Finn clenched his jaw. The way his crappy luck was heading, that glass would be empty before the night was over.
Lauren stood under the warm shower spray and let the water wash away the last of her frustration. Clarisse Bidwell might be one of the most sought-after photographers in the biz, but Lauren was pretty sure she had horns growing under all that badly tinted hair of hers.
“Perfect” wasn’t a word the woman used because she was happy; it was her signature you’re a fucking moron phrase, and if Lauren had to hear it one more time today she was seriously going to throw something. What should have been a three-hour shoot had dragged on to nearly eight and now all she wanted to do was drop into bed and sleep for the next three days.
Of course, that wasn’t about to happen. They were off to some hidden waterfall tomorrow to—with any luck—finish the shoot, and if trekking into the jungle in sweltering heat wasn’t enough to push her mood to the dark side, she still had Tierney to deal with. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway?
Temper back to bubbling, Lauren lifted her face to the spray, tried to cool down all over again. She didn’t need a bodyguard, dammit. She’d been on hundreds of shoots without one before, and she’d never gotten more than a scratch as a result. The only reason she had one now was because her brother Pete had turned into some overprotective brute when he’d heard she’d agreed to this spread for Sports Monthly magazine and the shoot location of Acapulco. The news reports of drug-related gang violence in the area tossed his rational side right out the window. He’d ranted. She’d had no choice but to close her mouth and accept. The clincher to the whole thing, though, was that he’d chosen Finn Tierney to be the one to tag along with her on this gig.
Finn Tierney. God, Almighty. Her skin grew hot beneath the spray as the name revolved in her mind. If her brother had any idea how many times over the last few months she’d fantasized about the sexy Irishman—and just what she’d fantasized—he’d have made sure the man didn’t come within a continent’s reach of her.
She took a deep breath, let it out. Tonight was the night. While her plan hadn’t exactly panned out like she’d wanted, all wasn’t lost. She was gettinhim. The looks, the oil, the rubbing, the heat . . . he didn’t like seeing her with someone else. He didn’t like it at all.
The wild attraction they’d been flirting with, fighting, or just plain ignoring the past week—the past few months, really—had gone unchecked way too long. The shoot was almost over. After tomorrow she didn’t know when she might see him again. If she didn’t make a move now, she might never have the chance.
She flipped off the water, opened the glass door and reached for the hotel’s fuzzy white towel while her stomach jumped around like she was thirteen again, anticipating her first middle school dance. After drying off, she slipped into a white silk robe, used the towel to shake the water from her hair and rubbed moisturizer onto her face.
Gazing at her reflection, she took a deep breath. She wasn’t stupid. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. This wasn’t a mistake. It was . . . inevitable. The key was getting him to admit it. Or, rather, to act.
A rap sounded at the door. Her heart jumped as she whipped around.
“Open up,” Tierney called in that sexy Irish voice that did insane things to her libido.
Seductive, she reminded herself as she took one more deep breath. Keep it smooth. Make it hot.
She barely had the door open before he pushed his way inside. “Where the hell is Hedley? He’s supposed to be outside your door.”
Lauren stepped back as he turned and cast her a withering glare. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on down at the beach—black tee stretched across an impressive set of pecs, faded Levi’s, white at the stress points, and Doc Marten boots he had to be sweating in. And he didn’t look the least bit happy with her summons.
His masculine eyebrows were pulled tight across his forehead, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes as dark as she’d ever seen them. Finn Tierney would never be considered classically handsome, she realized as she studied him. Not with that angled scar near his left eyebrow and another across his chin. His features were too chiseled, his mood too intense. But he was definitely striking. And he commandeered all attention when he walked into a room. Especially hers.
“I sent him with Moira to check out the location for tomorrow,” she said, closing the door.
“You did what?”
That Irish accent was really gonna do her in. And when he was pissed—like now—it came out even thicker. A tingle ran down her spine, her stomach tightened. Shards of heat ricocheted through her body. “Clarisse might think the waterfall location is hunky-dory, but I want my camp to give it the thumbs-up before I head all the way out there. I’m not breaking my neck for a stupid magazine. And I wasn’t about to send Moira out there alone.”
He eyed her as if he didn’t like her calling the shots, but on this she wouldn’t budge. Wicked attraction aside, this was her domain, and he didn’t tell her how to run the show.
His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched. “Fine. I’ll wait outside until they get back.” He glanced at his watch. “How long have they been gone?”
Her heart skipped a beat, knowing she had him all to herself. It was now or never. She took a step toward him, and tried to calm her racing pulse. “Actually, I was thinking about dinner. Room service here is pretty good.”
His eyes slowly lifted from his wrist and a skeptical look passed over his hard features. “Who’s joining you?”“No one. I mean, well, no one but you.”
His eyebrows drew together, deepening the scar on the left side of his forehead. “Did the sun bake yer brain or something?”
One corner of Lauren’s mouth curled up, but the lack of humor in his expression had perspiration dotting her spine. Those nerves came back full force. What would he say if she confessed that this was the first time she’d had to make the first move in, well, years? She hated the fact men fell all over her, and the ones who finally got up the nerve to ask her out in the end only wanted a piece of her fame or celebrity or ass. Finn hadn’t once fawned over her, hadn’t flirted or cajoled or made even one suggestive comment. And her sixth sense told her he gave a rip about celebrity status. But that only made him more appealing. That and the fact he was the hottest thing she’d seen in months made him irresistible.
“I just thought maybe we could have dinner together.”
When he didn’t answer, just looked at her with that skeptical expression and those impossible-to-read eyes, she took a deep breath.
Now or never.
She eased forward, closing the gap between them to a mere six inches. Warmth radiated from his skin, infusing her body and giving her the courage she needed. “I’ve seen how you watch me.”
“It’s my job to watch you.”
He didn’t step back, and she took that as a sign to keep going. “There’s watching and then there’s watching. I’ve seen you do the first at my brother’s gallery.” She glanced at his bicep, as thick as her thigh, and was reminded how strong he was and just what his job entailed. “Nothing gets by you, I’ll give you that. But that’s not the kind of watching you do when I’m around. The watching you do with me, the second kind, it’s different. There’s heat there. Smoldering heat.”
She looked up into his eyes, into black pools of obsidian as dark as night, and felt her blood warm like it did every time they were close. “Erotic heat I can feel all the way across a room. The kind that needs just the slightest spark to turn into a full-blown blaze.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away, and the pulse in his neck picked up, beating like wildfire beneath his skin, matching her own. No, he wouldn’t make the first move because she was his job and he was a man who followed duty and service to the letter. If she wanted this, she had to be the one to take the lead.
“I’d like you to stay and have dinner with me tonight, Finn.” She reached out, pressed her hand against his rock-hard chest. Warm
th gathered beneath her fingers. He tensed, but she didn’t let that deter her. Easing up on her toes, she brought her mouth close to his, loving the way he felt against her hand, her body, anywhere she touched him. “And after—or before—perhaps a little more.”
The tips of her breasts brushed his chest, sending tingling sensations straight to her center. As far as seductions went, she knew she wasn’t a pro. Sure, she looked good on film, but this was real life and she was way out of practice. But she didn’t let that dissuade her. Slowly, carefully, she brushed her lips against his, once, twice, as light as a feather.
He sucked in a breath, but didn’t move. Didn’t kiss her back. He just stood there, frozen.
A thread of anxiety pressed in. “Kiss me, Finn.”
Her lips brushed his again. He continued to stand as still as stone. He didn’t push away, but didn’t join in. Feeling like an idiot, Lauren eased down to her feet, tried to read the reaction in his eyes but couldn’t. He stared at her as if she had three heads.
Her confidence wavered. She sensed the conflict in him. He wanted her, dammit. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it. It was time to pull out the big guns.
Now or never.
Her hand dropped to the sash on her robe. She tugged until the knot came free and the edges fell open, exposing a long naked line down the center of her chest to her abdomen and lower. “Maybe we should move right to dessert first.”
“Don’t.” His hand closed around hers like a vise. “Don’t go where yer about to go, Ms. Kauffman.”
Ms. Kauffman. Not Lauren, like she wanted. Not even babe or sweetheart or dollface like some men she’d dated had called her. She’d always hated those generic nicknames. Now, desperate as she was for even a shred of affection from him, she’d take even that.
“I know you’re interested,” she said. “You want me.”
“Yer not my type.”
His words pinched something in her chest, but she ignored it. The way he was watching her, the way he couldn’t seem to look away, that belied whatever excuse he wanted to throw at her. That was what she needed to focus on.
She drew a deep whiff, pulled his scent into her lungs. God, he smelled good. Like musk and citrus and something spicy that set off an ache low in her belly. She moved a half step closer. “This isn’t about type. You’re not my usual type either, but I still want you.”
His eyes hardened, and his grip tightened until a slice of pain shot up her fingers. “I’m not yer latest boy toy, Ms. Kauffman. But even if I was, yer too skinny for my taste. I like my women to look like women, not teenaged boys.”
Her head snapped back, almost as if he’d hit her. He couldn’t know it, but he’d just touched on her biggest insecurity.
She told herself not to lose her cool. He was interested. She hadn’t misread the signs. For whatever reason, he wanted her to think he wasn’t. Maybe because she’d yelled at him out on the beach. Macho tough guys never much liked it when a woman had brains and attitude and didn’t put up with their crap.
Her temper resurfaced. “Fine. If we’re not staying in, then I’m going out. Seeing as how you’re my bodyguard, I suppose that means you’ll be tagging along.”
She turned away and headed back toward the bathroom, reaching for her cell phone on the table as she moved. She resisted the urge to pull her robe tight. Let him see what he was missing. She might be thin, but she had a body worth millions. And if he was too afraid to take a chance with her . . . well, two could suffer just as easily as one. “Be ready to go in an hour, Tierney.”
She didn’t wait for his response. She flipped the phone open, dialed, lifted it to her ear and said, “Javier? My headache mysteriously disappeared. Yeah, Palladium sounds fabulous.”
CHAPTER 2
The pounding bass gave Finn a fucking headache. The pulsing strobe lights messed with his equilibrium. But it was the woman out on Palladium’s dance floor, bumping and grinding and flirting with every shithead in the overcrowded club that grated on Finn’s last nerve.
Spring break was in full swing in Acapulco and the college crowd was packed to the rafters in the trendy nightclub perched high on a hill over the raging Pacific. Finn stayed on the edge of the dance floor, close enough to make a grab for Lauren if he had to, but far enough in the background to blend in. She was a celebrity in a meat market. Guys circled her like vultures. And every minute that passed—every elbow he took to the ribs and every steroid-enhanced moron who stepped on his feet—only jacked his badass mood higher.
Man, he was way too damn old for this scene.
Lauren threw her head back and laughed at something Santiago said. The dickwad grabbed her hand, pulled her close and dipped her on the dance floor. From his spot, Finn watched her golden hair flare out around her shoulders, her teeth sparkle and her eyes dance with mischief. He remembered the way she’d looked in her hotel suite earlier. The proposition that had been in her sweet baby blues. As Santiago’s arm slid around her waist and she rubbed up against him, Finn clenched his jaw and told himself enough was enough. This wasn’t about what had almost happened between them. It was about doing his job and keeping her fucking safe.
He crossed the dance floor, muscling his way between sweaty bodies. He should be nursing a beer in the hotel bar, kicked back watching Sports Center and blowing off steam from the shitty day. Better yet, he should be sound asleep in his room, locked away from temptation and the really bad move he was about to make.
The song ended. Lauren laughed again, eased back from Santiago. As her arm came down, Finn reached in and snagged her by the wrist.
“Hey! What do you—?”
“I need to talk to you.”
He gave her points for resisting his tug, but the three-inch heels and the damn miniskirt that showed way too much leg for his taste made it impossible for her to resist for long. He dragged her across the room, through the grinding bodies to a hallway that led to a series of bathrooms. The music wasn’t quite as loud here, but the walls still vibrated and bodies littered the corridor in groups of twos and threes.
This wasn’t going to work.
He looked right and left, picked out a darkened door that looked like access to a set of stairs. Pushing it open with his shoulder, he pulled Lauren through with him. The door snapped shut behind them, muffling the music and pulsing bass. Stairs curved up and out of sight. He dragged Lauren in that direction, out of the chaos and up to the first landing, where he pushed her back against the wall, trapping her between himself and the cool stones.
“What gives you the right to—?”
“Are you trying to get yourself raped?”
Fire flashed in her eyes. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
“What the hell kind of dancing was that?”
“It’s not your job to critique my dancing.” She pushed a hand against his chest. Shoved hard. Didn’t come close to budging him. “Your job is simply to stand on the sidelines and watch, like a good little boy.”
“I know exactly what my job is.” The woman was like a tick that he just couldn’t get rid of. He should really step back. He was way too close to the edge and there was something about her that set him off. But instead he shifted forward, pressing into her hand and closing the gap between them. “My job is to stay close to you, Ms. Kauffman. That’s what I’m doing.
Her long fingers and slim palm pushed against his chest again, which didn’t do anything but warm the skin beneath his black rayon buttondown. “I don’t want you close to me.”
“That’s not what you said a few hours ago.”
“A few hours ago I was obviously delirious from the sun, as you oh-so eloquently pointed out. Now back off.”
“Why? So you can go back out there and rub up against some other guy? I don’t think so.” He moved even closer, until the heat from her hot little body joined with the floral scent of her shampoo or perfume or whatever the hell it was to make him lightheaded.
She lifted her chin, but the tough-girl shie
ld wavered. Her blue eyes settled on his, dropped to his lips. Those long fingers of hers curled into his shirt to tangle tight in the fabric. “I don’t like being pushed around.”
“That makes two of us,” he said. “And I’ve had enough of you flaunting your assets for every dick in this bar.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Bullshit.” Common sense told him he was heading into no-man’s-land where only bad things happened. But instead of listening to those good ol’ instincts that had kept him alive for thirty-five years, he braced a hand against the wall and leaned toward her mouth. “You want to get felt up in the middle of a club? Fine. We’ll do it right here.”
Her eyes shot back to his. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I? This is what you said you wanted, isn’t it? In yer suite? So come on with it. Let’s get busy. I’m ready right now.”
She drew two quick breaths, a woman not quite as confident as she’d been moments before, which was just what he wanted. “I—I changed my mind.”
He stared at her lips, millimeters from his own, and debated. Thanks to her little proposition earlier in the day, he now knew how soft and lush and perfect those lips were. How they felt against his. What kind of fire brewed inside her. And now—as it had been then—it was all he could do not to dive in and let go.
But he wouldn’t. Because he was smart enough to know one taste wouldn’t be enough. Not with her. Before he could change his mind, he moved back an inch. “I thought so.”
Challenge flared in her eyes a split second before her hand shifted from his chest to the back of his neck. She pulled hard. Before he realized what she was doing, her mouth was on his.
Something snapped in his brain, pushed all rational thought to the wayside. Instead of pulling back, instead of telling her the night was over and driving her back to her hotel, he let her kiss him. He let her pull him into her touch, let her slide her tongue into his mouth. Let her take whatever she wanted.
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