Tempting Heat (Tempt Me Book 1)

by Sara Whitney

  When he shot her a questioning look, she shrugged. “That guy whose clothes you’re wearing? Richard? He likes camping, so Josie and I have some weird outdoors equipment we’ve picked up over the years.”

  Boy howdy did Tom have questions about Richard the camping god, but he bit them back and took a seat in his favorite chair. Finn chose her usual spot on the far edge of the couch, where the warm light glinted off her hair. Now that their storm of angry words had ended, he wasn’t sure where that left them.

  “So, uh, how’s Dylan these days?” she asked casually.

  Christ, he never wanted to hear that guy’s name again. “No idea.”

  “Really? I assumed you two—”

  “The last time he and I spoke, I punched him in the face. That pretty well ended the friendship.”

  Finn’s mouth dropped. “Is that why he had a black eye at graduation?” At Tom’s nod, she jutted her chin. “Good. After what he did, he didn’t deserve either of us.”

  “Yeah, by then he was a completely different guy than the one I met in kindergarten.” He answered on automatic while his brain worked overtime to process her words.

  She believed him. Like a footprint in the sand that slowly filled with water, the realization trickled into the hollow in his heart that her mistrust had created. And like that, he was tempted to throw himself at her feet. Instead, he borrowed her tactic. “And what about you? How bad was it for you after that?”

  Finn’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It wasn’t great. But we only had one week of school left, so I kind of acted like a ghost. And enough people knew what kind of guy Dylan was that a few were sympathetic. Still, I was glad for a fresh start at college. I considered myself reborn at UIC.”

  “And were you? Reborn?”

  She exhaled a laugh. “Yes. College was great. I rose from the ashes of high school like a very popular phoenix. I met Josie, joined a sorority, dated some nice boys. It was good to find out that I wasn’t permanently damaged.”

  He studied his feet propped on the ottoman, this time covered in fuzzy polka dots from Finn’s warm sock collection. “I try to do right by women now.”

  His non sequitur surprised him, and it confused Finn even more. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated, not particularly enjoying analyzing how his teenage mistakes had turned him into the person he was today. “It’s about more than just not being an asshole toward women. It’s about standing up to guys who are.” He shrugged. “I didn’t do a good job back then, and I made more excuses than I should have for someone I thought was a friend. Since then, I’ve tried to be better.”

  She made a soft, understanding noise. “Like making sure my roommate got home safely when she had too much to drink, even though you were dead on your feet from exhaustion and malnutrition?” It wasn’t so dim that he couldn’t see her small smile.

  “Something like that.” He kept his tone light, but in truth, he wanted to bask in her approval and wrap it around him like a cape. The thrill her smile created settled briefly in his heart before traveling straight to his groin.

  He cleared his throat and said briskly, “So it’s option three then.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Our plans for the rest of our day?” he reminded her. “We’ve got no TV, no Wi-Fi. We should probably conserve our laptop batteries. That knocks out your first and second options and leaves us with option three.”

  “Right. We go to our rooms to read.”

  Rooms, plural. Had one little s ever caused such plunging disappointment before? He was preparing to engage friend-mode Tom and exile himself to Josie’s pink bedroom when Finn spoke again.

  “Oh, but actually…”

  Tom held his breath, daring to unfurl a tendril of hope.

  “I mean, we only have one lantern, so separate rooms wouldn’t work,” she said. “Want to stay out here?”

  Separate rooms were definitely safer for his wayward thoughts. But what’s life without a little danger? “Sounds perfect.”

  He fetched his e-reader from his bag while Finn retrieved a book from her room.

  Back in their positions, he pointed to the massive tome on her lap. “That’s a doorstop.”

  “I’m yet again trying to get through Infinite Jest. Someday I need to admit to myself that I wasn’t built to read this book. What about you?”

  He powered on his Kindle, grateful to see a full battery icon. “While I’m doing dissertation edits, I limit myself to comfort reading. I just started one of my favorite Terry Pratchett books.”

  She brightened. “I’ve heard he’s funny!”

  “He’s hilarious. Actually…” Was he really going to suggest this? “If you’re not into your David Foster Wallace, I could, um, read The Color of Magic to you.”

  He was excruciatingly aware of every moment of silence that stretched between them after his impulsive suggestion, unsure if he’d had a good idea or the worst one ever. Then, thank the giant space turtle, she grinned up at him. “Will you do voices? And accents?”

  He’d definitely had a good idea. “Voices, yes. Accents, badly.”

  “Awesome. Let’s do it.”

  Finn repositioned herself on the end of the couch nearest to him, an afghan tucked around her shoulders and a half smile on her lips, and he pushed aside his unaccustomed bout of nerves to get comfortable in his chair and began narrating the story of the wizard Rincewind from page one.

  He read to her for hours. His voice grew hoarse as he deepened it for the barbarian and squeaked for the sea troll, but he read on and on. They took a break for sandwiches and wine, and when they returned to the living room, Tom made the bold move of sitting with her on the couch. Not only did Finn not object, but she stretched out, her legs draped over the sofa arm and the top of her head brushing his thigh.

  Now the hoarseness in his voice could be attributed to a different source, and he gingerly slid a hand along her silky hair. When she didn’t move away, he caressed the strands to the rhythm of the dialogue as he read. Eventually her breathing evened and slowed so much that he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. He stopped his narration, and after a moment, she stirred, twisting her neck to look up at him.

  His hand stilled. “Are you tired of the story?”

  “No.”

  “Should I keep going?” He couldn’t read what was happening behind her serious eyes.

  “I just… I keep thinking about what you said earlier.”

  His shoulders tensed. “Yes?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

  “I met him first.”

  “Sorry?” His lungs struggled to pull in enough air as she rolled to her back and looked up at him.

  “Dylan. I met him first. He was so handsome, and he was a football star. I thought he was what I wanted. He was what all the other girls wanted. But then he introduced me to you.”

  Tom’s lungs stopped working entirely, along with his heart and his ability to speak.

  “You were so different from him.” Finn sighed.

  “Yeah.” He offered a self-deprecating laugh, while inside part of him withered. “Not handsome. And not a football star.”

  “Thank God for that last one. And you were totally handsome, you goof.” Her quicksilver smile appeared and vanished again just as quickly. “At first I was glad my boyfriend’s best friend liked me. And then I started spending more time with you, and you actually listened to me when I talked, way better than he did. You came to my show choir concerts. You sat with me in the ER when my brother broke his arm...”

  He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, awash in the memory of the love and the helpless longing he used to feel for her. With effort, he wrestled those old emotions under control. “It’s an old story. They write songs about it: ‘my best friend’s girl’ and all that.” He forced himself to sound flippant and indulged in another slide of his fingers along her scalp. “I tried like hell not to let you know how I felt back then.”

  “I couldn’t im
agine you’d be interested in me like that. I just thought you liked spending time with me even when Dylan was off doing two-a-days or whatever.”

  “I did like spending time with you.”

  “But you were so busy with other girls,” she said, closing her eyes.

  He gave a rueful laugh. “They were supposed to keep my mind off you, not that it worked. None of them measured up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open to stare at the ceiling, but she said nothing. Meanwhile, his mind churned. What if he hadn’t dated around? What if he’d been honest with her? Would she actually have broken up with Dylan to be with him? It was impossible to know, so he kept stroking her hair and imagined a world where this was how they’d spent every Saturday for the past decade.

  The soft lighting and the heat of her body next to him made honesty easy. “I grew out of dating everything that moves a long time ago, just so you know.”

  “Oh, so you’re a monk now?”

  Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but he offered a mild defense anyway. “I’m far more monkish than anything else these days.”

  Wow, Castle, way to impress her with your prowess. But what was the point of pretending? He still hadn’t found anyone who made him feel like Finn had.

  She interrupted his wayward thoughts by tipping her head back to smile up at him. “Okay, mister monk. The power doesn’t seem to magically be coming back on, and you left off on a cliffhanger. Better start the next chapter.”

  Nine

  Finn’s leg was asleep, she was freezing, and her left sock had twisted around until the heel was on top of her foot, but none of that mattered. She didn’t want to move from this spot, ever, because Tom Castle was running his fingers through her hair and reading out loud to her in a charmingly earnest manner that filled her with such joy she didn’t know how flowers weren’t bursting into bloom on her skin.

  “Is this a good stopping point?” Tom asked. He set his e-reader down but didn’t still the movements of his fingers.

  “No. Never stop.” The words came out closer to a moan, and to her chagrin, he did stop playing with her hair. Wondering why she sounded like a wounded animal probably.

  As her senses slowly returned, she became aware of the temperature in the apartment. She sat up regretfully and pulled the afghan more tightly around her. “I didn’t realize how cold it got in here.”

  “No power, no heat. The temperature’s been dropping all afternoon.” He gave a little shiver.

  “You may freeze to death yet. I pulled you off the streets for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing. I made you an omelet.” He yawned and stretched. “Please tell me this mysterious ‘Richard’ left behind some fleece-lined sweatshirts or long johns or something.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll have to check, but it’s probably all workout gear. And what’s with the air quotes?”

  He shot her an innocent look. “What, you mean ‘Richard’?” He busted out the air quotes again. “I mean, he is real, right? You don’t actually keep clothes on hand to dress your male guests like a Ken doll?”

  Ha. Their last male guest had been… well, Richard.

  “What could you possibly know about Ken?” she teased.

  “I know he’s unfortunately smooth in important places.” Tom flashed his dimples, which naturally made her think about his nonsmooth places and—

  Nope. No more lecherous thoughts for the night.

  “I’ll have you know that Richard is very real,” she said primly, bending down to adjust her damn sock.

  Tom opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. “I mean, is ‘Richard’”—air quotes again—“a boyfriend? Your personal trainer? Your bodyguard? Not that it’s my business. It’s just, I am wearing his clothes.” He traced his finger around the rim of his wineglass, the corners of his mouth twisting downward. Was he asking because he was curious? Could he be… was he maybe… jealous?

  Finn snatched the opportunity to stretch this out a bit and see what would happen. “Oh, Richard’s great. I met him through Josie. He works for one of the big event-planning companies in town, which means he always gets me into the coolest fund-raisers and galas as his date. Although we always have to wear the big credential lanyards, which totally spoil the lines of my gowns.”

  Tom grimaced. “Okay, so Richard’s tall and in decent shape, I assume, since I can wear his clothes. And he likes camping, which probably makes him a guy’s guy. And he takes the ladies to all the nice events in the city, so he’s an in-demand date. I… I think I might hate him a little,” he concluded glumly.

  Finn bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Oh, he’s a very in-demand date. And he loves going with me to the charity galas because they’re such great places to meet guys.” She watched Tom closely in the light of the lantern and saw one corner of his mouth hitch upward as he processed what she’d said.

  Those dimples. Those dimples were going to kill her.

  He relaxed back into the couch, stretching his arm along the back. “Great places to meet guys, huh? So who has better luck at these fund-raisers, him or you?” His amber eyes were warm on hers as he waited for an answer.

  “Him, definitely. I’m bad at chatting up men.”

  “I would disagree.”

  All possible responses fled amid a storm of flutters in her stomach. Luckily, she was saved from responding when her phone chirped with a text. She leaned forward to pluck it off the table.

  Josie: Still alive?

  Finn: Barely. We lost power.

  Josie: Yikes. You doing okay?

  Finn didn’t even hesitate. All good! Thank God for Richard’s lantern.

  Josie: Richard thanks God for his lantern every night, if u know what I mean. Hey, did u see a note for me lying around anywhere on Thursday?

  Now she hesitated. Josie had to be referring to a possible note from Tom, but Finn didn’t relish explaining the current situation over text. So she kicked the can down the road for Future Finn to deal with at a later date when Tom wasn’t quite so… present and touchable on her couch.

  Finn: Nope, no note.

  Technically true.

  Josie: Dammit. Okay, I’m off to prowl the strip. Return flight Monday night. XO

  Well, look at that. Finn had escaped without mentioning her houseguest. Josie was due back two days from now, which gave the city plenty of time to clear the streets and sidewalks. Tom would leave and go back to being part of Finn’s past, and she’d never have to explain that she’d spent a few strange days repairing old hurts with the man who’d walked Josie home on Wednesday night. Unless…

  What if Tom decided he didn’t want to be a monk anymore? He could easily take the note with Josie’s phone number and call her sometime. What if he came by the apartment to pick her up for a date? Oh God, what if he stayed overnight for nonchivalrous reasons and Finn bumped into him in the morning over coffee?

  This is where her plan-happy brain was a curse. She leaped ahead to future possibilities, and in this case, they weren’t pretty. Imagining Tom and Josie together…

  “Hey, everything okay over there?”

  Tom’s words interrupted her runaway worst-case-scenario musings, and she forced a smile.

  “Yep. My mom asking how the storm is.” That was also technically true, as she had a dozen concerned-mom texts on her phone, requesting a status report. She swiftly tapped out “All good here! Snug inside!” and hit Send. After all, she didn’t need to remind Tom about her vivacious, attractive roommate, right?

  With that thought, a yawn overtook her, likely the result of an overly emotional day. “I should head to bed.”

  “Me too,” he said. “What do you think about my chopping up your coffee table for kindling? We could make a fire in the bathtub to keep us warm.”

  Finn hopped to her feet. “Pretty sure Richard doesn’t have an ax in his supply stash.”

  “That’s a shame. As a dude, I’m not allowed to admit that extreme temperatures bother me, but damn, it�
�s getting cold in here.” He shivered again, then shot her a sheepish smile, and her brain shouted, Body heat! Body heat will keep us warm!

  Once the thought popped into her head, she struggled to think of anything—anything—other than her big bed. Tom in her big bed. But of course that wasn’t on the menu. He had a bed he was sleeping in, so she’d go to her corner and he to his. Still, no reason for them to unnecessarily suffer. She shuffled to the linen closet and pulled out the extra blankets they kept in the house. It was a pitifully small pile, and Tom selected the thinnest one.

  “It’s fine,” he said when she protested. “Can’t have the delicate lady catching a chill.”

  “How positively Victorian of you. Do you swear you’re not planning to sacrifice your toes to frostbite out of misplaced nobility?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m fond of my toes, and they’re currently covered by your ridiculous fuzzy socks. I’m not worried.”

  With that settled, they took turns in the bathroom, then Finn retreated to her room and did her best to make a nest of the blankets to trap whatever warmth she could. The snow might have stopped coming down, but subzero temperatures had taken over during this wretched weather weekend, and even bundled up she felt the chill creeping through the single-pane window in her bedroom to wrap its tentacles around her limbs.

  She fell into an uneasy sleep that only lasted a few hours. When she woke up, the tip of her nose was cold to the touch, and she was shivering under the layers of blankets.

  Another pair of socks. Another sweatshirt. Maybe even her cable-knit hat. If she could will herself out of her cocoon, she could arm herself with another layer of clothing. She braced herself, shrugged off the blankets, and exposed her body to the cold air, wincing as she pulled on more socks. Then she rushed down the hall toward the coatrack next to the front door where she rooted through the basket of outerwear until she found her hat.

  When Josie’s bedroom door creaked open, she froze. Tom, silhouetted in the gloom, stood in the doorway with a blanket wrapped around him like a cape.