"You know Cathy," he said to Izzy. "She's going to baby-sit tonight."
"What?"
"We're going out." He met her gaze levelly. "Get dressed." His expression was even more intense. There was a glitter in his eyes she'd never seen before.
She ran her tongue over her lips, then looked down at her jeans and T-shirt. They were both products of her shopping expedition with Anita. "I am dressed," she said faintly.
"Your black dress."
Izzy gulped. Finn waited. She went to put on her black dress.
She remembered Anita giggling and saying, "Less is more, you know," when she'd first tried it on. It certainly felt like less tonight. She was extraordinarily conscious" of her bare arms and shoulders.
"Sam will think you're a knockout," Anita had promised.
Izzy didn't remember what Sam had thought. She couldn't forget Finn's kiss.
She was insane to be wearing it tonight. It would just remind her of what she was leaving behind—of the man she wanted and couldn't have. She should never have brought it. She wouldn't have, except he'd insisted.
"Take this," he'd said, tossing it into her bag as she was packing.
Had he been planning this?
She could hardly come right out and ask him. Another, more sophisticated woman might have been able to— without blushing. Not Izzy.
At least she had the soft rose-colored wool shawl Anita had chosen to complement the dress—and hide her bare shoulders. It helped, but she would look like an idiot clutching it tightly all night.
"Ready?" Finn called from the living room.
"One second." She took a minute to run a brush through her hair and put on a bit of lipstick. Then she slipped into a pair of low heels and took a deep breath.
He was waiting when she came out. The expression on his face told her that the dress, even with the shawl, was everything he remembered.
"Dynamite dress," Cathy said. "You look gorgeous. You should have been shooting her all week," she said to Finn.
"I was."
Cathy looked at him, nonplussed.
"I don't have a coat with me," Izzy said selfconsciously.
"You won't need it." He caught her hand and drew her toward the door. "I'll keep you warm."
It was a damned good thing she had that shawl over her shoulders. Finn didn't figure he could be held responsible for what he might have done if she hadn't. That much creamy skin open to view, just asking to be kissed, was provocation for any man.
And for a man as aware—as aroused—as he had been for the last week, well… it didn't bear thinking about.
Finn sucked in his breath harshly. He wished the elevator would hurry up. He didn't like being in such a small space with Izzy. The shawl wasn't cast iron after all—and neither was he. He dropped her hand as soon as the elevator doors shut. Now they stood barely half a foot apart. He tried not to look at her. But the elevator was walled with mirrors. There were Izzys ad infinitum, everywhere he looked.
At last the doors slid open again. He steered her through the lobby toward the parking lot.
"I thought you said we'd be inside."
"We will be. Not here."
"Where?"
"A friend of mine has a house. We're invited there."
He didn't mention that George was summering in France. He simply tucked her into the passenger seat of the rental car and shut the door. He was grateful for the steering wheel to hang onto. It made the fine tremor in his hands less noticeable.
He just hoped he had enough finesse to get them through the meal before he made love to her. At least he'd stopped lying to himself about how badly he wanted to.
He'd thought he was being clever at the beginning of the week, taking her into his bed. And then when she'd actually fallen asleep in his arms, he'd been completely foiled. She'd trusted him!
How could he make love to her now?
He paid for his sins. He hadn't slept in days. She thought the dark circles under his eyes were from working too hard. Not a chance.
"Which friend?" she asked. "Have I met him?"
He turned into the gravel lane that wound through an aspen grove toward the house. "His name's George Leland. He's a producer. Spends a lot of his time in Europe."
Which was the whole point. For once Finn wanted to focus entirely on Izzy. He wanted to watch her face light up when she was enchanted, watch her eyes sparkle when she was pleased, watch her lips part when he kissed her…
Whoa. Damn it. He was getting ahead of himself again.
But he'd stopped denying that he wanted her. Desperately. As he'd never wanted another woman. Even if she was engaged.
He'd never in his life plotted to take another man's woman. He wasn't plotting to take Izzy now.
Well, not exactly.
He was simply plotting to show her that she didn't love Sam.
He didn't want her to make a bad marriage and wake up someday soon and find herself tied for life to a man she didn't love.
That was all he was doing. It was perfectly straightforward. And if he had to make love to her to do it—well, a man had to do what a man had to do.
Izzy sat silently, not looking at him, her fingers knotted together in her lap. She didn't make a sound until at last they curved out of the trees along the edge of the slope and the expanse of the valley and the twinkling lights of Teton Village and scattered ranches lay below them.
"Oh, my!" She leaned forward, peering out as they came out of the clearing and the house came into view. A smile curved her mouth. "It's lovely."
He stopped the car next to the house and came around to open the door for her. She was already halfway out. He scowled at her.
She shrugged. "Sorry. But then, you know the real me. I don't have to be Miz Perfect for you." She bounded the rest of the way out.
"No," Finn said hoarsely. "I like you just the way you are."
The color in Izzy's cheeks deepened and she turned abruptly away to gaze out over the valley, focusing on the lights of the village below. "What a spectacular view."
Finn, looking at her, not the lights, could only agree.
"I suppose we should go in. I imagine we're keeping your friend waiting."
There were lights on inside. He'd come up earlier, after the shoot had finished—early for once—and had started the meal. He'd put the wine in to chill and browned the meat and onions, chopped the carrots and started the boeuf bourguignon to simmering. He'd made a salad, put a loaf of French bread in the oven and set the timer to turn the oven on at eight, then set the table, complete with candles ready to be lit. He'd laid wood for a fire and started it going. Only then had he gone back down to the suite where she and the girls were waiting.
Now he slipped George's key out of his pocket and fitted it in the lock.
"What are you—"
He didn't answer, just opened the door and steered her in.
'Where's your friend?"
"Paris."
Izzy stopped dead and stared at him. "What?"
Finn shrugged negligently. "He's in Paris. He lent me the house." Brushing past her, he headed for the kitchen to check on the boeuf bourguignon. Lifting the lid, he sniffed, then gave it a stir. "Almost ready. There's a salad in the fridge. Will you put it on the table in the dining room?"
He didn't look to see if she obeyed. He held his breath and tried to act as naturally as possible. Izzy didn't move for another few seconds. Then, finally, she did.
The refrigerator door opened. Izzy carried the salad to the dining room. Finn took the bread out of the oven and set it on the counter, then opened the wine. She didn't come back into the kitchen.
He edged over far enough so that he could glance into the dining room. He didn't see her. Carrying the wine bottle, he went for a more thorough look.
The salad was on the table. Izzy was standing at the far end of the living room, staring down at the burning logs in the fireplace. Hating him for his subterfuge? Missing Sam?
He cleared h
is throat. She jumped.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he said softly. And they'd better not be about Sam!
Izzy smiled a little tremulously. "I was wondering why you'd bring me here if your friend was in Paris."
"I didn't want to share you with him." He grinned at her.
"Don't say that!" she protested.
"It's true."
But she shook her head and turned away.
Stymied, Finn suggested, "How about a glass of wine?"
Izzy twisted the ends of the shawl. "All right."
He poured two, handing her one. She took it. Her knuckles were white against the stem. She ran her tongue over her lips as Finn clinked his glass against hers. Their eyes met.
Izzy raised her glass to her lips—and drained it in one swallow. "I—I'm sorry. I…wasn't thinking. I don't usually drink wine."
"No problem." He quickly poured her another.
"I shouldn't." But she drank that one, too. Then she smiled rather giddily and batted her lashes at him.
Finn sucked air. "I think… we'd better eat."
He lit the candles, put on some soft music and dished up the meal. Izzy drank more wine and, with her eyes, followed every move he made.
The tremor was back in his hands again. It was the longest—and the shortest—meal he'd ever had in his life. Long because he knew what he wanted to do after. Short because he wasn't at all sure she'd agree.
And if she didn't—if she turned her back on him, if just once she said Sam's name—he knew he'd have to walk away.
He told himself that over and over. Still, he didn't know if he could.
He barely touched his meal. She barely touched hers.
"You don't like my cooking?" he said with a wry smile as she pushed a carrot slice around her plate.
"I'm, um, not very hungry."
"I am." It was bold and stark—a statement of need with no finesse at all. He was beyond finesse as his eyes met hers. He felt the heat rising in his blood. Through the flicker of the candlelight, he thought he could see an equal heat in her. She ran her tongue over her lips once, then again.
"Finn, I—"
He stood up and held out his hand. "Please."
She knew what he was asking. She had to know.
She nodded and stood slowly, her eyes never leaving his as she reached out her own hand and lay it in his. He drew her to him, ran his fingers up her arms, slipping the shawl away from her shoulders as he did so. It fell, unnoticed, to the floor.
They stood, bodies barely touching, looking deeply into one another's eyes. And then, slowly, deliberately, Finn bent his head.
He'd kissed her before. It had knocked him for a loop. He was prepared this time—at least he'd thought he was.
But the pure sweet singing that shot through him when his lips touched hers and they opened for him rocked him to the depths of his being. He didn't know how long it lasted—a minute, an hour—it wasn't long enough. He wanted more. He wanted her. His hands slid up her back to hold her gently against him so that she could feel his response.
He lifted his head. "Come to me," he said, his voice unsteady. He looked from her toward the darkened bedroom.
There was a second's hesitation. Then, "Yes," Izzy said.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE loved him.
There was no other reason for doing what she was about to do. No logic. No common sense.
Only love.
Izzy knew, even as she took his hand and followed him into the bedroom, that he was making no promises. She knew he never would.
Maybe, knowing that, she was wrong to give herself that night. But if she was wrong, she would live with it—and with the memory. She needed to share that love just once with him.
She would have that, at least. The memory of loving Finn, of sharing herself with him, body and soul. And if she only got his body, however briefly, in return, well… it was more than she'd had before.
She'd supposed from the moment she discovered that they were alone in his friend's house, that seduction was what was on Finn's mind.
He wanted her—she knew that. At least he was circumspect enough not to try to take her when the girls were anywhere around. He was kind enough, gentleman enough, too, not to push even when they were alone.
"Come to me," he'd said. And if it wasn't precisely a question, neither was it a demand. It was a wish—a wish she shared.
And so she went to him.
She stood silently by the bed in the room lit only by moonlight, and savored the slow heat of his touch. She tipped her face up when his hands framed it, and permitted herself to relish the soft brush of his thumbs across her cheekbones, the light pressure of his fingers beneath her ears. She met his gaze unblinkingly, memorizing the hunger in his eyes as he lowered his head and his lips touched hers.
His tongue traced the line of her mouth, parting her lips, tasting, teasing, and Izzy felt herself tremble under the magic of his touch. A flame began to burn inside her, a flame fanned by his touch, by the heat of his breath against her lips. It grew, consuming her, like nothing she'd ever felt before.
And when his hands slipped behind her to ease down the zip on her little black dress, she was glad to feel the night air cool her heated flesh as the dress slid to the floor. Finn bent his head, his hair brushing against her cheek as he pressed kisses on her shoulders, first one, then the other. Then he ducked lower and she felt his mouth on her bare breasts. A shudder ran through her.
"Cold?" He slid his arms under her and lifted her, laying her gently on the bed. He stripped off his shirt and jeans, then stretched out next to her, his arms around her. His skin was as hot as hers. Cold had ceased to exist. She rubbed against him, relishing the feel of, his hair-roughened thigh against hers.
Finn groaned. "I almost went mad holding you every night. Not having you."
"You did?" She tried to pull back to look into his eyes so she could tell if he was joking.
"What do you think?" he said raggedly. "Why do you think I have these dark circles under my eyes?"
"That's why?" She was amazed. She smiled and slid her arms around him. "Maybe you should try catching up on some sleep now."
"Yeah, sure." He nuzzled against her, then slid one hard thigh across her legs, pressing against her so that she could feel the extent of his arousal. "I'll rest later. Now I've got better things to do."
Indeed he did. With his hands and his lips he caressed her, bringing every inch of her alive with wanting. He eased himself down to the bottom of the bed to begin with her toes, touching them lightly, tracing a line along the sole of her foot, then kissing each toe in turn.
Izzy squirmed. He kissed her calves, her knees, front and back, the insides of her thighs. Her breath came ever more quickly. She reached for him, taking a fistful of hair and tugging on it.
"Finn! Stop!"
He lifted his head and she let go of his hair. She could feel the cool tingle where his lips had just kissed her thigh.
"Stop?" He looked at her.
"Yes. No. I don't know!" She shook her head, anguished. "I've never—"
He smiled. "I know." There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "Relax, Izzy. Let me show you how it can be. Trust me."
Trust him? He was going to break her heart.
How could she trust him?
How could she not?
How could she turn away from him now, sit up and reach for her dress and put it back on, pretending that nothing had happened? She couldn't. She needed this. She needed him.
Slowly her hands uncurled and she nodded her acquiescence. Finn bent his head again and kissed her knee. Then he hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her panties and tugged them down her legs. She sucked in her breath as he tossed them aside, then slid his hands again to the juncture of her thighs. His fingertips brushed the curls there. Izzy bit her lip.
"No fair," she said, her voice as shaky as her feelings.
He glanced up from beneath a fringe of dark hair that fell a
cross his eyes. "What's not fair?"
"I'm not touching you." She felt like a wanton. She'd never imagined saying such a thing.
"You want to touch me?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
He moved up between her legs. His fingers still brushed against the core of her. "Feel free."
Izzy raised herself on her elbows, considering her options. It seemed somehow just a little too blatant to do what he had done, to simply take hold of the waistband of his boxer shorts and peel them down his hips. She reached out tentatively, touching the sides of his legs with her fingers. Then slowly, carefully almost, she slid them up the front of his thighs. When she reached the leg opening of his shorts, she hesitated for a split second, then kept right on going. Her fingers found him.
Finn sucked in his breath.
"Am I… hurting?"
He shook his head. "It's good. Too good." He stopped touching her long enough to strip his shorts off and cast them aside. There was enough moonlight that Izzy simply stared in wonder at the proud jut of his masculinity.
"Oh, my," she breathed.
Finn gave a shaky laugh. "Oh, my?"
She looked at him, embarrassed. "I'm not used to seeing men naked. You're very… interesting." She measured him with her hand, letting her fingers caress the length of him.
"Izzy!"
She looked up, startled. "What?"
He laughed again and stretched out on top of her. "Nothing. Everything. Here. Let me." And then he was touching her again, his fingers, his whole body working a magic on her that made her ache with longing.
"Oh, Finn! Please!"
He was poised over her now. She looked up at him, the planes of his face silvery in the moonlight, the skin taut across his cheekbones, his expression intent.
"Come to me," she whispered, echoing the words with which he had brought her to this room, this place.
"Yes." The word hissed from his lips as slowly, with exquisite care, he came to her, into her.
She felt the sharp stab of pain and tensed. She couldn't help herself.
"I'm sorry—I—" He bit off an exhalation of breath. "Oh God, Iz, you're so beautiful."
She felt a tremor run through him as he pulled back, then slid home once more, filling her. And she reached her hands up to draw him in more fully, to erase any space at all between them. The ache, the need, grew, intensified. She tightened her heels against the backs of his thighs, then surged forward to meet the thrust of his body.
Finn's Twins! Page 14