by Lowe, Fiona
Her gaze darted around the room as if she was trying to get her bearings. “This is a lovely room.”
“I like it.” He closed the window, his blood now fully back where it belonged—oxygenating his brain. “By the way, most people come through a window head first, legs last.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Yeah, my game plan was a bit off and gymnastics was never my strong suit.”
Again, it wasn’t an answer he’d expected and her apparent honesty disarmed him. He took a closer look at her face, seeking any expression that told the real story. She wasn’t pretty in the conventional way although under the mess of makeup, she had good bone structure. He noticed a dark smudge near her eye. “Have you hurt your cheek?”
“Oh, God, can you see that?” She touched the top of her right cheekbone and let out a low wail. “Sadly, it’s not mascara but an almost-healed black eye from when I missed a catch.”
He couldn’t help himself and laughter won out. “So gymnastics and ball games aren’t your thing?”
Her mouth tilted up into a self-effacing smile, joining him in the joke. “To be honest, it’s all sports including crossing the road.”
He couldn’t help grinning at her. “And yet knowing that, you tried to climb through a window in an evening dress?”
“It’s always important to give it your best shot.” Her hands came up to grip her arms and she took a shivery step toward the throw rug on the couch. “Do you mind?”
Her question momentarily jolted him out of his intrigue and activated his manners. “Sure, go right ahead.” He’d get her warm and then drill her. He poured a shot of Scotch from the crystal decanter and handed it to her.
She stared at it for a moment before accepting the glass and downing it in one gulp. Her pupils instantly dilated to wide, jet discs, almost obliterating the piercing blue. Coughing, she sank onto the leather couch and gasped out, “Water?”
He squirted some soda into another glass and she swallowed it all. “Better?”
“It burns all the way down.”
“That’s the general idea.” He sat down next to her. “Who are you?”
She hesitated for a moment as if battling with herself. “Donna.”
“Donna, who?”
The blue eyes suddenly flashed with silver. “Finn, who?”
He could have told her he was Finn Callahan, third generation of the Chicago Callahans, previously of County Clare, Ireland, and currently heading up the Mexico division of AKP Industries, but the fact she didn’t seem to know him was oddly liberating. “Just Finn.”
She nodded slowly, as if acknowledging the surname-less pact. “So, Finn, why are you hiding out in the library in the middle of a party?”
The perceptive question hit hard. Over the years he’d honed a variety of tactics when faced with family occasions and the fact she’d worked out so fast that he was hiding, rankled. This woman with her round, bright eyes should be apologetic and grateful instead of questioning him. “Given your unorthodox entrance, I’m the one that should be asking the questions.”
She shrugged and a knowing smile creased into round cheeks. “It’s well known that guilt makes us grumpy.”
“In that case you should be as grumpy as hell.”
She tilted her head in consideration of the accusation. “Maybe, but mostly not.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“Sometimes breaking a few rules is what has to happen so fairness can prevail.”
“That’s an interesting philosophy.” One she shared with his father and some of his business associates, but not him. A stickler for the rules, he always argued the point of what constituted fair and to whom.
He passed her the platter of sandwiches with the intention of relaxing her so she’d say something to give him a clue as to why she was here.
She picked up two sandwiches and unlike most women he knew, bit deeply into one as if she hadn’t eaten in days.
“Tell me how this philosophy is working out for you.”
“It’s a recently adopted attitude and I’m still ironing out the kinks. Basically, I’m feeling my way.” She smiled, but her eyes twinkled with purpose. “So why you are here?”
The answer was as complicated as it was easy. “Business.” Family and commercial. Sadly, the two couldn’t be separated and he knew which one he preferred. “And you?”
“Same.”
He tried not to frown, wanting to keep his disbelief hidden. Bridey had insisted that the party not be filled with AKP contacts unless they were her friends or longtime personal friends of the family. Granted, he’d been in Mexico a lot lately but if Donna was a friend of his sister’s, surely she would have mentioned Bridey’s name by now. “What sort of business?”
“Um, warehouses.”
She bit her lip again and his gaze zeroed in on a bead of moisture while his brain kicked him hard. Focus. “You don’t sound very certain.”
“It’s complicated is all.” She pushed some escaped strands of hair behind her ears, the action quick and decisive. “So if you’re here for business, you’d know Sean Callahan?”
And we’re getting warmer. The mention of his father’s name sent a thousand warning flags up in his head. “Sure.”
She picked at the second sandwich. “He’s a hard man to get hold of.”
And he was, but why would she know? How did she know? Everyone at AKP had been sworn to secrecy about company matters especially with the Mexico expansion. Was she a spy from Paper Again, a rival company who’d been trying to get information on the new plant? Nah. He immediately ditched the idea because as a spy she was incredibly inexpert.
A rogue thought pinged into his mind and took hold. Unless of course this whole “damsel in distress” thing was an act to sucker him in. After all, he’d been rescuing birds, animals and women since he was a kid so deliberately setting him up for help would be the perfect way to get to his father. Hell, it had already worked up to this point. He’d pulled her into the house, into his arms, warmed her up and fed her!
He cursed the unauthorized internet news article about him published a few months back that had basically said, “the soft side of Finn Callahan.” God he hated the press.
Press! The thought exploded in his head with the clarity of a brilliant cut diamond. This was just the sort of thing a tabloid reporter would do to get an exclusive. The last thing he needed right now was the press sniffing out dirt on him or finding out that Sean had been missing some important AKP meetings. He still didn’t understand what was going on in his tycoon father’s head but if the shareholders got wind of it in this financial climate, it would send jitters through the stock prices. He sure as hell didn’t need an article about how it took one generation to create a company, the second generation to increase it and the third to lose it.
His gut seethed but he didn’t have enough evidence on “Legs” just yet so he had to play it cool and detached. Pretty much how he played all things family with his father. He gave her an encouraging smile. “I guess you just have to know how to contact him.”
“And you do?” She’d leaned forward slightly, her face alive with interest.
Bingo! Ms. Donna had just made a fatal mistake in her almost perfect modus operandi—an enthusiasm for her target. All that was left to do was expose her by reeling her in, hook, line and sinker. “I’ve got his private number.”
Excitement zipped and fizzed in Annika, following fast behind t
he effects of the Scotch, which was warming her up in the most delicious way, but in the process making it really hard to concentrate. Finn was making it really hard to concentrate.
From the moment she’d slammed into his broad chest and looked into those questioning coal-black eyes, she’d been out of her depth. At five foot eleven inches, she was used to being taller than some men but Finn had the height of a basketball player, and the solid bulk of a toned athlete. She felt tiny in comparison, which was unusually disconcerting. That and the fact she’d wrapped herself around him like a pole dancer. Just thinking about it made her hot and bothered, which was silly because she knew from the tips of her bruised toes and to the apex of her dented heart that tall, handsome men, dark or blond, spelled disaster for her. All men really.
Thank you, Ryan. When she’d returned to Whitetail after that heart-hammering debacle she’d decided that the more handsome the man, the easier he was for her to resist. Granted, Whitetail hadn’t thrown up any opportunities for her to test her theory in two years, but Finn in his tailored tuxedo slotted perfectly into the top category of “beyond gorgeous” so he was a perfect test case.
Attraction aside, her biggest problem was that she’d been out of her depth before she’d met Finn. The fact she’d even considered that she could pull off a stealth entry to the house was a testimony to her desperation. When she’d ruined the perfect look that the town had gone to so much trouble to organize for her so she could blend into the party, she’d immediately wanted to flee. But perhaps the Gods of Fairness really did exist and had finally deigned to intervene. She wanted to pinch herself because given everything that had happened up to this point, she couldn’t believe she was actually sitting next to a man who not only knew Sean Callahan but knew how to contact him.
Yes! She gave a silent squeal. He’d been remarkable in his lack of concern over her illicit entry, avoided the obvious question of, “What the hell are you doing?” and had been generous with food and drink. She wasn’t going to second-guess why he hadn’t handed her over to security—she’d just accept it as a gift. She was absolutely certain he’d help her meet Sean Callahan, CEO of AKP Industries.
Working hard to keep her mind on the game and not on the sharp, clean scent of his cologne as it mixed in with something essentially masculine, she did everything she could to sound casual. “His private number? Wow, you must be really close to him.”
“Not really.” The words sounded unexpectedly curt but then he shrugged, softening the tone. “Business is business.”
She didn’t really understand what that meant because in Whitetail all business involved a community connection but she brushed it aside as being irrelevant to her needs. “So you can get a message to him?”
He raised his brows and gave her a cat-who-ate-the-cream smile. “I can.”
She tried to rein in the quivering anticipation that leaped in her belly. It was all to do with being close to getting Sean Callahan’s private number and nothing to do with the way the peak of Finn’s top lip said, “Kiss me.”
Nail the deal. “I’ve been trying to meet with him for weeks.”
“To discuss,” he raised his fingers, wiggling them like quotation marks, “warehouses?”
It seemed an odd gesture but she nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think you could arrange a meeting with him for me?”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the soft sound of the rasp of stubble the only noise in the room. “I suppose I could set that up.”
Please, please, please. “But will you?”
He stretched his arm along the length of the couch and all the hair on her body rose in a delicious tingle. She held her breath as she scanned his face, everything hanging on his reply.
“Yes.”
Relief poured through her, setting up a euphoric swirl, and this time she couldn’t stop the squeal of delight from erupting from her lips. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“Oh, I think I do.” His palm curved around the back of her neck, his fingers winding their way into the fallen tendrils of hair.
She stilled as the warmth of his hand built on the heat from the Scotch, and then like a fireball it exploded into jubilation. Her head spun even faster than when he’d pulled her into the room, and she pressed her hand to his chest to stop herself from falling forward. “You’re right. You’ve made me incredibly happy. Thank you.”
His eyes, like unfathomable pools of ink, stared down at her, hypnotically, as if pulling her toward him. She automatically leaned in, kissing him gratefully and briefly on the cheek.
Like a slow-motion sequence, his head dropped forward, his hair tickling her forehead and then his lips touched hers, their pressure firm and coaxing.
Shocked surprise hurtled through her and the tiniest part of her said “Stop now” but it was silenced by the alcohol in her veins and the sheer joy that she’d secured the interview. It’s just a kiss. What did it matter if it was with a virtual stranger—it made a crazy sort of sense given everything that had preceded it this evening.
And it had been such a long time since she’d been kissed.
She opened her mouth under his and sighed. He tasted of malt, of hot, starry summer nights and a tantalizing sense of long-lost joy. With her hand still pressed against his chest, she curled her fingers under the gaps between the studs of his formal shirt, and the tips met hot skin and taut muscle. Her breath hitched and her palm itched to feel more.
His hands slipped down her neck, caressing her bare shoulders and journeying along her arms—the touch leaving a trail of intoxicating bubbles that joined together into an effervescence of unadulterated need. She ached in a way she’d forgotten she could, and all the while his tongue continued its invasion of her mouth in the most delicious raid that had her reconsidering the antisocial behavior of pirates.
One of his hands rested on the top of the zipper at the back of her dress while the other cupped the weight of her breast through the beaded material. Her nipple immediately rose, pushing against the constraints of the bodice, and tingles dived deep. More.
She leaned in closer but he suddenly whipped his hand away from her breast, and was gripping the tops of her arms. Her breast sobbed, her mind snagged and suddenly she was being hauled upward. Her feet hit the floor hard. The next moment, Finn broke all contact, spinning away from her and striding straight toward the decanter.
As her breathing slowed and her vision started to clear, it took her wet and throbbing body a few seconds to catch up with her brain. When it did, it was met with a comprehensive list detailing all the reasons why Finn stopping the kiss was a seriously good idea. Not kissing strangers was a basic safety rule up there with looking both ways before crossing the street. Plus she was here on a mission for the town and she couldn’t let herself get sidetracked by sex. The tiny rebellion of reawakened womanhood was duly reprimanded and squashed.
He silently handed her a drink which she accepted with an unsteady hand and with no intention of drinking it. If one Scotch had her considering getting naked with a complete stranger then she didn’t need a second one. Finn downed his fast, his face a complicated crush of expressions, none of them easily readable. He placed the low-ball glass on the credenza and shot her a tight smile. A very different smile from the one he’d worn when he’d laughed with her over her lack of athleticism. That one had lit up those inky eyes like moonlight breaking through cloud, before carving into high and handsome cheeks, and weavi
ng its way through sexy stubble.
This is officially awkward. Her mouth dried as she tried to think of something casually clever to break the stained silence, but she came up empty.
“Donna, how far are you prepared to go to meet with Sean?”
Okay, this was good; aberration over and now it was back to business. She could do that. She’d hoped to speak with Sean Callahan in Whitetail but if the only appointment she could get was in Chicago, then she’d go there. “Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
Black brows drew in so fast she almost heard them snap as they dug a deep V into the bridge of his long, straight nose. Every ounce of graciousness vanished. “And then I suppose you’ll write about it.”
Write about it? His change in demeanor had her second-guessing herself but using the logic that they were talking about a meeting, she realized that a detailed report for The Bugle was probably a good idea. “I’ll give an interview first.”
“I bet you will.” Disgust slashed his face and he pressed a button near the fireplace before sweeping up her purse. With deft fingers he undid the clasp and upended it.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Lipstick and her phone tumbled onto the floor and she scrambled for them, her heart racing in shocked surprise. She had no idea what had just happened but every part of her told her it wasn’t good.
Finn reached her phone first and held it high. “You’re not getting an interview, and you’re sure as hell not getting any photos of me in compromising positions.”
Photos? She stared at him wondering if he had some sort of mental problem. “What are you talking about?”
A steely expression stole all the humanness from his face and he stared at her like a thunderous, black angel with evil intent. “You can drop the innocent act because with a mouth like that, you’re not innocent at all, are you? What was the plan? Sex on the couch or the credenza with a photographer secreted at the window?” His lips thinned and barely seemed to move. “I don’t know who you’re working for but you better hope they’ve got bail money.”
