, or that hadn’t required extensive and expensive alterations. So she had set out to create a complete line of clothing and accessories - shoes, handbags, lingerie - specifically sized for women who were five foot three inches and shorter.
Since meeting his femme fatale neighbor a couple of weeks ago, and then learning about her design firm, Finn had poured over her website several times in an attempt to glean as much information about her as possible. And he’d been especially intrigued - no, make that more like obsessed - when he had discovered that Delilah herself had been the model in a good number of the photographs of the clothing and other items offered for sale on her company website.
He clicked on one of those photos now - his personal favorite, he’d decided - and tried not to drool as the image of her clad in just a lacy pink bra and matching panties filled his screen. Finn didn’t know if the photo had been airbrushed or not, as was often the case with fashion shots, but he doubted that much touching up had been needed. Delilah looked mouthwateringly beautiful in the sensual lingerie, the sexy bra showcasing her really amazing breasts to perfection, while the tiny pair of panties revealed a smooth, flat stomach, and gently curving hips. In this particular photo her skin had a pale gold sheen to it, and Finn found himself very, very impatient to discover whether that was due to a spray-on tan, good lighting, or her own natural coloring.
Finn sighed as he forced himself to close out the sultry image of Delilah, realizing that sitting here mooning over her picture wasn’t going to get him a date with her. No, he was going to have to pull out all the stops to win this woman over, he realized, was going to have to make some major changes to his lifestyle, and adjust his attitude concerning a whole lot of different things.
Starting with the frequent hook-ups with other women that had been a part of his life for more than two decades. He had already been celibate for nearly a week, admittedly the longest stretch of time Finn could recall in recent years. He’d somewhat unconsciously made the decision to do so after running into Delilah while he’d had a half-drunk date hanging all over him. The look of pure disgust on Delilah’s face had made him feel both ashamed and maybe even a little dirty, since it had been very, very obvious that the scantily clad, heavily made up bottle blonde hadn’t been anywhere near Delilah’s level of class.
It had been after that encounter when Finn had made up his mind that he was going to turn over a new leaf. He was going to stop picking up women in bars and clubs, was going to give the celibacy thing an honest try, and at the same time was going to cut back on his drinking - which had admittedly been a little out of hand lately. He was going to start taking more pains with his clothing and grooming, and was fully prepared to do whatever might be necessary in order to win over one Ms. Delilah Ferris.
And since Finn wasn’t too proud to admit that he couldn’t pull all of this off by himself, that he would need to call in the big guns for this one, he abruptly picked up the phone to call Jordan.
“Hey, buddy,” greeted Finn cheerfully as Jordan answered the call. “You and the girlfriend - excuse me, the almost-fiancée - got any big plans for tomorrow night? No? Good, because I need your advice. Big time. So, are you and Aubrey going to cook dinner or should I get takeout to bring over to your place?”
Chapter Five
“Honestly, Finn, I don’t know what’s harder for me to believe - that you actually haven’t banged anyone in over a week, or that you aren’t wearing clothes that make you look like you just changed the oil in your car. And look, Max. Finn is wearing honest to God shoes. Not sneakers, not sandals, and not even those slip-on things that the high school skater boys wear.”
Finn scowled at Aubrey, especially after Jordan and Max both snickered at her comments. “Hey, I thought the reason we were all here tonight was so the three of you could help me figure out what the next steps should be in winning over my very standoffish neighbor.”
Max shrugged, topping off his glass of the very expensive Merlot that Jordan had produced from his wine rack. “The only reason I’m here is because I just arrived home from Houston this morning, and I wasn’t in the mood to go out to a restaurant. I was just about to have something delivered when I got Aubrey’s text to join you all for dinner. I wasn’t aware that we we
re expected to find a solution to your romantic problems, Finley.”
“Stop calling me that, would you?” retorted Finn. “And speaking of dinner, can you pass the roasted potatoes, Jordan? By the way, Aubrey, these are really good. Thanks for cooking dinner, sweet thing.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Sure thing, Finn,” she replied sarcastically. “Just what I wanted to do on a Saturday night - cook dinner for three hungry men, and then help one of them scheme about how to con his new neighbor into his bed. When what I really wanted to do was go wine tasting in Napa, have an early dinner - one that I didn’t have to prepare - and then spend the rest of the evening back here alone with my honey. Instead, I had to run out to Whole Foods on a busy weekend, cook for two hours straight, and now I’m giving advice to the lovelorn. I feel like a combination of Martha Stewart and Dear Abby.”
Finn chuckled, then reached over to plant a loud smooch on Aubrey’s cheek. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that? Too bad Jordan saw you first.”
Jordan gave his friend an eye roll. “Please. Like you would have stood a chance against me. Besides, it was love at first sight with us, wasn’t it, darlin’?”
Aubrey arched a blonde brow. “More like lust at first sight, Doctor Dreamboat. I’m not sure you had any concept about what falling in love felt like back then.”
“Well, at least I know now,” replied Jordan defensively. “Unlike Finn, whose obsession with his new neighbor only exists because she keeps shooting him down.”
“Hmm. That is something of a novelty for you, isn’t it, Finn?” observed Max. “Is Jordan correct? That the only reason you’re fixated on getting this woman to go out with you is because she’s dared to say no to you a couple of times?”
“More like four or five times,” muttered Finn reluctantly. “And, no, my wiseass friends, that is not the only reason I’m determined to get her to agree. I mean, have you seen her picture yet?”
The Player Gets Coached Page 5
