The Engagement Arrangement

by Jaci Burton

  For someone who’d never had siblings, these guys were the closest thing to brothers Finn had ever had, and they’d come into his life when he’d needed friendship the most.

  Kind of like Brenna and her sisters. He’d been lucky, and he had Maureen Bellini to thank for that. He had no idea what would have happened to him if he’d been left on his own in Ireland.

  Jason nudged his shoulder. “Hey, you with us?”

  Finn pulled himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah.”

  “You’re quiet,” Clay said. “Something on your mind?”

  “Just thinking about when I first got here, and how you made friends with me right away.”

  “Well, someone had to,” Jason said. “You were sad and pathetic.”

  Clay nodded. “This is true. We felt sorry for you. We knew no one else would be friends with you so we took pity on you.”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “No, you thought, ‘Look at this stud. He’s going to draw the ladies to us. We should make friends with him.’ ”

  Jason looked to Clay. “I don’t remember it like that at all.”

  “Me, either.”

  Owen came over and pulled up a spot. “What are we talking about?”

  “How we rescued Finn from a life of obscurity when he first arrived,” Clay said.

  “Oh, that,” Owen said. “Yeah, you were a total shitshow. You’re lucky to have us.”

  “All of you can eat shit.”

  Clay grinned. “See how he loves us? Like brothers.”

  Finn laughed. They were like brothers. Insults flew regularly, but he knew that they’d always have his back.

  “How’s business, Owen?” Jason asked.

  “Damn busy. Appreciate you all coming out. How’s the beer?”

  “Excellent, as always,” Clay said, lifting up his glass. “This pale ale is damn good. I like the lime and lemon flavors in it.”

  “Good choice. It’s selling well, too. I think it’s the late-summer heat.”

  Clay nodded. “Quenching my thirst after a long day of working cattle.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “And how are you doing?” Jason asked. “Or are you tired of hearing that?”

  Owen offered up a smile. “Never too tired of knowing you all care. I’m doing fine. All my scans and tests are clear. I feel good, my appetite is back and I don’t have to see my oncologist for three months, so I’d say that’s all good news.”

  Finn was relieved. “That’s really great news.”

  “You’re putting some pounds back on again,” Jason said.

  Owen patted his stomach. “Was that a remark about my weight?”

  Jason laughed. “Only complimentary. You lost a lot of weight during your treatment and you were looking scary for a while.”

  “Now you’re insulting my appearance.”

  “Well, you’re ugly even on your best days,” Clay said.

  Finn grinned. “Yeah, we’ve been meaning to mention that to you, buddy.”

  “I can’t believe I let you bastards in here.” But Owen smiled.

  Finn was glad they were picking on someone else. Though they eventually made the rounds so everyone was equally insulted, as typically happened. How else would they know they were friends?

  “How’s it going with Brenna?” Clay asked him.

  Finn was hoping that was one topic that wouldn’t be brought up. “It’s going.”

  Jason studied him. “That means they had a fight. What did you do?”

  Finn lifted his head. “I didn’t do anything. She walked away in the middle of an argument. That she started once she found out about the whiskey warehouse and that her dad has invested in it.”

  “Ah.” Owen nodded. “Brenna’s really close to her dad. Maybe she felt threatened.”

  “But why? My relationship with Johnny has nothing to do with her.”

  “In your mind, yeah,” Jason said. “In hers, she probably sees it as something entirely different. The two of them and winemaking have been an inseparable combination since Brenna was a kid. For as long as I can remember she was out in the vineyards with him, following him around, learning about winemaking. It was a given that she’d follow him into the business.”

  “That’s true,” Clay said. “And Johnny never showed interest in anything else. And then you come along and start making whiskey, and suddenly you have a whole operation going. An operation that Johnny’s interested enough to invest in. Maybe she sees that as him showing less interest in winemaking.”

  “Which he isn’t.” Finn made the whiskey. It was damn good whiskey. Johnny just knew a good business investment when he saw one. It wasn’t like Johnny was in there making whiskey with him. If there was one thing Finn knew about Johnny Bellini, it was that nothing could ever tear him away from making wine. It was in his blood and that would never change.

  “Give her some time,” Owen said. “She’ll figure it out on her own.”

  “I guess. I just wish she’d talk to me.”

  “The Bellini women have always been quick to anger,” Jason said. “But also quick to forgive and forget. Like Owen said, just give her some time to cool down and think things over.”

  He thought about what the guys had said all night, even as he drove by the main house on the way to his own. The house was dark except for one light, which he knew was from Brenna’s room.

  He ached to see her, to hold her, to just talk to her so he could figure out how she felt.

  But not tonight. He’d give her that time and space that the guys had talked about, and when she was ready, she could come and talk to him.

  CHAPTER

  • • • • • •

  twenty

  BRENNA WAS WORRIED.

  Finn hadn’t shown up at breakfast that morning. Or lunch. Typically he didn’t miss a meal that Louise cooked. And now her parents were giving her the side-eye like she had done something wrong.

  Which she had, of course, but she wasn’t going to tell them that.

  She busied herself with work all day, but thoughts of Finn crept in anyway. As she walked from the house to the wine cellar, she thought maybe she’d catch sight of Finn working outside somewhere. Unfortunately, she didn’t, which only made her stomach knot up even more.

  She needed to talk to her dad, clear her head of all that was rolling around inside it.

  She found him outside checking grapes. It was eight million degrees out so she grabbed a floppy hat, put on her sunscreen and walked out there, taking time to review the grapes in the aisle where her dad was located. They were plump and ready to pick. Brenna should have been filled with joy about that, but right now all she felt was miserable.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “The grapes, they look good, eh?”

  “They do. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Si.” He continued to walk, so she walked with him.

  “Why did you invest in Finn’s whiskey-making project?”

  He stopped and turned to her with a curious look on his face. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s fine Irish whiskey, he knows what he’s doing and the family might someday branch out and sell it, with Finn’s permission. I discussed it with your mother, who agreed with me. It’s a sound business investment.”

  When he put it like that, her entire blowup with Finn made her feel childish and petty. “Of course.”

  “Plus, I love the boy like my own. Why wouldn’t we want to encourage his success? Especially with something he’s good at?”

  And now she felt even worse.

  “Oh, sure. That makes sense.”

  She walked with him for a bit more, then made her escape, fleeing to the house, hiding out in her office with the worst feeling of guilt and dread sitting like a boulder in her stomach.

  After wrapping up work for the day, she went to her room to
clean up and change clothes, then headed to the kitchen.

  Louise had made chicken and rice with asparagus for dinner, so she asked her to package up two servings, which Louise did with a knowing smile. Brenna ducked out the back door and made her way to Finn’s place, not sure what kind of reception she was going to get, or if he’d even be there. But she had to try.

  Finn wasn’t outside, but his truck was there, which meant he was home—a good sign. She knocked on the door and Murphy barked.

  No one answered.

  Hmm.

  She knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

  Was he okay? She hadn’t seen him today. Maybe he was sick. She tried the door handle and the door opened, so she walked inside.

  Murphy greeted her with his tail swooshing furiously back and forth, so she bent to brush her hand over the top of his head.

  “Hey, Murph. Where’s your daddy? Is he okay?”

  She slipped the food into the fridge, and when she turned around there was Finn, dripping wet with a towel hanging low over his hips.

  “Oh. You were in the shower.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. When I knocked you didn’t answer the door and I hadn’t seen you all day and I thought maybe you were sick so I let myself in to check. Should I leave?”

  He stared at her for a few extremely long seconds while she stood frozen, afraid to move at all.

  “No. Give me a minute.”

  He turned and she couldn’t help but admire his broad tanned back as he walked away from her. She curled her fingers into her palms, both nervous and helplessly turned on at the sight of an almost naked Finn, wishing she hadn’t caused this rift between them. Because right now they could be out somewhere having dinner together, or even better, enjoying a night in together. Instead, she was going to have to apologize for going off on him like she had.

  Rather than just standing there like a frozen statue, she moved over to the sofa and took a seat. Murphy followed her and curled up by her feet.

  Wait. Maybe he wouldn’t want to sit next to her. She didn’t want to assume, so she got up and took the chair instead.

  Murphy followed.

  She tapped her feet and studied the furniture. Then again, he might think she was the one who wanted distance. That was bad, so she got up and moved back to the sofa, taking a spot on the far corner. Murphy got up again, followed her, then looked up at her, his head cocked to the side, no doubt wondering when she was going to make her next move.

  Even the dog thought she was crazy.

  “Playing musical chairs with my dog?”

  “Oh. Uh. No.” Why was Finn the only guy to ever make her feel nervous? Maybe because she’d only made colossal mistakes with him? “I was . . . uh . . . trying out your furniture.”

  He walked into the room, wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, smelling fresh and clean. And then he sat right next to her and she wanted to lick him all over and kiss him and do anything but have this conversation.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  She tilted her head. “What?”

  “You. Hungry. I’m hungry. I was going to make dinner.”

  “Oh. Louise made dinner and I had her put a couple of servings in containers for us. Or for you, in case you didn’t want to eat with me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to eat with you?”

  “Because of the things I said yesterday.” She shifted to look directly at him. “I’m sorry, Finn. Sometimes I blurt without thinking. I was upset about the whiskey equipment, which I shouldn’t have been. I should have checked out what you were doing a long time ago, and I’m sorry for that, too. You’ve done remarkable things and I’m proud of you. Happy for you, actually. You have an amazing talent and instead of supporting you, I accused you of coming between my father and me, which was childish and petty. It was hurtful and uncalled for and I’m really sorry.”

  His lips curved. “As apologies go, that was a damn good one, Brenna. You’re forgiven.”

  She hadn’t realized how tight her chest was until she let go of a breath. “Thank you.”

  “Now I need to ask you for something.”

  “Okay.”

  “When we have an argument—about anything—I need you to stay so we can talk it out, instead of walking away from me.”

  She winced. “I do have a tendency to do that, don’t I?”

  “You do.”

  “I blame my first marriage on my tendency to bail. Mitchell and I would get into the worst arguments, and every time I tried to explain how I felt, he’d refuse to listen to my point of view. You can’t argue with someone who won’t hear your side of things. He’d drone on and on about his point of view, not at all willing to listen to mine. It got to be so unbearable that whenever we had a disagreement I’d just walk away.”

  Finn picked up her hand. “The whole point of having an argument is so that both sides can air their grievances. That means you both listen, and then come to some sort of understanding. It shouldn’t be one person getting to air their side and refusing to listen to the other person. That’s not fair.”

  She was so relieved that he understood. “No, it’s not fair. But that’s how it was. And it was tiresome.”

  “No wonder you don’t like to fight.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You know,” he said, getting up to head to the fridge. He got out the food, then looked over at her with a smile. “A good argument can be healthy now and then.”

  She stood and went into the kitchen. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah. Clears the air.” He opened the containers and placed them in the microwave, set it and pushed the button. “You holler back and forth at each other, get everything out in the open so you each know what’s bothering you. If someone was in the wrong, they can—and should—apologize. Then it’s over and you kiss and make up.”

  “You speak like you’ve done this a time or two.”

  “Nah. Never had a long-term relationship with someone worth having a fight with, I guess. But my ma and da used to have some rows. Lots of fiery yelling back and forth.”

  “Really.” She leaned against the kitchen counter. “And how did that work out?”

  He shrugged. “Fine. They got it all out of their systems and then they’d tell me to go play outside for a half hour or so. I think they were having sex after that.”

  She laughed. “So fight first, and then makeup sex?”

  He took the containers out of the microwave and set them on the table. “See? Key to a happy relationship. And no one holds any resentments inside.”

  Brenna had to admit Finn’s suggestion had merit. At least both sides could get their say. And she did like the idea of makeup sex.

  She ate her dinner and contemplated how easily Finn had forgiven her outrageous behavior. He was like no man she’d ever known. Certainly nothing like Mitchell, who would have used their fight against her, reminding her time and time again how wrong she’d been.

  But with Finn, he’d simply . . . forgiven her. And now it was over and forgotten.

  She supposed she was going to have to get used to that. Maybe even adapt his philosophy to her own way of thinking. Because she was a lot more relaxed now.

  “That was good,” Finn said once he ate every bite of chicken, asparagus and rice on his plate. He took a swallow of iced tea and took his plate to the sink.

  She’d only eaten half of hers. “I’m finished with mine. Do you want more?”

  He eyed her plate. “Maybe later.”

  He took her dish and covered it, tucking it into the fridge.

  Brenna cleaned the table while Finn washed the few dishes there were.

  “I should go,” she said once he hung up the dish towel.

  “Now why would you do that?”

  She didn’t know why, oth
er than they’d settled their argument and now she felt suddenly . . . she didn’t know what she felt.

  You feel out of control around him, Brenna, that’s how you feel. And for someone who prided herself on always being in control, that was unsettling as hell.

  But when he scooped his arm around her and drew her against him, she knew exactly how she felt. Warm, aroused and suddenly in no hurry to leave.

  “I was kind of hoping we’d get to the makeup sex part of our argument.”

  She arched a brow. “Oh. Did we have an argument?”

  “Yeah. Yesterday. Want me to rehash it for you?”

  “Unnecessary.” She swept her fingers over his chiseled chest, realizing how much she’d missed him.

  It was only one day, Brenna. How much can you miss a guy in one day?

  A lot, apparently.

  She lifted up to press her lips to his. He grasped the back of her head and kissed her so thoroughly she felt that kiss all the way down to her toes.

  She never knew her toes could tingle, but they did. And all her other parts as well.

  This was what she had missed—his hands snaking down her back, his tongue sliding along hers, their breaths mingling in that desperate way that told her he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  This fierce desire coiled up inside her, filling her with a sense of urgency that wouldn’t be denied. She lifted his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin against her hand. He tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging her head back to rain kisses along her throat and collarbone.

  She wore a loose, low tank top and he dragged it down, baring her chest. She had thrown on a demi bra after her shower and he drew the cups away to kiss and lick her breasts and nipples.

  Her breath caught and her legs trembled, her focus only on the sensations his mouth and tongue evoked. Her sex throbbed with the need to have his lips and tongue on her.