Finn (All In Book 1)

by Liz Meldon

  Taking another sip of wine, so dark it might as well have been plum, she left the library behind and strolled down a hallway lit by a smattering of wall-mounted fixtures, styled to look like Victorian oil lamps. Her wedges clicked softly on the tile, off-white etched with streaks of grey, and she contemplated heading down to the beach to escape the whole thing. When Cole was ready to go, he could come find her, damn it.

  Just as she rounded the corner, however, two bodies slammed into her—seemingly out of nowhere. She staggered back and tried desperately to hold her drink away from her dress, but the damage was done. Lukewarm liquid seeped through the fabric, right to her skin, dribbling down her neck, over her chest, and into her black lingerie.

  The offenders, two female twenty-somethings with glazed eyes and flushed cheeks, skipped off in a fit of giggles, their hair the definition of bed head and their feet bare. And not an apology to be seen.

  “What the fuck…” Skye stood there, half a glass of red wine staining Cole’s gift, and couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Clearly the pair were drunk as skunks, but why hadn’t she heard them coming? Had she been so lost in her own head, thinking about Cole, that her brain had ignored the impending danger? Worrying, if that was the case. Mouth pinched, she stared down at herself: she looked like a gunshot victim. “Fucking fuck fuck.”

  “If you just stand there staring and cursing like a sailor, it’s going to set. If we act now, we can salvage it.”

  “W-What…” Skye whirled around to find a man charging down the hall toward her—the kind of man she assumed only lived on film and in romance novels. Tall, muscular, his olive skin paired with startlingly dark eyes, like he’d gone straight from the Mediterranean to the runway. He wore a fitted grey suit sans tie, bow or otherwise, the top of that white button-down popped open, black dress shoes that clicked curtly with every step—and an expression suggesting she had committed a cardinal sin in front of the Pope.

  “I knew this would happen,” he muttered in a rather posh English accent, the kind that made her toes curl in a way that Cole’s didn’t. “As soon as I saw the red wine, I knew there’d be a casualty tonight.”

  He strode right into her personal space and plucked the wine glass from her hand, then set it on top of a nearby wall lamp. Skye stiffened when he turned his attention to the soiled fabric of her dress, tsking under his breath as he picked at it, towering over her by a good half foot or so.

  “Uh, okay, who the hell are you?” She took a few much-needed steps back, her heart racing for a myriad of reasons. Never in her life had desire slapped her so hard across the face within ten seconds of meeting a man. Sure, she could acknowledge gorgeous men—beach towns like Coral Bay in coastal California were full of them, and not just the rich kind like Cole—but this was unfamiliar territory. He’d stolen her breath away—and all he’d done was chastise her and complain about the host serving red wine.

  What on earth was happening to her? Although she’d downed a few glasses of champagne and a bit of the red wine, she wasn’t that drunk.

  “Finn,” he said curtly, like she ought to already know his name. “Come on. Let’s try to save this while we can.”

  “Do you have some personal investment in my dress?” She tried not to sound snippy as he stalked away, but the presumption that she would just follow him, the guy lecturing her about red wine stains, blew her mind. He slowed as she added, “Did you design it or something?”

  “I always think it’s a shame to see beauty marred,” he told her, marching back and snatching her hand. The physical contact sparked a blaze, one whose flames crept up Skye’s arm and engulfed her body like a wildfire. As she grappled with the surge of desire, the instant connection, Finn half led, half tugged her down the hall, step by step, and over his shoulder, lips curved in a sinful smirk, said, “And when we’ve sorted out the dress, we’ll see what we can do about cleaning up the rest of you.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, both impressed and surprised at his nerve, and she debated between yanking her hand free and storming off, just to teach him a lesson, and seeing where this bold, impulsive man would lead her.

  In the end, Skye chose the latter after checking her phone and finding nothing from Cole.

  Because she was covered in wine and had nothing else to do—so why not?

  Finn guided her through the huge villa like he had intimate knowledge of the place, taking her down halls, up stairs, and across balconies, finally stopping in a bathroom with one of those rainstorm showers where the spray came from above. Oh, and a jacuzzi tub, and a set of double sinks sunk down in sparkling granite countertop. Given how ostentatious every other room in the house appeared, it shouldn’t surprise her that the bathroom would be first-rate too.

  “Dress off,” he ordered briskly, crouching down and opening one of the little doors under the sink. Slowly, hesitantly, Skye complied with the request, then held the garment out to him. When he straightened up, his eyes flickered down to her chest, then southward, his lips slightly parted. A soft clearing of her throat brought him back to her face, though the pinched look of annoyance was gone, replaced instead with a flush of dark desire splayed plainly across his features.

  Well done, lingerie. It’d had the intended effect—just on the wrong man.

  Or maybe not. Given that Cole had never looked at her like he wanted to eat her up—or out—maybe Finn was the exact person she was supposed to use this getup on, especially after her confidence faceplant with tonight’s earlier letdown.

  “Take this,” Finn told her, voice gruff as he shoved a white towel in her direction. “Then blot out the wine while I get the rest of what we need.”

  She hastily shuffled out of the way as he brushed by her—and shot straight out the door like someone had a gun to his head. The towel he had given her was way too luxurious to be used on wine mopping, but everything in the spotless bathroom was too good for cleaning, so Skye worked with what she had.

  Frowning, she laid her dress out on the counter and tried to soak up what she could. A quick glance in the mirror showed her heaving cleavage, made spectacular by the lacey black push-up with a cute little satin bow between her full breasts. Her coppery red waves fell over one shoulder, and while still clearly styled, they appeared feathered now, like someone had combed their fingers through them. Her brown eyes wandered lower, pleased with the way the garter belt cinched snug around her high waist, the straps that connected down to her stockings pressing just enough into her skin that there would be a faint mark. Her panties, thank goodness, hadn’t been bunched when Finn gave her that sensual once-over.

  All in all, she looked positively fuckable.

  Given her near nonexistent romantic life over the last sugar daddy’d years, it was about damn time she looked this good. Skye threw her shoulders back, ruby-red lips twisted into a coy smile, and continued to rub at the red wine stain—which didn’t seem to want to disappear anytime soon.

  “Blot!” Finn’s thunderous proclamation from the doorway made her jump, and he rushed forward with the rest of his supplies in hand like a doctor beelining for a crashing patient. “You have to blot, not rub! Are you insane?”

  “No,” she said slowly, stepping aside with crossed arms when he snatched the towel away from her, “but I’m starting to think you are.”

  He chuckled, the sound skittering across her skin and shooting straight to her sex, as he dabbed the towel across the dress. “Flatterer.”

  Skye watched, perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, what could very well be a lunatic dab, dab, dab at her dress until the towel had soaked up a good deal of the wine. He then grabbed an empty glass bowl and set the faintly pink fabric across it, pulled it taut, and coated every inch of stain with salt. After, he ducked out of the bathroom, only to return moments later with a kettle—the same electric kettle she had at home, actually.

  “Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” she said, biting back laughter. “Who does this?”

  “A man who was once a very
, very, very messy boy,” Finn told her as he poured steaming hot water over the dress. Moments later, the salt was gone—as was most of the stain. When he straightened, a triumphant grin on his lips, she offered a round of genteel applause, tapping her fingertips together.

  “Bravo. Looks just like new.”

  “Nearly.” Setting his equipment aside, he wrung out the dress—gently, with more care than she had ever seen a man handle an article of clothing with before—and then passed it off to the loitering woman in a maid’s costume in the doorway. Skye blushed; she hadn’t even realized they weren’t alone.

  “Uh, hold on—”

  “We’ll get it washed and dried before you leave. One hour, at the most,” Finn told her, closing the door after thanking the other woman. And like that, her dress was gone, disappearing in the arms of a stranger—just as Skye had.

  “You didn’t have to do any of this, you know.” She bit her lower lip as his wandering gaze burned a trail of intense interest across her skin. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Finn shrugged.

  “What can I say? I’m a giver.” He chuckled again, and she felt herself clench—that husky voice paired with that accent. Ugh. Exquisite.

  “Well, thank you. You’ve saved me a hefty dry-cleaning bill.”

  “I aim to please. Now…” Finn’s gaze wandered the bathroom before landing on her with the focus of a predatory cat’s. “Whatever shall we do to keep ourselves occupied in the meantime?”

  Skye pursed her lips as she sat on the rim of the bathtub, the cool porcelain paired with his lusty stare igniting a rush of goosebumps just about everywhere.

  “I’m not going back out there like this.”

  “No?” He tsked again. “But you’re so dressed for the occasion. You’d be a hit, I’m sure.”

  “No thank you.” The thought of touching any of those people in the orgy downstairs also made her shiver—with distaste. Finn, on the other hand… Skye could most definitely touch Finn.

  “Then I suppose it will be my honor to keep you entertained right down to the last second.” He crossed the bathroom and sat a few feet from her on the edge of the tub, his dark stare holding hers unflinchingly. “Can I tell you what I’d like to do?”

  Skye almost laughed; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

  “Shoot.”

  “I’d like to lick every last drop of red wine off that ivory skin of yours,” he rumbled, leaning in slightly as her heartbeat quickened. “I’d like to trace every freckle. Explore every curve.” Finn caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, edging her toward him. “And I’d like to see if you taste as divine as I think you will…”

  4

  Emotional Oomph

  In that moment, all Skye wanted was to croon something sexy back at him in an equally seductive tone. Hell, she was dressed for this production—she looked the part, and now she just had to say the lines.

  A horrific sort of barking laugh crawled up her throat and exploded in his face instead. Mortified, Skye pulled away and pressed her hands to her steadily reddening cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Finn said, clearing his throat. He might have seemed put-together, but there was a flicker of faltering confidence—shown in the slight twitch of his cheek—that told Skye her rejection had stung. “Clearly I read the room wrong.”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” she insisted, surprised at herself. “It’s just… Men don’t ever really talk to me like that. I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t… Yeah.”

  She braced for a snide comment and a storm out, but instead found Finn studying her with a renewed interest, and while he didn’t inch toward her, something in his eyes had gone back to drawing her in.

  “Well, men should say things like that to you.” He grinned. “Because you’re stunning…” Dark lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly, as if thrown off by something. “And I now realize I don’t even know your name.”

  “Would it matter if you did?”

  “Not ordinarily,” he replied smoothly, “but in this particular instance, I think yes. In this instance, I very much want to know your name.”

  “Well, how fucking blessed am I?” Clearly a playboy. Clearly used to getting his way. She couldn’t fathom why he wasn’t downstairs being King of the Orgy.

  “Look, no, I’m sorry,” Finn scrambled when she stood up. Although Skye had no intention of storming out, she liked seeing him squirm a little. He waited until she sat back down, her arms crossed, then sighed. “Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “Hi, my name’s Finn and I’d like to lick wine off your body.”

  She snorted, and, after a brief hesitation, grasped his hand. “Skye.”

  “Beautiful.”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “Now, let’s talk facts,” Finn said, crossing one leg over the other and resting his elbow on his knee, chin on his fist. “First, you are at a sex party. Second, you are dressed like a Christmas present I want to unwrap. Third, I’m charming as the day is long—”

  “Not as charming as you think.” She raised an eyebrow at him, enjoying the challenge. “Just because I’m dressed a certain way doesn’t mean you can make assumptions about me.”

  “No, I suppose not. I’d still like to ravish you, if I could.”

  “And if I say no? Will I never see my dress again?”

  “Of course you’ll see it again. I don’t take hostages.”

  “Will I get kicked out of this den of sin?”

  “Not by me.”

  “Will you stomp out of here and call me a bitch?”

  “Never.” He paired his response with an appropriately disgusted look, one that Skye read as genuine. “Tell me your reservations. Is it me? Do I not stoke the embers of your burning loins?”

  “Gross,” she said, laughing.

  “Are you here with someone?” She faltered, and Finn leaned back with a knowing nod. “I should have guessed someone so striking would already be taken.”

  “We’re not…” She licked her lips. How could she categorize her relationship with Cole? She and her sugar daddy had never been romantic, even if the feelings, for her, were there. They were friends with mutual, nonsexual benefits. Skye swallowed hard. “It’s complicated.”

  “Ah.” Finn’s eyes narrowed slightly, like a psychologist assessing her from the other side of the couch. “And would you rather he and I switch places, with he the one wanting to taste you all over?” Her cheeks warmed again, almost to the point of pain, and Finn chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Even if that was true, Skye didn’t hate the fact that Finn was here either. “How does that make you feel?”

  “A bit wounded.” He placed a hand to his heart. “But I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

  “Then maybe that’s my advice to you. Take care of yourself.”

  He inhaled sharply, lips twisting into a wicked smile. “Oh, I like you, Miss Skye. Very much.”

  There it was again—that fire. It crackled across her skin, leaving her hot and flushed and desperate to fan herself down. Instead, she folded her hands together and tried to maintain this unexpected air of cocky nonchalance.

  “You know, even if I were interested in your offer,” she started, adding a one-shouldered shrug for effect, “and I’m not one hundred percent saying I’m not—but if I were, I’d need a little more from you.”

  “Saving your dress wasn’t enough?”

  “I need a backstory,” she told him. “I need to feel invested in you as a character. I need a bit of oomph to get going.”

  “Emotional oomph?”

  “Emotional oomph.” She gestured between them. “I need to feel like I kind of know you, at least. Just a little bit of connection.”

  “Mental oomph too, then.”

  “I guess you could call it that.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Skye.”

  She tried to come up with a quip on the fly using the
word hard, but couldn’t. Instead, she just shrugged again and offered a demure fluttering of her lashes. “I guess so. Those are my terms.”

  “I can’t just be a man in a good suit who wants to fuck you?”

  While longing throbbed through her entire body, Skye managed to shake her head. “What happened to just wanting a taste? You’ve really upped the ante here.”

  “What can I say? Witty banter does it for me.”

  She looked away, lips pressed together, not wanting him to see just how much of an effect he had on her. Witty banter apparently did it for her too.

  All these years with a sugar daddy, she had been too busy getting on with her life finally, too busy taking care of herself at last, to consider dating or sleeping with anyone. For the most part, Cole kept her busy enough that her emotional needs were met—even if they didn’t see each other in person as often as Skye would have liked, they spoke on the phone or through video chat at minimum once a week—but she had suppressed her physical needs for a long time now. There was nothing in their contract that said she couldn’t be intimate with another man; she just couldn’t parade him around in front of the press afterward. Nor should she choose someone who might sell their dirty secret to the highest bidder the next morning. Skye did a quick scan of the man in front of her. For some reason, she felt like she could trust him.

  Maybe Finn was just the man to quench her thirst, to break the dry spell—to make her scream.

  A chill sprinted down her body, reverberating across her sex and settling on her sensitive bud, eager for the caress of those strong hands.

  Why not?

  It was just sex.

  “Okay, backstory,” she said a little breathlessly. “Name. Age. Height. Some fun facts. Go.”

  Any other guy would have hightailed it out of there by now. Actually, any other guy would have offered a vaguely sympathetic “that sucks” at the sight of her covered in wine, then darted after the two drunk, scantily clad women who had almost ruined her night.