“I don’t. Think so,” he said, repeating her cadence with a bit too much sarcasm. And he was still staring at her chest.
She crossed her arms, her heart pounding and her head buzzing with anger. She’d come up here to prove she could chill, that she could have patience and take her ire down a notch, and instead she was having to show some backwoods hick she was tough enough to take care of herself.
Well she was going to show him. She was tough. And had been taking care of herself for as long as she could remember.
“I do think so,” she said. “And if you want to find out just how much mouth I have on me, keep pissing me off. I’ll tell you exactly what I think of your uneducated, alcoholic, upstate hick ass.”
He didn’t like that one. “Who the hell do you think you—”
“Hey,” a deep voice interrupted from the other end of the room. “Back off, Ricky.”
Roxy knew that voice. Her heart caught in her throat as she turned to look for the source of it. The fridge behind the bar slammed shut, and Hunter Finn came to his full height beside it.
How she hadn’t recognized the same combination of t-shirt, jeans and broad shoulders was beyond her, but seeing him standing there only made Roxy’s pulse flutter even more rapidly. Finn glanced in her direction, looked away and then back again, pausing in recognition, like he hadn’t known it was her rescue he was coming to. Then his eyes went back to the man named Ricky.
Ricky’s eyes, on the other hand, didn’t leave Roxy.
“She one of yours, Finn?” he asked.
The two other men at the bar laughed. Irrational jealousy flared in Roxy’s gut. One of his? How many women did Hunter Finn have?
“She’s a guest staying at one of my properties,” Finn said. “And I still haven’t seen you get up.”
Ricky’s smile turned snakelike. “I don’t think I want to.” Apparently being rejected by Roxy and challenged by Finn was enough to get his testosterone panties in a twist.
Finn came around the bar, closing the distance between them quickly. It looked like he was a second away from grabbing Ricky by the scruff and dragging him up himself before the asshole finally stood.
“Are we going to have a problem?” Finn asked.
“I don’t know.” Ricky puffed up his chest, but he seemed a lot less sure of himself than he sounded now that they were standing next to one another. Finn’s advantage in height was obvious, by several inches. “Are we?”
Finn glared. His jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists, the thick bands of muscle in his forearms tensing. Roxy cast wary glances from him to Ricky and back. Finn caught her eye, and, without thinking about it, Roxy raised her eyebrows in question.
Is something actually going to happen here?
As if he could her hear thoughts, Finn responded with a softening of his eyes and a small shake of his head.
No, his look said. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.
The moment was brief, but enough to calm her. Despite the tension in the room and the man harassing her, Roxy’s body relaxed, her limbs loosening. A strange tingling started up in her lower back. She’d never experienced anything like that before—a connection with a relative stranger, words spoken with only their eyes. It was the kind of moment she’d only ever acted, but this time was real.
Finn refocused on Ricky. Leveled him with nothing more than his stare.
“Fine,” Ricky finally said. He glanced at Roxy over his shoulder. “She’s got too much attitude anyway.”
Roxy ignored the bile in his comment and reached for her water. Raising it in a mock salute, she offered him a saccharine smile. “Have a nice day.”
He huffed out a breath, then motioned to the other idiots at the bar. They each slapped some cash on it and followed Ricky out of the restaurant. Finn watched them leave with his arms crossed, standing guard. His silent watchfulness mesmerized her. As the waitress brought the rest of Roxy’s food over, she realized she’d never felt so safe.
When Ricky and company were finally out of sight, Finn cut his eyes over to her. The vigilance in his expression fell away, and the thin line his mouth had made was replaced with yesterday’s smirk. Heat raced over Roxy’s cheeks at having been caught staring. She directed her attention to her lunch.
“You must be easily frightened,” he said.
Her fork poised in her hand, she looked up at him. “Excuse me?”
Finn nodded over his shoulder with a wry grin. “A few drunks being ass holes. A couple of bees and a broken light bulb. I’m guessing you scare easy.”
There he went, being a dick again. But she liked that he wasn’t coddling her, wasn’t making sure she was ok. She wasn’t going to let that little episode rattle her, and Finn seemed to know it.
“I’m from the city,” she insisted, although her discomfort with what had just happened made her Park Avenue show a bit more than she wanted.
Attempting to make her grin match his, she added, “Fear’s my life.”
His lips quirked up into what was an aggravatingly handsome smile. “Rent.”
She hadn’t expected him to recognize the lyrics. “You know that show?”
He leaned down toward her, conspiratorial. “I’m from the city, too.”
“No way.” Roxy looked him up and down. This guy, from Manhattan?
“Yup. Brooklyn.” He didn’t offer any more information as he stood back. He hadn’t shaved, and a shadow of stubble was visible along his jawline and above his lip. Roxy idly wondered what it would feel like running up and down her spine.
She jutted her chin in the direction of the window. “How’d you know those guys, then? If you’re not from here.”
One massive shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “I’ve lived here a while. It’s a small town, and I do a lot of odd jobs in it, like fixing my friend’s restaurant fridge. I’ve gotten to know pretty much everyone.” He followed her stare toward the window, watchful once again. “Those three are harmless. Dickbags, but harmless.”
“If you say so.”
She wanted to ask how exactly many people he’d gotten to know, and how accurate Ricky’s comment about Finn’s many women was, but that was none of her business. Which made a little stab of disappointed twinge in Roxy’s gut, because as much as she hated to admit it, she wanted to know more about him.
Finn nodded at her plate. “What do you need all that for, anyway? I thought you had a fully stocked fridge.”
“Why do you know about my fridge?”
He leaned down again, this time with the same condescending lift of his eyebrow she’d seen yesterday. “Who do you think was sent to do your shopping, sugar?”
There it was again—sugar. The way he said it was nothing like the way Ricky had spoken to her, or any other man she could think of. His voice was playful yet with an air of superiority. It infuriated her. And made her horny as fuck.
“My name is Roxy Cavanaugh.”
He grinned wider. “Of course it is.”
“What does that mean?”
Finn sat in the seat Ricky had taken without an invitation, yet his casual acceptance that he would be welcome didn’t bother her. Not in the same way, anyway. She’d enjoyed their verbal sparring from the day before. She wanted more of it.
“It means only a woman with a name like that would send a grocery list like the one you did. I had to drive to a store down the mountain to get some of the stuff you demanded.”
Roxy imagined him trekking down that crazy winding road just to fetch Chobani for her and smiled. Plucking a slice of cheese from the platter, lifted it to her mouth and caught it with her teeth. Something inside her grew giddy as Hunter Finn honed in on her mouth. She swallowed, licking her lips afterward, and a muscle in his jaw ticked.
“I like my name,” she told him. “And I get what I want.”
“Do you now.” He huffed out a breath that doubled as a laugh. “And what do you want in this town, Roxy Cavanaugh? Why are you up here, all by yourself?”
&nbs
p; Roxy flushed and looked at her plate. He might have just swooped in at her defense, but that didn’t mean she was opening up and telling him all that.
“I needed some time away. Had to get some space.”
She could feel his eyes on her as she dug into her macaroni. He didn’t say anything, and when she finally glanced up at him, his look wasn’t judgmental. More like pensive. As if he were giving her the space she supposedly needed.
“Will you need a ride back to the cabin when you’re done?” he asked softly.
The concern in his voice was noticeable. It rumbled out of him, low and deep like a distant thunderstorm or a warm blanket on a cold day. It was the way she’d imagined it sounding earlier, his lips against her ear, his powerful body behind hers.
Roxy barely suppressed her shiver.
“I have to stop at a store first,” she managed.
He chuckled. “More food?”
“I’m—” She hesitated. Why should she tell him anything? “I’m making dinner tonight. A new recipe.”
Finn stiffened. His grin fell away. “Making dinner…for someone?”
Now it was Roxy’s turn to laugh. “No. Just me. I’m trying to teach myself how to cook.”
The tension in his body lessened, the set of his shoulders relaxing. Roxy smiled again. She liked the idea of him being a little jealous—it somehow evened the playing field. And he really was ridiculously attractive. Straight, strong nose, a dip in his chin beneath the stubble. The ice blue of his eyes cut through her as his frown eased back into a smirk.
“I’ll definitely need to give you a ride then.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You’ll need a way to get all those bags back, since you’ll be buying enough for two.” He leaned in closer. “I don’t have dinner plans tonight.”
Roxy let out a sound that could only have been described as a scoff. “What makes you think I’m going to cook dinner for you?”
He grinned, that same full-on grin from the day before, unfazed by her rudeness.
“Because, sugar. I get what I want, too.”
Chapter Three
Roxy had never been so nervous in her life. Not during her auditions for Julliard or A.M.D.A., or before the lifting of a single curtain. On the stage, she was sure of herself. She knew every line, every cue, every note she had to sing.
In the kitchen? She didn’t have a fucking clue. And the fact that she was cooking for Hunter Finn made it even worse.
To be honest, she’d been like this since he’d dropped her off. He’d stayed in his truck while she’d shopped at a tiny general store that must have existed since the town was settled, then turned on NPR as he drove her back to the cabin. Roxy hadn’t been listening—she had a tendency to tune out anything that wasn’t music she needed to learn, and had been a bit too focused on Finn’s closeness.
On wondering exactly what it was he meant when he said I get what I want, too.
He’d pulled up in front of the house and grumbled something about politics before shutting the radio off. Part of her had hoped he’d invite himself in right then and there, and save dinner for later. But he’d simply smiled and told her he’d be back in two hours, then drove off, not offering to help with any of the bags he’d insisted she’d needed the ride for. She’d had just enough time to unpack what she’d bought, shower, redo her hair and makeup, and ruin the chicken picatta.
Roxy banged around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers as she searched for a whisk, getting more and more aggravated each time she came up empty-handed. It wouldn’t have been any better in her own kitchen. She was pretty sure she didn’t have a whisk there either. But that was what recipe said she needed. Settling for a fork, she attacked the sauce in the pan, trying to get it to the consistency it was supposed to be.
It remained a drippy mess. And there were only minutes left before Finn going to arrive.
Shoving the pan off the burner, she called Gio. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey Rox—”
“How the hell do you make a sauce into a roux?”
“Well,” he said on a laugh. “It’s nice to hear from you, too. I’m guessing you’re on number five on the list?”
“Yes,” she grumbled.
He chuckled again. “I see it’s doing absolutely nothing for your patience.”
Friends since they were teens, Gio was more than used to Roxy’s brash nature. They’d weathered many a performance together over the years, which meant he knew how she could be and loved her for it anyway. She was also the first person he came out to, back when he was sure his strict and old-fashioned Italian parents would crucify him for being gay. Roxy had pepped-talked him for hours, assuring him that anyone who couldn’t see past his orientation was a waste of his time, family included. It had been bumpy at first, but now his parents adored him and Rog, even calling the pug they owned their grand-puppy.
This made them even in Roxy’s eyes. Even enough that she could call on him in times of crisis. Like now.
“Shut up. I don’t need patience right now. I need help.”
“Why do you have your panties in such a twist over it?” he asked. “If what you’re making isn’t working, just throw it out.”
“Because—” the doorbell rang. “—shit, never mind.”
“Is someone there?”
Roxy glanced over her shoulder as the door opened. “Gotta go!”
She’d just ended the call and tossed her phone on the counter when Finn appeared at the bottom of the steps. Despite her embarrassment over having destroyed what he’d come to eat, Roxy went to the landing, put a hand on her hip and glowered.
“That’s pretty ballsy, Mr. Finn. Letting yourself in like that.”
“Well, I do have a key, being property manager and all. And you can call me Hunter.”
Hunter. Roxy practiced the word in her mind. She’d been calling him Finn in her head since he’d answered the phone that way the day before. This felt like a small intimacy, even though it was nothing more than a name.
He ascended the steps, came into the kitchen and nodded in the direction of the stove. “What’s wrong with the sauce?”
She paused for a moment, caught up in what he looked like cleaned up. The T-shirt and jeans were gone, replaced by khakis and a black polo with a collar. It played a nice counterpoint to the sundress she’d chosen. He still hadn’t shaved though, and Roxy itched to feel those bristles under her palms.
He raised an eyebrow. Once again, he’d caught her staring. Fuck.
Trying to recover her dignity, Roxy gestured toward the pan. “I don’t know. It’s supposed to thicken somehow. And I think I overcooked the chicken. I didn’t want to give you salmonella poisoning or anything.”
He opened the pantry and produced a bag of flour. “You need to add this. That will thicken it.”
“Well, aren’t you just a fountain of knowledge.”
Hunter snickered. “I suppose I am.”
“I take back what I said about the salmonella poisoning.”
Hunter laughed harder, shaking his head. He found a whisk in a drawer Roxy was sure she’d checked and went to work on correcting her dinner. “Your biting sense of humor is entertaining as shit. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No one except my two gay best friends. But I’m sure they’d get a kick out of you saying so.”
“I imagine you’ve already told them about me?”
So smug. Roxy crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would I do that?”
His smile widened, but his eyes remained on the sauce he was quickly into making into exactly what the recipe pictured. “You’re, what? Twenty four years old?”
She paused, flustered by the strange line of questioning. “Why should I tell you? You haven’t told me how old you are.”
“Thirty two. So, am I wrong?”
The ease with which he answered gave her no sarcastic ground to stand on. “I’m twenty five.”
“And single. I’m sure they want t
o hear about every guy you meet.”
That wasn’t too far from the truth. Gio and Rog always hoped she would find her own happily ever after. But, still. “What makes you think I’m single?”
He paused his whisking and glanced over at her. “Are you not?”
Roxy crossed her arms tighter and looked at the floor. Her relationship status was the last thing she wanted to be reminded of right now.
“Sorry,” Hunter said. “It’s none of my business.”
She looked up. His jaw was tense, his expression stoic. “It’s ok,” she said, softened by his apology. “And I am. Single that is.”
He nodded. Continued his stirring. “Are you here because of a break up?”
“A break up?”
He shrugged. “Beautiful woman, sarcastic as fuck, in a house for a week by herself and saying she needed space. I assume some idiot realized he wasn’t man enough for you.”
Are you man enough for me?
She pushed the question away, but her skin flushed with warmth over the idea that he thought she was beautiful.
“No break up. Not unless you count losing a part in show getting broken up with.”
“You’re an actress,” he mused. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Talking to Hunter was like being the ball in a tennis match, hopping from side to side, constantly losing your footing as you went from compliments to insults. He reached into a cabinet for two plates, then served what now was perfectly seared chicken.
“It doesn’t mean anything, except that you probably have a chef at home. I’m guessing you would’ve thrown this dinner out, if it weren’t good enough for you. I bet you’re not even allowed to eat overcooked meat.”
Roxy nearly stamped her foot in indignation. “I can eat whatever I want. And I do not have a chef.”
Hunter poured sauce over the chicken and shrugged once again. “I used to.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly. “Really?”
“Don’t act so surprised.” He placed the empty pan on the stovetop and picked up the plates. “I’ll tell you over dinner. Are you coming?”
Taming Sugar Page 3