That surprised him. He knew he'd been making a little progress with her. She'd begun smiling at him ever since their day at the beach. And she talked to him when her sister did. But she hadn't really engaged him in conversation by herself yet—until now.
Finn raked a hand through his hair as he stood and walked over toward the steps. "Well, listen, Pansy, your friend Izzy is a big girl. She can take care of herself. Besides, we didn't give her a curfew."
"What's a curfew?"
"A deadline. A time when she has to be home."
Pansy stuck her finger in her mouth, contemplating that notion. Then she pulled it out again and said forlornly, "Maybe we should have."
Maybe indeed, Finn thought grimly. But he said, "No. It's not any of our business what she does."
"Is, too," Pansy insisted. "Izzy's our friend."
Finn grunted, then started up the steps. "Well, our friend will come back when she da—darned well pleases. Come on now, back to bed."
Pansy took one look at him and scampered toward the bedroom like a frightened rabbit. Finn watched her go, then sighed heavily and followed, coming to stand in the doorway and look in on the girls. He could see the outline of two small shapes in his king-size bed. On the far side of the bed, Tansy was curled into a tiny ball, sound asleep. Pansy, on the other hand, lay ramrod stiff with the blanket pulled up to her nose. Her eyes followed Finn warily as he came into the room.
He stood looking down at her for a moment, then he sighed and lowered himself carefully so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. She scooted toward the middle.
Her lower lip stuck out. "Wish Izzy would come back."
"She will."
"For sure?"
"Yes." She'd damned well better not spend the night at Fletcher's!
"Mommy isn't."
Oh, God. Not this tonight, too. But he supposed they'd have to talk about it sometime. Izzy had told him that the girls had figured out that Meg had abandoned them, but they'd never said anything to him. He supposed they hadn't dared.
Now he ran his tongue over dry lips. "No," he said slowly. "But she made arrangements for you to stay with me."
"You didn't want us." Clearly Pansy could be as blunt as her sister.
"I didn't know you. And I didn't think I wanted any kids." He met her gaze. "Can't a guy change his mind?"
She looked back at him, unblinking. "Have you?"
"Yes."
And he knew it was true even as he said it. He might not be the best substitute parent in the world. God knew he had plenty to learn. But Izzy had got him over the hump. She'd given him a chance to be with them, to get used to them, to find common ground with them. He'd never had much faith in his ability to deal with kids before. He'd been afraid of failing them the way his parents had failed him. But watching her, he'd learned that being there, caring, just being willing to try, was a big part of it.
He wanted to try.
Pansy nodded solemnly. "That's good."
A smiled tipped the corner of Finn's mouth. "We'll make it, the three of us."
"Yes."
He put out his hand and after a moment, she laid her smaller one in it. His fingers closed over it, feeling it warm and trusting in his own. The weight of responsibility settled on him. It wasn't as heavy as he'd feared.
"Maybe," he said, "someday your mother will come back."
Pansy shook her head. "Rather stay with you. And Izzy."
Finn swallowed. "What?"
"I'd rather have Izzy. We didn't mostly see Mommy," Pansy explained. "She was always busy."
Finn could imagine. He nodded.
"Lots of the time we stayed with Izzy and Grandad and Digger and Hewey and Pops," Pansy went on. "I liked that better. But then Grandad died. Me an' Tansy cried."
"I bet."
"Didn't cry when Mommy left."
"Your mother didn't die," Finn said.
"But she's gone. Don't want Izzy to go, too."
Finn sucked in his breath carefully. "Izzy will be back," he promised. "Tonight."
Even if he had to personally track her down in Sam Fletcher's bed and drag her!
But in the future? What about this business of want to stay here with you and Izzy? The girls knew she was planning to marry Sam.
But just last night they'd seen Finn kiss her.
His insides seemed to clench. Pansy's fingers tightened around his palm.
"It'll be good," she said sleepily. "Us 'n' you 'n' Izzy." Her eyes fluttered shut, and she rolled over onto her side. In a few minutes she was breathing deeply and evenly. But her fingers stayed wrapped around Finn's.
Us 'n' you 'n' Izzy.
Finn tried not to let himself think about that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FROM the look of him, when she and Sam brought the girls back to the apartment and dropped them off, Finn wasn't an early evening person, either.
He'd scowled and snarled at her whenever she spoke to him. If he was civil to Sam, it wasn't within her hearing. And when she came downstairs, he'd only glanced at her from where he was messing around in the freezer. But the look he gave her when he saw her in her infamous black dress should have set her hair on fire.
She was glad to get out of the apartment again, eager to be with Sam alone—at last.
He took her to a small Thai restaurant not far from Finn's apartment. It was a quiet, dimly lit place with pale pink damask cloths on the tables and silent waiters who moved to and fro seeing to their every desire. There was soft faintly tinkling music and candlelight and Sam smiling at her across the table.
It was everything her romantic heart had desired.
Except when she wanted them to be looking deeply into each other's eyes and saying the things they hadn't said all day, Sam was talking about the overnight train trip he'd taken between Chiang Mai and Bangkok.
Kiss me, Izzy thought, watching his lips move and taking small sips of gaeng jued rak bua, the lotus root soup the waiter had set in front of her.
Sam smiled and reached out a hand and ran it along her fingers as they lay on the table. Ah, she thought. Yes. But then he began talking about the night he'd spent at a famous old colonial hotel in Singapore. Elegant, he said. Memorable.
The waiter brought them yam pla muk.
Kiss me, Izzy urged him silently as Sam talked and she picked at the spicy squid salad.
Sam asked about her haircut. "I liked it long," he told her.
"You don't like this?" Her hands went to her hair.
"Sure," he said easily. "I like it however you wear it."
The waiter brought Sam's gai pad bai krapao and her moo tod kratium priktai. Sam dug into his chicken, not talking at all now.
Kiss me, Izzy begged with her eyes, not even touching her pork.
Sam looked up. "Aren't you hungry? You do like satay, don't you?"
"Yes," Izzy said, poking it with her fork. "Oh, yes." She took a bite.
"I thought so. I remembered the night we went to that little Thai place in the Mission District." He smiled at the memory.
It was the last time he'd been to San Francisco before her grandfather had died. He'd shown up, wholly unexpected as usual, and had spirited her off for the afternoon and evening with her grandfather's blessing.
And he'd asked her to marry him and given her a ring. She'd come home that night radiant, dreaming of a future—with Sam.
"Kiss me," she said.
He stared at her, a spoonful of coconut pudding halfway to his mouth. "What?"
Izzy felt her face burn. She hadn't even realized she'd spoken aloud. "Nothing," she mumbled, ducking her head. "I just wondered if you'd… missed me?"
Sam's fingers closed around hers. They played with her newly shaped, perfectly oval, unblemished nails. They caressed the band of the ring he'd given her. His warm brown eyes met hers. "Of course I did. In fact—" and here he gave her a smile to die for "—I think maybe we should go back to my place now and I'll show you just how much."
Izzy felt a tightening in her stomach, a flicker of nerves. Then she smiled, her apprehension easing. His place. He was going to take her to his place. He was finally—at last—going to really kiss her. And possibly do far more than that.
"Yes," she said. "What a good idea."
She wasn't intimidated by the stately marble elegance of his apartment house this time. She had Sam with her, of course. But her hair, her nails, her makeup, her clothes—they all gave her the confidence to feel that she looked as if she belonged.
I do belong, she told herself firmly as they walked past the smilingly obsequious doorman. I belong with Sam.
His apartment was on the eighth floor, one of two opening off a quietly elegant foyer. It all looked like something out of Architectural Digest—not so much a home as a setting. There were wonderfully thick Persian rugs on the polished oak floors underfoot, colorful Middle Eastern geometric textiles framed on the walls and spread on the backs of a pure white sofa and chairs. Tall teak cabinets contained both sparkling crystal and ornately wrought brass work. And nearly the entire west wall was glass, opening onto a spectacular view of Central Park. To the south she could see the top of the Plaza Hotel and other buildings on Central Park South. Silhouetted against the sunset to the west were the many apartment buildings that lined Central Park West. And almost directly across she could see, twinkling in the trees, the myriad tiny white lights that surrounded the Tavern on the Green.
Home sweet home it was not. Izzy thought back to her grandfather's Victorian to which they'd welcomed Sam whenever he'd come through San Francisco, and she cringed.
But Sam appeared to be making no comparisons. He was smiling at her as she walked toward the windows and stared out. "I used to imagine how you'd look when you saw the view."
Izzy turned toward him. "Awed, that's for sure. I don't know how you get anything done," she said as she looked out over it all. "I'd just stand here and stare."
Sam smiled again and moved toward her. "It is beautiful. But not as beautiful as you."
"It's the new clothes," Izzy said. "The haircut. Did you see my nails?" She waggled them in front of his face. She'd wanted this all night and now she was getting nervous.
"I saw the nails," he said. But he took hold of her hand anyway, drawing her into his arms.
She tried to relax as their bodies touched. Yes, she thought. I want this. And she waited for the tingling awareness to begin as Sam kissed the back of her neck, her ear, the curve of her jaw. She shivered. But that was all.
"Cold?" He turned her in his arms. "I can warm you up." And then he kissed her the way she'd been hoping to be kissed—with desire, with eagerness, with determination.
And all she could think of was Finn.
No! She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot him out. She didn't want Finn! Not here. Not now. Not ever!
She kissed Sam back with all the fervor she could muster, all the need she could find.
He groaned and pressed his lips against hers, let his hands slide down her back to cup her buttocks and draw her tight against him so that she felt his arousal. "Let me show you the bedroom," he whispered.
The words were like a blanket of ice. Izzy squirmed, then shook her head, pulling out of his arms, turning back to face the windows. "No, I… not… tonight."
Sam blinked, then stared at her, confused. "Izzy?"
She gave another little shiver and hugged her arms against her breasts. "We can…see it if you want. But all I want to do is look, Sam." She gave him a desperate look. "I'm sorry. I—"
He touched her hair, then gave her a smile. "You're not ready. That's okay. I shouldn't have been so hasty. I should have realized."
How could you, Izzy thought frantically, when I didn't even realize myself?
"But you…you're—" She stopped, embarrassed at how aware she was of his arousal.
"I'll live," he said gruffly. "I've lived this long. We'll tour the bedroom another time. Come sit down. Let me get you something to drink."
She should have said no. She should have left while she still had a shred of sanity left. But leaving would have meant going home—back to Finn's.
And she couldn't. Not yet.
So she smothered her guilty feelings and let Sam put a soft instrumental CD on the stereo, then pour her a tiny glass of an orange liqueur. She sipped it, felt her mouth, then her throat tingle and warm. The way her whole body had last night when Finn's tongue had touched hers.
Don't! Don't think about that. Think about Sam. It's Sam you love. Sam you want to marry. She let him lead her to the pure white sofa and draw her down beside him. She let him slip his arm around her, and she allowed herself to settle back against him, to breathe deeply and try to recapture the sense of Tightness she always felt around Sam.
"Sam's a good 'un," her grandfather had always said. "I'm glad you've got Sam."
"Yes," Izzy said now.
"I thought you were saying no tonight?" Sam's amused voice said right next to her ear.
She turned, startled, and looked into his deep brown eyes. She gave a faint, desperate shake of her head. "I don't know what I'm saying," she told him in all honesty.
He laughed. "I love you, Iz." And he mussed her hair, then kissed her again.
It was just past one in the morning, when she was sure that Finn would be asleep, that she dared to have Sam take her back to his apartment.
She slipped off her shoes and eased open the door, grateful that it didn't squeak. He had left a light on over the sink in the kitchen, but the first thing she did was glance toward the daybed at the other end of the long room in hopes of seeing his sleeping form lying there.
"About time," Finn's voice growled. He was lounging, slumped against the pillows.
Izzy swallowed. Her fingers tightened on her shoes and she pressed her back against the door. "You didn't have to wait up," she said with a trace of belligerence.
"Didn't I?" His voice was rough, angry almost. "Who else was going to hold Pansy's hand while she fretted and stewed, worried sick because you weren't here?"
Her belligerence fled. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry. I didn't think—"
"No, you damned well didn't!" Finn rose from the bed and came toward her. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans. The low-slung denim trousers somehow only served to heighten her awareness of his masculinity.
She took a nervous step backward. "I'll just go check on them," she said, trying to edge around him.
But Finn caught her arm. "They're all right now. Pansy drifted off about an hour ago."
He wasn't letting go. "I'm…sorry she bothered you," Izzy said.
"Why? They don't matter to you."
"How can you say that?"
"If they did, you'd have been back hours ago. It's damn near two in the morning!" His fingers bit into her arm briefly, then he let go, but stood glowering at her.
Izzy glanced at her watch. "It's five minutes past one. And you could always have called me if she was worried. I left Sam's phone number by the telephone."
"I'll bet Lover Boy would've been thrilled by that. And I've always wanted to get people out of bed! Especially when I'm damn sure they're not sleeping!"
Izzy's cheeks burned, but she certainly wasn't going to deny his accusations. Let him think whatever he wanted. "You could have called," she repeated.
"I managed," he said gruffly.
And she heard a quiet steadiness in his tone that told her more than his words did that he had probably managed very well indeed. She was glad and, unaccountably, found that she regretted not being here to see it.
"Actually I'm not surprised," she said. "I always thought you could."
"Nice of you to have such faith in me," he said sarcastically.
He really did want to pick a fight, and Izzy was fairly certain that pointing it out this time wouldn't diffuse the situation. She started to ease her way past. She'd made it almost to the stairs when his voice stopped her.
"How was your date?" He put a bitter
twist on the last word.
Izzy ignored it. "We went to a lovely little Thai restaurant on Amsterdam. I had this great pork dish. Sam had chicken. And then we went back to his apartment and listened to some CDs and—"
"You don't have to give me the play by play."
"Fine," she said, nettled. "I won't." She started up the steps.
"Glad you had such a dandy time," Finn said sourly to her back. "Are you going to be available to watch the girls tomorrow, or are you moving out?"
For her own satisfaction, Izzy would have liked to say she was moving out. But she had to admit, "Not yet. Besides, I promised I'd help take care of them until you got a nanny."
His mouth twisted. "And you, of course, always keep your promises."
Izzy nodded. "I try."
Finn grunted, still obviously dissatisfied. Finally he gave her a curt nod and went into the kitchen to turn off the light. "Good night."
The dismissal was so clear that Izzy felt like a naughty child banished to her room. She didn't move, watching as he stalked across the room to the daybed, totally ignoring her now.
"Want me to kiss you good-night?" He turned, his gaze mocking.
God forbid.
* * *
She wanted to go right to sleep. She wanted to dream of Sam.
She lay awake and thought about Finn MacCauley.
It wasn't fair. Sam was the man she loved—the man she'd wanted to marry since the first weekend she'd met him. Sam was kind, loving, fun, gentle. She had known it then; nothing he'd done tonight had changed her mind. He was exactly the way she remembered him.
But she wasn't.
She couldn't get Finn out of her head.
So he was a good kisser, she told herself angrily. So what? That didn't mean anything. Lots of men were good kissers.
But ii was more than that, and Izzy knew it. She'd had little respect for Finn when she'd first met him, considering him not much better than his sister. He'd changed her view. There was a sense of purpose about him, a deep core of responsibility that she'd just begun to appreciate. He was brusque, irritable, sometimes gruff; often outspoken. He hadn't wanted the girls and he'd made no bones about it.
But when the alternative was to give them up, to simply shrug and say, "I don't want the responsibility," the way Meg had—the way a lot of people would—he dug down inside himself and found what it took to connect to them. Even to love them.
Finn's Twins! Page 10