Your woman comes first, above your job, above the rest of your family, above yourself and your comfort. Always. You have to always do what’s best for her, even if it’s not what’s best for you.
“You left because of me, didn’t you? I was making you uncomfortable.”
Damn him. Wasn’t the younger generation supposed to be self involved creeps? Where was one of them when you needed them? Cat refused to look up or say anything. Maybe if she just concentrated hard enough, squinched her eyes hard enough, he’d go away. It had never worked on Clint, but maybe younger men didn’t have such good defenses built up against things like that.
Finn reached out and lifted her chin forcibly, but gently, although her eyes were still clenched closed.
Suddenly, she opened them. “Damn, you’re still here.”
He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you. You’re going to be hell on my ego, I can tell.”
Cat sighed, looking everywhere but at him. “You have to go away, Finn. Now. Please. Just . . . go away and we’ll forget this all happened.”
She didn’t think that there was any room between them, but he took a small step towards her. She could feel the heat of him, the already somewhat familiar scent of him. Her body remembered him from that blasted dream and began to respond automatically, to her disappointment, and she found it was something she could not control.
“Nothing’s really happened . . . yet, Catherine,” he whispered huskily, cocking his head to one side, as if he was going to kiss her, but not quite getting to it yet.
“Please, Finn.” She didn’t want to sound like she was begging him, but that’s how it came out anyway. She wanted to put her hands up and push him away, but she didn’t want to touch him, so one ended up on the counter on either side of her, and he immediately covered them with his own, trapping them there, but not hurting them in the least.
His mouth was dangerously close to her ear. “But we probably do need to deal with the fact that you just told me that you had to get back to the house when you really didn’t. And the fact that it was running through your head to tell me a fib about you having a headache, or cramps or something like that, just to throw me off the scent of you, off the fact that you want me, but you don’t want to admit it yet.”
How in hell had he known that? Was he reading her mind? Were they teaching that in schools nowadays?
Her startled look, the first time she’d met his eyes since he’d trapped her there, gave him his answer, and he smiled down at her, almost triumphantly, but not quite. “I’m glad you didn’t say it, though, because that would have been an out right lie, and it would have been that much worse for you.”
“What would have been –” she barely got out before she found herself several inches off the ground, held securely against him by his left arm around her waist as he arched his back just a bit, and his free right hand came down on her largely unprotected bottom. She’d had the sweats she was wearing for years, and they’d grown so thin they were quite threadbare in most spots, apparently especially the seat of them, since she yelped and yipped as loudly as if he was spanking her on the bare.
Which didn’t deserve thinking about in the least, despite the fact that it kept creeping into her mind at the most inopportune times, like right now.
It wasn’t a long or arduous spanking, but it made its point and, worse than that, it was damned embarrassing for her, especially since he’d accomplished it so blasted easily, to say nothing of the fact that his rock hard arousal was pressed unrepentantly into her soft tummy the entire time. In fact, she would have sworn it had grown throughout the process. She had naturally tried to arch away from his swats, which meant that she ended up pressing herself obscenely up against him, even when his palm wasn’t on her bottom. The spanking was quick, but it was very effective. He had her butt sizzling in just a few swats. She was afraid to wonder who he’d been taking lessons from, or, worse than that, who he’d been practicing on!
But the worst part of it was less the physical pain of the spanking than the fact that it wasn’t Clint who was administering it. If she’d really wanted just to be spanked by any old person, she could have found someone on the Internet to do it for her. They weren’t that far from Boston, and she was certain that, if she looked hard enough, she could have found someone to accommodate that particular taste.
But it had never been just the spanking that had turned her on. It had always been that Clint was spanking her. That her husband loved her enough to take his time and spend his energy to correct her that way. That idea had never ever failed – despite the severity of whatever discipline he decided to deliver – to make her slippery, and she had absolutely no interest in finding out whether anyone else had the same effect on her. In fact, exactly the opposite was true. That was something sacrosanct between the two of them that she never expected to share with anyone else, which was why she hadn’t sought it from anyone else, why she hadn’t actively looked for another partner, knowing that, in a vanilla relationship, she would be compromising – subverting – a very deep part of herself.
Finally, he set her down and stepped slightly away from her.
Despite the fact that there was no triumph in his eyes, that he wasn’t gloating or obnoxious and that he hadn’t even tried to touch her since he’d brought her feet very gently to the floor, Cat was seething mad. No one spanked her but Clint. No one. It just wasn’t done, and this young pup had tread upon sacred ground. He wasn’t her husband, he wasn’t even her boyfriend, and he wasn’t likely to become either of those things.
Finn could see that she was angry in the way her fists were clenching and unclenching at her sides, and, out of respect much more so than fear of any physical reprisal, he took a small step back.
Cat, who had been staring at her feet trying to collect herself and marshal her anger, raised her head and her hand at the same time, cracking her palm across his face and watching his head snap to one side with complete and utter satisfaction that was unlike any other she’d ever experienced. She wished she was a man for the first time in her life, so that she could beat him to a bloody pulp.
“Don’t you ever touch me again.” She walked to the front door, opened it, and stood next to it. “Get out.” Each word was enunciated perfectly, leaving no room for interpretation.
Finn cleared his throat and ran his hand throat his hair, standing there in her kitchen for a moment, uncharacteristically indecisive, then he walked out the door. Cat slammed it behind him, and didn’t look out the window to see whether or not he’d looked back to see if she’d looked out at him.
He’d gone straight to his car, but there was a small smile on his face that he was glad she wouldn’t see.
For her part, Cat had dissolved into tears, which she was very happy she hadn’t done in front of him, and ran into her bedroom, throwing herself onto the bed and crying until her eyes were swollen shut and she fell into a deep, but disturbed sleep, where Finn, yet again, awaited, with his eager hands and fingers, and this time, mouth.
She awoke in a cold sweat in the middle of a Finn induced orgasm. The doorbell rang, twice this time, and she gathered that that was what had awakened her. She walked to the door slowly, hoping that she wasn’t going to have to fend off Finn.
But it wasn’t him, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the slight let down feelings she was feeling. What it was, instead, was a florist with a huge bouquet of at least two or three dozen long stemmed lavender roses and baby’s breath in a gorgeous arrangement in a big vase.
She tipped the delivery man and took the flowers in to put them on display in the middle of her dining room table, wondering who in the world could have sent them. The card said “Catherine,” and that should have been her first clue. The card simply said, “I’m sorry. Finn.”
She had half a mind to throw them out, but they were just too beautiful. How had he known that lavender roses were her favorite? She couldn’t resist leaning over to smell a particularly pretty bloom.
&
nbsp; But the roses weren’t enough to assuage her guilt about what had happened between them, despite the fact that, intellectually, she knew she bore no fault whatsoever, and she began to spiral into a bit of a depression, despite the fact that another bouquet that was just as elaborate – with another variation of an apology – arrived the next day, and the next, until she was beginning to run out of places to put them.
And her friends were beginning to call repeatedly, probably because she hadn’t been able to find the gumption to pick up the phone when they’d called the first time, either. Jane was threatening to come over, and that was all she needed. How, exactly, was she going to explain to Finn’s mother that her son was sending her huge bouquets of flowers? That would not go over well.
Instead, he appeared on her doorstep one morning, when she threw the door open, figuring it was the florist. And it kind of was, because he was carrying his latest bouquet, but it was wildflowers this time; she recognized them as the ones that grew near his mother’s house, as well as a casserole dish.
“Mom thought that you might not be feeling well so she sent over your favorite chicken casserole. Feed a cold, feed a fever. That’s my mom,” he smiled. “Are you sick?” he asked, not waiting for her to invite him in, but opening the inside screen door gently forcing his way in by din of his sheer size.
Cat frowned; she disliked being bullied. “I thought I told you not to come back here?” she said discourteously.
“No, you said I was never to touch you again, and to get out, but you never said I couldn’t come back. Besides, I’d ignore it anyway.” He made himself right to home, putting the casserole in the fridge. “I have a very good aural memory.”
Cat just stared at him, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
“A-u-r–” he spelled.
She glared at him grumpily. “I’m familiar with the word.”
He nodded. “I should have known. Your intelligence is one of the things I’ve always been attracted to about you.”
She decided she was going to let that pass. Suddenly, she was hungry. She shouldn’t have been surprised considering she hadn’t eaten much in several days. “Which chicken casserole? The one with the stuffing and the mozzarella or the potatoes, carrots and onions?”
“The latter, I think. Do you want some for breakfast?” She was in what he assumed passed for pajamas, although it could be hard to tell with someone who didn’t have to work. Sweats and T-shirts were the order of the day.
“You have to stop sending flowers. It’s beginning to look like a funeral home in here.”
Finn came to stand in front of her and realized that she looked thinner than she had, almost alarmingly so, and decided right there that she needed to eat something, so he turned back to the fridge and put some of the casserole into the microwave for her without waiting for her answer. He’d feed it to her bite for bite, if he had to.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his ankles.
Cat swallowed hard. He really wasn’t. It wasn’t likely that she’d ever forgive him for what he’d done, frankly, and he might as well know that. “No. I can’t forgive you for spanking me. Clint was and is the only man who spanks me.”
He levered himself away from the counter and came to stand in front of her. “Oh, I wasn’t asking for forgiveness for spanking you. I don’t want forgiveness for that. It was the right thing to do. You need to be spanked. I want forgiveness for my . . . uh . . . bon– uh, erection. That was uncalled for.” Finn smiled in a rakish, entirely charming and disarming manner that she hated because it melted her heart, and was making it damned near impossible for her to continue to be as angry at him as she waned to be. Not asking forgiveness for spanking her, but rather for his obvious sexual interest in her, what in the hell? “I couldn’t help it, you see. You’ve been doing that to me since –“ he stopped abruptly when he realized he should be calling as little attention to their age difference as possible at this point, and changed his wording, “well, forever. And to finally have you in my arms . . . Clint was right. There’s no feeling like it.”
“Clint was right?” she parroted back at him.
“Yeah. You were the center of his universe, which is the way things ought to be in a marriage. He talked to me about you and your relationship a lot.”
Cat swallowed hard. Surely he hadn’t talked to him about everything.
“He was the perfect man for me to be around when I really needed a strong male influence in my life. He helped me . . . understand some things I was confused about – about women.” He shrugged. “You know, guy stuff.”
She nodded.
“He was a really special man. I can see why you’re still mourning him.” Before she knew it, he had her in a bear hug, and that was the perfect description for it. He dwarfed her, yet she didn’t feel belittled or overwhelmed by his size. Instead, she felt protected and surrounded in a wonderful, loving way as he hugged her with just the right non threatening, non bone crushing pressure, then let her go, pronouncing, “but that can’t go on forever.”
Realizing that he’d just completely ignored her edict that he never touch her again, Cat moved to the microwave to rescue her breakfast, saying ruefully, “Oh, it can’t?”
“No, it’s time for you to rejoin the living, and I’m just the man to help you do that.”
Her raised eyebrow and smirk did nothing for his ego.
They sat across from each other at the breakfast bar again while Cat picked at her meal, and Finn began to realize just how much of a watchful eye she really needed. She’d only taken about three bites before she put her spoon down and stopped eating.
He picked it right back up and started feeding her as he spoke, and she, startled, opened her mouth more out of surprise than anything else. “I know you think that your life is over, and I understand that feeling. But there are still tons of things you need to do. Have you ever walked the Freedom Trail in Boston? Or spent Christmas in Quebec? Or spent some time in New York City? Or Vegas? Or seen the Grand Canyon or driven up the Pacific Coast Highway?”
She hadn’t done any of those things, besides the short jaunts one took when one was on a field trip in school, which she discounted completely because all she remembered was trying to sneak cigarettes and beer the entire time they were supposed to be seeing Boston on their senior trip.
Finn got up and went over to her freezer and opened it, taking out the ever present pint of Ben and Jerry’s, this time it was Strawberry Cheesecake, and came to waggle it under her nose. “I happen to know that the Ben and Jerry’s factory in Waterbury, Vermont gives tours and free samples! I’m surprised you haven’t already made your pilgrimage.”
She couldn’t help it. She smiled. She didn’t want to, but she smiled. But she also stopped eating, and there was still food on her plate.
It was Finn’s turn to raise an eyebrow as he held up a spoonful of food and her mouth remained stubbornly closed. “I want you to finish this serving, Catherine. I didn’t give you very much and you look like you haven’t had a good meal in days. You’ve lost weight just since the last time I was here.”
He was right, damn him, but how did he know that?
“Because I notice you.”
Had she asked that question out loud?
Her mouth was still closed.
“You have a choice,” he said carefully. “You can either sit there and eat the rest of what’s on your plate, or you can sit there with a sore bottom and eat the rest of what’s on your plate.” Finn met her eyes calmly. “Your choice.”
So much for not being able to be mad at him. She stood, nearly knocking down the snack bar chair in the process. “You cannot spank me.”
He stood, much more slowly and deliberately, saying, “I’m sorry, honey, but that ship sailed five or so days ago.”
Chapter Five
Cat put her hands on the counter in front of her, leaning in towards him, not the least intimidated, which he loved. “No, it did not
. You just spanked me. I didn’t give you permission to do so.”
Finn assumed the same position, leaning towards her, and said, “You hadn’t given Clint permission the first time he spanked you, either. And you slapped him across the face for it, too. So I consider myself in very good company.”
Her jaw nearly hit the marble countertop between them, and just as quickly, her eyes filled with tears and she turned away from him, hiding her face with her hands. “Go away. Please, just go away.”
“No way in hell,” Finn growled low under his breath, reaching her in two long strides and taking her in his arms, folding her right into them until she was all but lost against the sheer bulk of him.
Dear God, it felt too good to be in his arms. She didn’t want it to feel so good. It was wrong to like it so much when it wasn’t Clint’s arms around her, which only made her cry that much harder.
She was breaking his heart. It was pulling into several disjointed, disabled bits right there in front of her, and she didn’t even know it, nor did she much care, apparently. He could only hold her tighter, but not too much so, just enough to let her know that he was there, and she was safe.
He wanted to take her into her bedroom and lay her down on the bed, to soothe her in the best way he knew how, with his body – his lips and tongue and cock. But perhaps that was just the fact that his libido was incessantly piqued around her. All he had to do was let a fleeting thought of her float through his mind and he was instantly and painfully erect. It was embarrassing, because it never happened to him with anyone else, and, when he slept with other women, he was always thinking of her. He’d even made the rookie mistake – once and only once, of course, never, ever again – of accidentally groaning her name aloud, when the girl he was with was named Linda.
Needless to say, he’d never seen her again.
And he hadn’t seen many women anyway. That wasn’t his style. Oh, he wasn’t a monk, especially when he was younger, but as he grew older, he’d poured himself into his work more so than anything else. That alone – the monetary success he’d enjoyed in his line of work - had made him a target of the opposite sex, to say nothing of his size and good looks, but when he’d matured, and on the rare occasions that he surrendered to his body, he always made sure that the woman knew the score in no uncertain terms. His heart had long since been spoken for, and there was nothing here for them on that account.
Old Enough To Know Better Page 5