by Elise Faber
Finn growled, arms banding tightly around her, one hand sliding to her ass and tugging her hips to his, the other sliding up to her hair, tilting her head until their mouths met in a perfect frenzy of teeth and tongues and lips. She moaned and arched against him, her pelvis coming into contact with the hard jut of his erection, and fuck, if she didn’t see actual stars from this man’s mouth, his body, his cock.
Eventually, though, they needed to breathe.
They both pulled back, chests heaving.
Finn cupped her cheek. “I should apologize for taking advantage of you,” he said, and added, right over her when she began protesting, “I only came back to tell you that you didn’t have to cook for me.” He brushed his lips over hers. “So, I should say I’m sorry for kissing you.” Another brush. “But I’m not going to. Not when I’ve been dreaming about doing it from the moment I first saw you.” One final brush before he dropped his hands and stepped away. “There is no fucking way I’m going to apologize for the best kiss of my life.”
Then he turned and walked down the hall, disappearing into the kitchen, leaving her standing there, reeling.
For two huge, ginormous, astronomical reasons.
One, dreaming about her?
And two, the best kiss of his life?
The. Best. Kiss. Of his life?
Finn popped his head out of the kitchen, lips slightly swollen as they curved up into that gorgeous, award-winning smile.
“Come on down, Blue Eyes,” he called. “I made coffee.”
He disappeared.
And she stood there for a few more seconds, still reeling. Only this time, it was for a third reason.
The third being: he’d made coffee?
Really?
“Pancakes!”
Shannon shook herself and hightailed it into the kitchen, getting her butt into gear so she could make them all pancakes and she and Ry would not be late for the second day of school.
The pancakes weren’t her best.
But Ry and Finn devoured them anyway.
Then Finn gave her a fourth reason for continuing to reel—he demanded her spare key . . . and to do the dishes.
Maybe that was five reasons?
Either way, she and Rylie were out the door right on time, Ry’s lunchbox in her backpack, her lunchbox in hand, along with a to-go cup of coffee in the other.
All Finn’s doing while she’d been making the mediocre pancakes.
The man was . . .
Unbelievable.
And for the record, while she might have made middling pancakes, Finn’s coffee was anything but.
She took a sip of the hot, steaming beverage as she and Ry walked to school, listening to her daughter prattle on about some imaginary game she and Lizzy were going to play, all while wondering if it was the coffee that was outstanding . . . or if it was because Finn had made it.
Because Finn had been more of a partner in forty-minutes that morning, in a few moments over the course of a week, than Brian ever had been.
She knew she’d been missing a lot.
She’d just never known precisely how much until she’d met Finn.
“I’m not sure I can make this happen, Shannon,” Alberto said, resignation in his tone as she sat across his desk.
He’d asked her to come by his office after school and she’d just assumed that it was good news, that he’d been able to finagle some deal with Brian and the house, but the defeated expression on his face told her otherwise.
Shit.
She was going to have to move and—
No.
God, enough.
Why should she have to uproot hers and Rylie’s lives, just because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants?
“I asked for one thing,” she said, steel in her tone. “One. Thing.”
Alberto sighed. “It’s a big thing, all other issues aside.”
“No child support. No alimony. No retirement. No bank account. I pay the mortgage. I’m paying for his auto loan—”
“I didn’t advise any of that,” Alberto said. “In fact, it’s against my advice—”
“One thing,” she repeated.
Alberto sighed.
“He agreed,” she said. “He promised.”
“Promises aren’t always—”
Her fist came down on her thigh, the loud smack filling the room. “I know all about promises and how they aren’t always kept, but I don’t care about any of the other promises Brian gave me.” She exhaled. “None of them . . . except for one that enables me to keep this house.”
“I could possibly file—” He broke off, started making notes on his legal pad.
“Do it,” she said, reaching across the desk and covering his hand with hers. “Fight for me. I know I’m paying you to be on my side, to have my back, to protect me and Rylie, but please, you have to know this isn’t right. I need you to help me find my way through.”
Resignation was replaced with resolve. “I’m going to find a way through for you, Shan.”
“With the house?”
His mouth flattened out. “I’ll throw everything I have at him.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
They discussed a few more things then Shannon shook his hand and said her goodbyes, knowing that while Alberto hadn’t promised the house at the end of this process, that he had promised to fight.
And she was starting to realize maybe it was less about winning and more about that fight.
Stand up for herself.
Demand what she deserved.
Because if she didn’t, then who would?
Twelve
Scrunchy Faces Bring the Big Bucks
Finn
“You really didn’t have to bring us dinner,” Shannon said for about the tenth time since he’d shown up about thirty minutes earlier, BBQ burgers with extra bacon and barbeque sauce in hand for the adults, chicken fingers and applesauce for Rylie.
He might have asked Pepper for intel.
He might have also brought mint chocolate chip milkshakes because those were apparently Shannon and Rylie’s favorite.
“You’ve fed me multiple times already,” he said. Again. “Least I can do is bring you takeout one time.”
She made a face, but at least she stopped arguing with him.
Part of that might be because Rylie was happily slurping her milkshake and chowing down on her “Chicken nuggies!” as she’d called them. Apparently “nuggies” were Baby Yoda’s favorite as well, and since Lizzy had an older brother who was into Star Wars, Lizzy was into Star Wars, and because Lizzy and Rylie were best friends for life—two days in elementary school was sometimes a lifetime—now Rylie was into all things green and space-related.
And somehow, he’d followed all of that the first time Shannon had explained it.
The other reason she might have stopped arguing with him was because she’d finally taken a bite of her burger.
Finn could attest to their tastiness.
Juicy. Firm. Just the right amount of sauce.
And now his dick was hard.
Cool.
He inwardly rolled his eyes, forcing his thoughts to the ocean, to the bad scripts, to his agent explaining that things were blowing over and he could head back to L.A. soon.
Finn didn’t want to go to L.A.
He liked it here in Stoneybrook. He liked sitting on his deck and watching the waves—not that he couldn’t do that in L.A. It was just that . . . this wasn’t Hollywood. Aside from the one selfie request he’d had on the beach, no one bothered him or approached. No pictures had appeared in magazines or online. He could walk down the street and pick up takeout without it being a shit show of pushy paparazzi. And . . . he liked Shannon. He liked Rylie. He liked being close enough to chat with Pepper or to veer off from human contact altogether and go take a dip in the ocean.
But mostly, he liked the person he was with Shannon.
He liked thinking about someone else.
He loved getti
ng out of his head.
He—
“Why’s your face all scrunchy, Mr. Finn?” Rylie asked around a bite of nuggies.
“Rylie!” Shan exclaimed.
Finn smothered a grin. “You know you can just call me Finn?” he said, instead of answering Ry about the face-scrunching. Mostly because he wasn’t going to admit to thinking about nuggies, but also because he thought that if he told Shannon he liked her a lot and was considering leaving L.A. in the dust and making a home base in Stoneybrook—preferably right next door if he could convince the owner of the house he was staying at to sell or rent long-term—he was pretty sure she’d run screaming for the hills.
If he thought about it for too long, he almost considered running for the hills.
But here was the thing . . . he’d spent years—years!—having every step of his life and career planned out for him.
Filming schedules, promotion, supposed spontaneous carpool sing-a-long participation, cover shoots, even the few times he’d gotten to take a vacation had been planned out by his publicist so as to minimize the media presence.
He hadn’t been able to just walk down the street without a security guard in years.
But in Stoneybrook, he could sit on his deck and just be.
Finn was here because he’d needed to get away from L.A., because he’d needed to get his paparazzi-drawing presence away from his family.
But he was also here because he wasn’t happy.
“Pepper!” Ry spun in her chair, not answering him about the whole just Finn thing. “Mom! It’s Pepper! Can I go say hi?”
Shan glanced across the beach and he followed suit, seeing Pepper on her deck, who caught sight of them and waved.
Shannon’s lips twitched. “Just a quick hello. Derek just got back into town, and I’m sure they want some time alone.” A beat. “Plus, you have nuggies to finish!”
“Nuggies!” Ry yelled, charging across the sand.
“She doesn’t move in anything but a sprint, does she?” he asked.
A shake of Shan’s head, lips curving further. “Nope,” she said. “Heaven help her teacher. I’ve already invested in a case of wine for her for Teacher Appreciation Week.”
“Isn’t that in May?”
“I’m impressed you know that, Mr. Finn.”
He snorted. “My mom is a teacher. It was ingrained in me to know.”
“Good son.”
“Good mom,” he challenged.
“I think that, too,” she said softly.
They sat in quiet for a couple minutes, gazes on Pepper and Rylie and then, he was guessing, Derek, when a man walked out from the inside of Pepper’s house, a platter of food in his hand. His guess was confirmed when he heard Rylie shout, “Derek!” and throw her arms around his waist.
Shannon shifted next to him, capturing her dark brown hair in one hand and sweeping it up into a ponytail, making her soft floral scent drift through the air and up to his nose as they watched Derek hand the food off to Pepper and sweep Ry up into the air. “I’m lucky to have them,” she murmured. “That Ry has them in her life.”
“Pepper is good people,” he agreed, taking a bite of his burger. “And seeing how happy she’s been, I’m guessing Derek is, too.”
“He is,” Shan said and then surprised him by asking, “So, are you going to share with the class what was making you have that scrunchy expression earlier, Mr. Finn?”
“I resent the term scrunchy,” he deflected.
“Finn.”
Teacher voice.
She was giving him teacher voice . . . and it worked. He shifted to meet her gaze. “Yeah?”
But apparently, Shannon only used her powers for good because, when his eyes hit hers, she said, face soft, “You really don’t have to tell me.”
He set down his burger. “Do you ever feel like you’re surrounded by people all day but are somehow still all alone?”
She froze, a fry clutched between her fingers, mouth falling open.
He shook himself. Of course, she didn’t. He was just off and in his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that. Ignore me. I’m just in a weird mood.”
“It’s not”—she set down her own burger, wiped her hand on her napkin, then rested it on the back of his—“that. It’s just—I’ve felt that way so much over the last few years.”
He froze.
“Tell me why you feel alone,” she said gently.
“It’s ridiculous,” he muttered. “No one wants to hear a movie star complain.” A shrug. “I have enough money that if I’m lonely, I can pay people to be my friends if needed.”
“But why would you have to?”
“Or want to,” he qualified. A sigh. “Which is probably why I’m alone.”
“No girlfriend?”
He lifted a brow. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I had one.”
“Oh—” Her cheeks pinkened. “I—I wasn’t sure how those things worked in Hollywood. Everything seems so . . .”
“Fake?”
She nodded.
“Some of it is,” he agreed. “But a lot of it is real. It’s just . . . sometimes a relationship is a recipe for disaster when us actors spend most of our day-to-day lives being catered to our every whim. You either get two giant egos together, who both have been infantilized into not even being able to get themselves a cup of coffee, or you have one giant ego, and that’s a feat to put up with.”
“You seem to do fine getting your own coffee.”
He chuckled. “Luckily, my family helps me keep my head straight.”
“But you still feel alone?”
A shrug. “It’s fine. I’m one of the few people to make it.”
“Just because you’re successful doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be happy all the time.”
“That’s not what most people think,” he said. “And look, I get it. Most of my workdays are spent in hair and makeup, with my assistant handling my schedule, keeping me on track, and a PA bringing me food as I work beside beautiful people.” He sat back in his chair. “I have five homes around the world. I have eight cars and can charter a private jet when I want to go somewhere. I’ve taken care of my family. I am lucky. I’ve been given a gift, so I should be happy.”
“But you’re not.”
“It’s not that so much as . . .” He faltered for a moment. “People want a piece of me all day, every day—a smile, a picture, a performance, those are easy. It’s the others that are harder—money, favors, introductions, networking opportunities. How do you choose one and not the other? And then with my sister, that fucker raped her, and you know what he did afterward when he found out she was related to me?”
Anger made his teeth grind together, fury burning down his spine.
Shan squeezed his hand.
“He tried to blackmail her. Demanding she pay him off or he’d tell the world he’d fucked Finn Stoneman’s sister and she liked it.”
His hands were clenched into fists, the fucking memory of that bastard and his threats after he’d violated and taken something so precious from Finn’s sister, making him want to punch something. Preferably, the fucker’s face over and over and over again until it was transformed into pulp, until Finn’s knuckles were split open and he was drenched in the blood of the man who’d hurt his sister.
Too far?
Probably.
But he’d never stop wishing that anyway.
And the fucker had taken a plea bargain, was going to be in jail for the next three years.
“Three years,” he said. “The bastard got three years. My sister will never, ever be the same, and he’ll be out in eighteen months with good behavior.”
“I—” Shan reached out and covered his other hand so that both of hers were on top of his. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that disgusting excuse for a human did that to your sister. I’m sorry the world doesn’t seem to care about women and their bodies when they’re violated and hurt but cares too much when women want to make choice
s about their health and their bodies.” She sighed. “But most of all, I’m just terribly sorry your sister will be marked by this forever.”
“Thank you.” He forced his fists to flatten out, to press into the arms of his chair, for his lungs to suck in a slow, even breath. “It just . . . it put things into perspective for me. I’ve been unhappy and lonely because of my big, movie star life, and she’s . . . been devastated.”
“Finn.” Her chair screeched on the deck as she shifted to face him more fully. “Look at me.”
He found it impossible to not look at her.
Even though he still felt deep shame at not being able to protect his sister, at having exposed what was done to her to the media, even though the urge to crawl back into his own skin and hide was intense, Finn couldn’t keep his eyes from hers.
“This is not your fault.”
“I—”
“Bad stuff happens. People make mistakes. You’re not immune to that, even if you make millions of dollars on a movie set.”
“But—”
“And just because you make a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be sad or lonely or depressed.” She cupped his cheek. “Just because you’re a movie star doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel. Beneath it all, you’re just a normal human being.”
He covered her hand with his. “How’d you get to be so smart?”
Lips tipped up, and he wanted to kiss her again. Except they were in full view of Pepper and Rylie. Except, he didn’t know if she wanted him to kiss her again, most especially in front of her daughter and friends.
She wasn’t divorced yet.
Her husband was an ass.
“Six years of college and copious amounts of continuing ed,” she said, answering his rhetorical question with a chuckle, and leaning back slightly.
He released her palm that was pressed to his cheek, hating the feel of her hand sliding away, hating that her other hand followed suit, hating that the connection was broken, that this little circle of peace they’d built around themselves was disturbed.
“Go on a date with me,” he blurted.
Shan had picked up her burger, was bringing it to her mouth. At his blurt, she froze, mouth open in what would have gotten a huge audience laugh if it had been a scene in one of his movies.