by RG Alexander
He swore. “And I just realized I didn’t think about the bakery. Can you afford to be away? I’ll make sure you’re compensated—”
“I haven’t said yes yet,” she reminded him sternly. “Don’t ruin your odds by insulting me.”
But her mind was already working through the logistics of the situation. The Twisted Tart would survive a week without her. With two efficient employees and a thriving online market selling her special muffin mixes, she could probably take an entire month off without anyone noticing.
Her business model wasn’t overly ambitious, but it was successful. She experimented with recipes, closed up for a few hours here and there when the weather was good, and always took weekends off.
And if there was a scandal? She’d need to hire another employee because business would boom. Everyone would want a muffin from the senator’s twisted tart.
Good Lord, was she actually considering this? It sounded crazy. Straight-out-of-a-damn-mystery-thriller crazy. How had the careful, politically correct Finn brother gotten involved in something like this?
However it had happened, Stephen was offering her something that was more tempting than she could have imagined—four days with him where she wouldn’t need to pretend she didn’t know him. That she didn’t want to touch him every time she saw him. In fact, it would look suspicious if she didn’t do a hell of a lot of touching, and more. She would have to show Burke and anyone else watching why the senator couldn’t resist her. It was a proposition that was already giving her ideas. Dangerous on so many levels but undeniably tempting. It was the kind of thing the majority of her fantasies were made of.
Which meant she needed to tread very carefully. There was no reason to put herself or their current relationship at risk if she didn’t have to. “What would happen if I said no?”
He stilled. “You’d forget this conversation and I’d go without you. I wouldn’t blame you, you know. I’m already starting to second guess this brilliant plan.”
Like hell. “I’m not sure you’re up for one of these parties alone, Senator, regardless of the stakes.”
“I’m not exactly an innocent, Natasha. I’d manage.”
She tilted her head and gave him a thorough once-over. “Honey, trust me, when it comes to this you are an innocent. My people can sense fresh meat like sharks scent blood. They’d eat you alive, or make you so uncomfortable you’d out yourself as the vanilla you are before you can get whatever it is you need from Burke.”
Stephen rounded the desk to stand in front of her chair, leaning forward until his hands were on either side of her and he was looking directly into her eyes. “Which is why I was asking for your help.”
She hoped he didn’t see her small shiver of response. “You need me.”
“I need you.”
Despite the situation with Jennifer, Stephen trusted her. He wouldn’t have come to her with this if he didn’t know he could rely on her.
He needed her.
And that was the problem with their strange, dysfunctional relationship. Whenever he wanted her, needed her, no matter how much time had passed, she was there—at least when it came to sex. Ever since their tumultuous college affair, he’d been the one man she couldn’t refuse. He was also the one she couldn’t have. It was the ultimate mind fuck. She would have to do something about it eventually, but now wasn’t the time. There was only one answer in the end, because there was no way she was going to let him do this alone. Out of loyalty to his family if nothing else.
You’re not doing this for his family and you know it.
She lifted her hand to cup his jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble along her palm. “I’m in, Boris.” The momentary confusion in his expression made her laugh. “Boris and Natasha? Rocky and Bullwinkle?”
When he didn’t respond, she huffed in frustration. “Stephen, were you born in a suit?”
“You know I wasn’t.”
“I get it. Cartoons weren’t cool enough for your bad-boy image.”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Some of us weren’t lucky enough to spend our formative years watching children’s shows and experimenting with our sexuality.”
Tasha was tempted to stick out her tongue, but then Stephen leaned into her hand subtly, as if he couldn’t help himself, his deep blue eyes focusing on her lips again. Damn the man.
“Thank you for saying yes. I’ll owe you one.”
“A senator in my pocket, just what I always wanted.”
His smile was subtle. “Brady will take you home to pack. Don’t forget your bathing suit and something appropriate for a formal dinner, in case Burke decides to have one. I’ve got a few calls to make and then we’ll discuss the rest of the details tonight.”
Stephen moved away from her chair and her touch and, just like that, she was dismissed. Too confused and off balance to take offense, she rose on legs that were still weak and headed for the door.
“Natasha?”
She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“It goes without saying that this is just between us.”
“Obviously not, since you keep saying it.”
He shook his head. “I’m repeating myself so you know that between us doesn’t include Jeremy Porter.”
Damn it. What fun was it to play spy for the government at a kinky house party if you couldn’t tell your best friend about it?
She sighed in disgust. “Fine. It’s not like he’d believe me anyway, right? I mean, this is you we’re talking about. Now if it were Owen—”
“Goodbye, Natasha.” He opened his laptop and stared at it as if she’d ceased to exist.
An image of him tied naked to a bed sprang to mind and she smiled as she opened the door. “Don’t worry, Senator—I can keep this secret.”
Chapter Three
“You sound like an old woman, Jeremy. Is this what monogamy is doing to you? Making you a prude? I don’t have to give you references to go away with a strange man for a week of kinky, sweaty sex at an undisclosed location.”
Tasha winked at Brady Finn, who was listening to her end of the phone call as he pulled up in front of Stephen’s brownstone. He shook his head, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement.
Jeremy didn’t find it as funny. “You’re telling me you just met a guy and you’re going away with him for a week. Am I supposed to shrug it off? What if something happened? I’ve heard you and Owen lecture on responsible play and safety before. At least give me his phone number or text a picture of his driver’s license in case of an emergency.”
Tasha groaned. Jeremy was genuinely worried and she hated not being able to tell him the truth. He’d found out about her occasional hookups with Stephen the same day she’d learned about his romance with Owen. When the shock wore off, she and Jeremy had promised to never keep things from each other again.
She probably shouldn’t have called, but she needed someone to be a contact for her employees. She didn’t trust anyone else. And she desperately wanted to tell him something, despite Stephen’s warning. A half-truth couldn’t possibly hurt the investigation, could it?
She glanced away from Brady and lowered her voice. “This isn’t any different than that time in college. I survived that, right?”
Tasha could practically hear the gears turning in his head through the silence on the line.
“Oh.” More silence, then a sharp intake of breath. “Oh.”
She smiled. “Exactly. So don’t worry. And don’t let Adrian and Sue burn down my shop. Oh, and I know you’re on deadline, so don’t do anything to my favorite little demon that I’ll make you regret. Complete those missions successfully and I’ll give you every sordid detail next weekend. We’ll order from that Indian place you love and dish the dirt.”
“And don’t tell Owen. That’s what you’re really saying isn’t it? Don’t tell Owen that you’re spending the entire week having a secret tryst with his older brother, the senator. Don’t tell Owen, even though
the last time he found out I’d kept something from him, I couldn’t sit down or lean back comfortably for three days.”
“And you loved it,” she reminded him. “Don’t deny it, honey, I know you too well.”
“And I know you.” Jeremy sighed into the phone. “Are you sure about this, Tasha? Whatever it is between you two hasn’t exactly been resolved, and Stephen is as bad as Owen when it comes to communicating his feelings. Worse, if you listen to Seamus. Hasn’t he proven it, the way he’s avoided you since Scottgate?”
Tasha’s lips twitched at the name he’d chosen for the day their secrets were revealed. “I can handle it.”
“I don’t want you setting yourself up to get hurt.”
“I won’t. I can handle it.”
She glanced over at Brady, but he’d gotten out and was already carrying her bags into Stephen’s house. She exhaled wistfully at the snug fit of his jeans. The muscular man with his short-sleeved black shirt and tightly cropped dark auburn hair had a look about him. That look. In his jawline. Around his eyes. Not to mention his almost-as-squeezable-as-Stephen’s ass.
There were differences, of course. His lips were fuller and his nose had been broken at least once, but even if they’d never met before and a picture of him in uniform wasn’t hanging proudly in the pub, she would have known he was a Finn as soon as he showed up on her doorstep this morning.
That family had an unfair advantage in the genetics department. She had yet to meet a single member of the brood who didn’t look as though they’d been created from someone’s airbrushed wet dream. Lord save her from the blue-eyed Irish devils who seemed to have a natural immunity to body fat, mind-scrambling pheromones and extra helpings of stubborn pride.
They were all too damned irresistible.
“Tasha? Did you hang up?”
Oh hell. “No, of course not. You’re sweet to worry about me, Jeremy. That heart of yours is as sexy as the rest of your package. It almost hurts that you’re off the market. Especially now. We might have just missed our opportunity to have the perfect third.”
Jeremy snorted. “Fine, I get it, you don’t want to talk about your feelings. But calling me to tell me you’re taking a sex holiday with the city’s most eligible bachelor doesn’t scream deprivation to me. Don’t try to convince me you’re suffering.”
“Inside, honey. The pain is buried deep inside…where you’ll never find it again because you have a boyfriend and you’re in love.”
She hung up to his laughter and got out of the car, following Brady’s imposing figure into Stephen’s house. She’d turned down the invitation to his housewarming party, but she’d been here once before for… Well, there was no better way to say booty call, was there? She hadn’t had that much of a chance to look around then because she’d come and gone before daylight.
It was a nice place. Cleaner than her crowded one-bedroom apartment. Warm but unmistakably masculine and clearly professionally decorated. There was no clutter. No rings or scratches on the coffee table, no wear in the carpets that were tastefully thrown across the hardwood floors. The neutral pillows on the couch that could comfortably sleep three seemed brand new. If there weren’t pictures on the mantel—his twin Seamus surrounded by his laughing children, his parents’ anniversary party, Jeremy and Owen smiling as they held a squirming bundle of happy puppy—this place could be a furnished rental.
Did he actually live here? Did anyone?
She found Brady upstairs in the hallway, stalled indecisively with her bags.
“Just put them in one of the guest rooms,” she said helpfully. “My part in this act doesn’t require a drawer in his dresser.”
It would be too intimate.
He obediently headed to the left and brought her to the guest room closest to the master suite. Tasha studied the quaint wrought iron headboard and pale lavender bedspread with reluctant approval. This would do.
Brady set her bags down and rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. “I should go check out the other rooms.”
“Stay and talk to me,” she insisted. “Just for a minute.”
Brady hesitated. “For a minute,” he agreed, looking around the bedroom with a frown. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a heads up on the way to the office,” he said, not for the first time since they’d left Stephen’s building. “It’s a hell of a request to spring on a family friend.”
“I told you it’s fine.” Tasha sat on the bed and bounced once, sending him a wicked grin. “Lucky for the senator, I’m that kind of friend.”
“So I’m gathering.” He watched her closely. “I always thought you and Jeremy were together.”
Tasha shrugged. “You weren’t entirely wrong. We got together now and then, but we’re just friends. I’m a strong believer in the buddy system.”
Brady’s eyes widened a bit at that. “And you and Stephen?”
“Also buddies. Now and then.” He stared at her until she rolled her eyes. “My sex life is complicated. Let’s just say I’m a progressive, liberated woman with some unresolved commitment issues and leave it at that.”
Brady chuckled and she leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the comfortable mattress and determined to change the course of the conversation. “So when did you start working for the man?”
“The military?”
“Not the man. This man—Senator Finn, defender of the innocent, savior of puppies and the guy angling to be the Irish James Bond.”
His breath came out in a short, sharp puff that sounded like laughter. “About a month.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Rave review. But you have to say that—you work for him. I hope he’s paying you what you’re worth. When I volunteered, all I got was a handful of paper cuts and a stale bagel.”
“Pay’s good.” A shadow of a smile still lingered on his lips as he studied the painting on the wall above her head. At least he looked more approachable now. When he’d come to pick her up he’d been stone-faced and stiff. And huge. He had to be six-foot-five, possibly the tallest Finn on record, and every inch of him was bulging with muscle. She’d felt like saluting and worried that she’d have to drop and give him twenty without the benefit of caffeine.
He’d changed a lot in the last few years.
Tasha’s eyes narrowed. “I could have sworn you used to be the talkative cousin. Or was that your brother Wyatt?”
Steely blue eyes lowered to hers. “Becoming a civilian again hasn’t been the easiest transition. I’m still rusty at one or two things. Casual conversation, for example.”
“Lucky for you I’m the queen of awkward silences,” she offered lightly, sensing his discomfort. “Making them or filling them. Practice those rusty skills on me, Brady Finn. Tell me how you ended up working for Stephen. The long version, with complete sentences, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brady’s nod was sharp. “I suppose you could say I was looking for an alternative employment opportunity. Expectations aside, I needed to find my own way. When Stephen called me in and told me about his dilemma, I figured I could lend a hand instead of going stir crazy, so I signed on temporarily as his body man.”
“And as quickly as that, a new nickname is born,” she quipped. “Hot Body Man.”
Expectations aside. She knew what he was referring to. The Finn brothers she’d grown up around—Owen, Stephen and Seamus—were successful, relatively stable businessmen. Owen had his own construction company, Stephen had been the district attorney for a hot minute before running for political office and his twin Seamus had just officially taken over the family pub from their father. Before that he’d been a handyman. Their cousins on the other hand—Brady’s brothers—were cops and firemen. One was an EMT. They were all adrenaline junkies with hero complexes and a possible uniform fetish.
She could understand why Brady, who’d spent four extended tours in a warzone in a uniform of his own, might want to avoid that kind of lifestyle for a while. Politics was cutthroat and de
manding, but your life wasn’t always on the line. Other people’s lives weren’t in immediate danger.
Unless a senator decided to do something reckless. Something that required a damn bodyguard.
Brady grimaced at the nickname. “Let’s not repeat that to anyone.”
“We’ll see. Speaking of sex…”
“Were we?”
She nodded. “We were. Ninety percent of the time, civilians are either thinking about it, talking about it, or doing it. They did a study.”
“It’s not just civilians,” Brady muttered, making her laugh.
“Speaking of sex, I saw the way Stephen’s assistant, a Mr. Calvin Grimes, was looking at you before we left. I know for a fact he’s out. Are you?”
He tensed in momentary surprise, but didn’t pretend not to understand her question. “Observant as well as liberated, aren’t you?”
“I am. I have exceptional instincts about carnal appetites and preferences for baked goods. You look like a spiced apple pie kind of guy. Patriotic, with unexpectedly zesty undertones.”
Brady dipped his chin, his grin restrained but genuine. “I’ve been out since high school. To my family, at any rate. So is Rory, if you’re curious. I won’t go into how retired chief of police Solomon Finn Sr. handled the news that two of his six strapping Irish sons were gay. Let’s just say we were all surprised at how well Uncle Shawn took Owen’s bombshell. Surprised and jealous. And for the record, I wouldn’t turn down any type of pie.”
“Good to know.” She kicked off her sandals and patted the space beside her on the bed. “Now we can gossip freely about Grimes and the big plans he obviously has to climb his boss’s new bodyguard like a jungle gym.”
Brady snorted, but sat down. “He can have all the plans he wants. It won’t be happening. He’s not my type.”
“Why?”
“Man’s a fast talker. Pushy. A real climber.” Brady studied his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s attractive and good at his job, but other than that…”