by Jill Shalvis
Had she ever felt like this? Like she just wanted to climb into the man next to her and stay there?
Being with Jake had been good. She’d had no complaints, but she wasn’t for him. When they’d split, he’d moved on with shocking ease.
And in truth, so had she.
But it’d left her feeling just a little bit . . . broken, and more than a little bit unsure about love in general.
But then Finn O’Riley had come into her life. She knew that she had no business feeling anything for him at all. But apparently, some things—like matters of the heart—not only happened in a blink but were also out of her control.
She felt her heart swell at just the thought and before she could stop herself, she mouthed the words against his throat. “I love you, Finn.”
She immediately stilled in shock because she hadn’t just mouthed the words, she’d actually said them.
Out loud.
She remained perfectly frozen another beat, but Finn didn’t so much as twitch.
It took a while but eventually she relaxed into him again, and there in the dark, told herself it was okay. He didn’t know.
He didn’t know a lot of things . . .
The panic that was never far away these days hit her hard. She’d been telling herself that she’d waited to tell him the truth in the hopes he’d understand better once he knew her. But deep down, she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing. Telling him now was going to be harder, not easier.
And the outcome felt more uncertain than ever.
As always, Pru woke up just before her alarm was due to go off at the shockingly early hour of oh-dark-annoying-thirty. But this time it wasn’t thoughts of the day ahead that woke her. Or the knot of anxiety wrapped in and around her chest.
It was the fact that she was wrapped around a big, strong, warm body.
Finn had one hand tangled in her hair and the other possessively cupping her bare ass, and when she shifted to try and disentangle herself without waking him, he tightened his grip and let out a low growl.
Torn between laughing and getting unbearably aroused—seriously, that growl!—she lifted her head.
And discovered she wasn’t the only one wrapped around Finn like a pretzel.
Thor was on the other side of him, his head on Finn’s shoulder, eyes slitted at her.
And she did laugh then because it’d been Thor who growled, not Finn. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered to her dog. “He’s mine.”
But no he’s not, a little voice deep inside her whispered. He doesn’t yet know it but you wrecked this—long before it’d even begun.
Pru told the little voice to shut up and concentrated on Thor. “I found him first,” she whispered.
Thor growled again.
Thor didn’t look impressed in the least. She opened her mouth to further argue but Finn spoke, his voice low and morning gruff. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”
Pru felt the pink tinge hit her cheeks and she shifted her focus from Thor to Finn.
Yep. He was wide awake and watching and, if she had to guess, more than a little amused that she’d been willing to fight her own dog for him.
“He’s mine?” Finn repeated.
“It’s a figure of speech.” She grimaced at the lameness of that but he smiled.
“I like it,” he said. “I like this. But mostly, I like where we’re going.”
If she could think straight, she’d echo that thought, but she couldn’t think straight because every moment of every single day she was painfully aware she’d built this glass house that couldn’t possibly withstand the coming storm . . .
“Pretty sure I just lost you for a few beats,” Finn said quietly, eyes serious now, dark and warm and intense as he ran a finger along her jaw. “Was it what I said about liking where we’re going thing?”
She tried to play this off with her customary self-deprecatory humor. “Since where we’re going is always straight to bed, I can’t do much complaining about that, can I,” she said in a teasing voice, desperately hoping to steer the conversation to lighter waters, because one thing she couldn’t do was have the talk with him while naked in his arms.
But she should have known better. Finn couldn’t be steered, ever.
“This is more than that,” he said, voice low but sure, so sure she wished for even an ounce of his easy confidence. “A lot more.”
His gaze held hers prisoner, daring her to contradict him, and she swallowed hard. “It’s only been a few weeks,” she said softly.
“Three,” he said.
“It just seems like we’re moving so fast.”
“Too fast?” he asked.
She gnawed on her lower lip, unsure how to answer that. The truth was, she’d already acknowledged to herself how she felt about him. And another truth—she wouldn’t mind moving along even faster. She wanted to leap into his arms, press her face into his neck, and breathe him in and claim him as hers.
For always.
But she’d gone about this all wrong, and because of that she didn’t have the right to him. Not even a little.
His fingers were gentle as they traced the line of her temple. “Babe, you’re thinking too hard.”
She nodded at the truth of this statement.
“You’re scared,” he said.
Terrified, thank you very much. She nodded again.
“Of me?”
“No. No,” she said again, firmly, cupping his face. “It’s more than I’m scared of what you make me feel.”
He didn’t seem annoyed or impatient at her reticence. Instead he kept his hands on her, his voice quiet. “I’m not saying I know where this is going,” he said. “Because I don’t. But what I do know is that what we’ve got here between us is good, really good.”
She nodded her agreement of that but then slowly shook her head. “Good can go bad. Fast.” As she knew all too well.
“Life’s a crap shoot and we both know it,” he said. “More than most. But whatever this is, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop wanting more. I think we’ve got a real shot, and that doesn’t come around every day, Pru. We both know that too.” He paused. “I want us to go for it.”
Heart tight, she closed her eyes.
He was quiet a moment, but she could feel him studying her. “Pru, look at me.”
She lifted her gaze and found his still warm, but very focused. “Say the word,” he said seriously. “Tell me that this isn’t your thing, that you’re not feeling it, and I’ll back off.”
She opened her mouth.
And then closed it.
His fingers on her jaw, his thumb slid over her lower lip. “You’re the self-proclaimed Fun Whisperer,” he said. “You’re the one preaching about getting out there and living life. So why are you all talk and no go, Pru? What am I missing?”
She choked out a laugh at his sharpness and dropped his head to his chest.
“Tell me what you’re afraid of,” he said.
Her words came out muffled. “It’s hard to put words to it.”
He wasn’t buying it and slid his hands into her hair and lifted her face. “Fight through that,” he said simply. “Fight for me.”
Of course he’d say that. It was his MO. Want something? Get it. Make it yours. Go for it, one hundred percent.
Which brought home one hard-hitting point—she needed to adopt that philosophy and do what he’d said, fight for what she wanted. Fight for him.
She’d left her cell on the kitchen counter the night before and from down the hall, it rang. She ignored it but once it stopped, it immediately started up again. Not a good sign so she slid out of bed. Realizing she was very, very naked, she bent to pick something from the pile of discarded clothes and heard a choked sound from the bed.
She turned and found Finn watching her every move, eyes heavy-lidded but not with sleepiness.
He crooked his finger at her.
“Oh no,” she said, pointing her finger back at him. “Don’t even think about w
aving your magic wand and—” Shit. “I didn’t mean wand as in . . .” Her gaze slid down past his chest and washboard abs to the part of him that never failed to be happy to see her. “You know.”
He burst out laughing. “Babe, if my ‘wand’ really was magic, then you’d be on it right now.”
She felt herself blush to the roots, which only seemed to amuse him all the more. She actually took a step toward him when her phone rang yet a third time. With a sigh, she slipped his shirt over her head and padded out of the room.
Three missed calls, all from Jake. She tapped on the voicemail he’d just left, hitting speaker so she could make some desperately needed coffee as she listened.
“You’re either still sleeping or hell, maybe you’re out playing fairy godmother before work,” he said, sounding disgruntled. “I heard from a little birdie that you got Tim a place to live.”
Damn. Not a little birdie at all. Nick had spilled the beans on her. Again.
“I don’t know how long you intend to go around fixing wrongs that aren’t yours to fix,” Jake said. “But at some point you’re going to have to let go. You know that, right? You can’t go on keeping track of everyone from the accident and righting their worlds. The seed money for what’s-her-name—”
“Shelby,” she said, as if Jake could hear her.
“Then there was the place to live for Tim. The job for Nick. And how about what you did for F—”
At the sound behind her, Pru hit delete at the speed of light.
Because she knew the rest of Jake’s sentence.
The beep of Jake’s message being deleted echoed in the room as she turned to face Finn, wearing only his jeans, unbuttoned.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Oh . . .” She waved her hand. “You know Jake, sticking his nose into everything.”
“Sounds like he thinks you’re the one sticking your nose into everything.”
She took a deep breath. Be careful. Be very careful unless you’re ready to give up the fantasy right here, right now. It needed to be done. She knew that now more than ever. She’d do it tonight after work, when they had time to talk about it. And after you figure out how to make him realize you’d only meant to help.
Even if in her heart she knew that was no way to make him understand. He was smart and resourceful and sharp, and he was standing there steady as a rock.
Her rock.
Waiting for answers.
“I do tend to stick my nose into things,” she said as lightly as she could. “I’ve got to get to work . . .”
“Or you need to change the subject.”
Her smile faded. “Or that.”
“You know . . .” He stepped into her, slid his hands to her hips and ducked his head to meet her gaze. “You once told me I needed to let stuff go.”
She choked out a low laugh and stared at his Adam’s apple. “Haven’t you heard, swallowing your own medicine is the hardest thing to do?”
He wrapped her ponytail around his fist and gently tugged until she looked up at him. “What’s going on, Pru?”
“What’s going on is that I need to get ready for work—”
“In here.” He slid his free hand up and tapped a finger over her temple.
She managed another smile. “You’d be surprised by how little’s going on in there—”
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to do this, you only have to say so.”
She hesitated and he took a step back. “Wow,” he said, looking like she’d sucker punched him.
“No,” she said. “I—”
He’d already turned and headed into her bedroom. She started to follow, but he came back out again, holding his shoes. Still no shirt, since she was wearing it. “Finn.”
He headed to the door.
“Finn.”
He stopped and turned to her, eyes hooded.
“Can we talk about this tonight?”
“Sure. Whatever.” He started to leave but stopped and muttered something to himself. He then came at her, hauled her into his arms and kissed her. When his tongue stroked possessively over hers, her knees wobbled, but far before she was ready, he let her go.
He stared down at her for a beat and then he turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
She moved to the door and put her hands on it, like she could bring him back.
But it was far too late for that.
Chapter 30
#JustTheFactsMa’am
Outside Pru’s front door, Finn stopped and shook his head. She was holding back on him, big time. But he knew something else too.
So was he.
Because as long as she wasn’t one hundred percent in, it felt . . . safe. The crazy thing was that he wanted her to be one hundred percent in. He wanted to do the same.
But he wasn’t going to beg her. He wanted her to come to him on her own terms. Until she did, he could hold back that last piece of his heart and soul and keep it safe from complete annihilation.
He was good at that.
He dropped his shoes to the floor and shoved his feet into them. He’d just bent over to tie them when Mrs. Winslow opened her door.
“Whoa, good thing my ovaries are shriveled,” she said. “Or you’d have just made me pregnant from that view alone.”
Finn straightened and gave her a look that made her laugh.
“Sorry, boy,” she said. “But you don’t scare me.”
With as much dignity as he could, he hunkered down and went back to tying his shoes, attempting to keep his ass tucked in while doing it.
When he’d finished, he stood up to his full height to find her still watching. “You’re a nice package and all,” she said, “but I like ’em more seasoned. Men are no good until they’re at least forty-five.”
“Good to know,” he muttered and started down the hall.
“Because until then,” she said to his back. “They don’t know nothing about the important things. Like forgiveness. And understanding.”
He blew out a breath and turned to face her. “You’re trying to tell me something again.”
“Now you’re thinking, genius,” she said. “If you were forty-five or older, you’d have already picked up on it.”
He went hands on hips. “Got a busy day ahead of me, Mrs. Winslow. Maybe you could come right out and tell me what it is you want me to know.”
“Well, that would be far too easy,” she said and vanished inside, shutting her door on him.
Finn divided a look between her door and Pru’s before tossing up his hands and deciding he knew nothing about women.
Finn strode into the bar. His morning crew cleaners Marie, Rosa, and Felipe all lifted their heads from their various tasks of mopping and scrubbing and blinked.
Shit. He forgot that he was making the morning walk of shame.
Shirtless.
It was Felipe who finally recovered first and gave a soft wolf whistle. “Nice,” he said with an eyelash flutter and a hand fanning the air in front of his face.
Finn rolled his eyes in tune to their laughter. Whatever. He strode to his office and—as a bonus annoyance—found Sean asleep on his damn couch.
In Finn’s damn spare shirt.
He kicked his brother’s feet and watched with grim satisfaction as Sean grunted, jerked awake, and rolled off the couch, hitting the floor with a bone-sounding crunch.
“What the fuck, man?” Sean asked with a wide yawn.
“I need my shirt.”
“I’m in it,” Sean said. Captain Obvious.
Fine. Whatever. Finn slapped his pockets for his keys. He’d just drive home real quick and—
His keys weren’t in his pockets. Probably, given his luck, they were on the floor of Pru’s bedroom. He walked out of his office and strode through the pub.
“Just as nice from the rear,” Felipe called out.
Finn flipped him off, ignored the hoots of laughter, and hit the stairs, knocking on Pru’s door.
From behind him he heard a soft gasp and a wheeze. Craning his head, he found Mrs. Winslow once again in her doorway, this time with two other ladies, mouths agog.
“You were right,” one of them whispered to Mrs. Winslow, staring at Finn. She was hooked up to a portable oxygen tank, hence the Darth Vadar–like breathing.
“I haven’t seen hipbones cut like that in sixty years,” the other said in the same stage whisper as her friend.
“You realize I can hear you, right?” Finn asked.
The women all jumped in tandem, snapping their gazes up to his. “Oh my god, he’s real,” the woman with the oxygen tank said—wheezed—in awe.
Mrs. Winslow snorted. “You’ll have to excuse them,” she said to Finn. “They probably need their hormone doses checked.”
Finn decided the hell with waiting on Pru to answer her door. He’d slept with her. He’d tasted every inch of her body. She’d done the same for him. So he checked the handle, and when it turned easily in his palm, he took that as a sign that the day had to improve from here.
When Finn had left, Pru stood there in the kitchen, shaken. She grabbed her phone because she needed advice. Since she was still wearing only Finn’s shirt, she propped her phone against the cereal box on the counter so that when the FaceTime call went through to Jake, he’d only see her from the shoulders up.
No need to set off any murder sprees this morning.
When he answered, he just looked at her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi yourself. You think I don’t know your thoroughly fucked face?”
She did her best to keep eye contact. “Hey, I don’t point it out to you when you get lucky.”
“Yes you do. You march your ass into my office, pull out your pocketknife, and make a notch on the corner of my wood desk.”
“That’s to make a point,” she said.
“Which is?”
“You get lucky a lot.”
He arched a brow. “And the problem?”
Well, he had her there. “I need your advice.”
“Why now?”
“Okay, I deserve that,” she said. “But remember when you were worried that Finn was the one who would get hurt?” She felt her eyes fill. “You were off a little.”
“Ah, hell, Pru,” he said, voice softer now. “You never did know how to follow directions worth shit.”
