by Jean Oram
But Finn wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to climb to the top and hang in there for as long as he could. He had too many changes he’d vowed to make in the neighborhood where he grew up. Once he fulfilled those promises, then he could fall from grace. Then he could let Derek give him that little bonus bump before vanishing into obscurity, his bank account bursting. His promises and family taken care of.
Finn studied his little shadow with the wild curly hair. She had to be more than a nature photographer which was what he’d first suspected since tourists didn’t walk around with that kind of equipment slung over their shoulder. And she wasn’t taking pictures of the stunning woods and water scenery that surrounded them. No, this girl was a serious photographer. The problem was, he’d yet to see her take a single shot of anything.
He shook his head, phone still clutched to his ear. It didn’t matter who she was. It mattered who she would become.
He stepped out from under a green and white striped awning, wishing for some crazy drunken revelry he could crash. It was their Canada Day long weekend, which should mean party time, but he hadn’t come across a single party to dig into. They were having cake.
Politicians, who nobody had heard of, were cutting cake and taking complaints about garbage pickup. Kids eating cotton candy, with red maple leaves fake tattooed on their cheeks. No floozies in short skirts. No drugs. No booze. Just beautiful nature and a sleepy town sandwiched between rocks, trees, and water. A bunch of kind, warm-hearted people doing lovely, family-oriented things.
No wonder Derek wanted to hold his hand through all of this. Finn had come to familyland for his vacation, not bad-boy nirvana. His cottage might be crazy expensive, but he was having a hell of a time finding temptation.
He “uh-huhed” into his phone as his agent rambled on about his image. Running a hand through his hair, Finian shook off the light drops of rain. Only a cloud or two remained in the sky. Nothing to spoil the face painting.
“I’ll get a flight out of here soon if I can’t scare up some stories, but I think I might be onto something,” he promised just before he pocketed his cell, the devil on his shoulder drumming up a plan to get him in the tabloids.
If he couldn’t get this gal following him to take shots on her own and sell them, then maybe they could collaborate. Stars did it with paparazzi all the time. He could have his quiet vacation and still stay in the tabloids.
He changed course suddenly, heading to the first bar he saw. The woman with the windswept hair noted his movements and followed.
Gotcha again.
He reached the steps to the bar, planning to go inside, have five rye and Cokes in quick succession, and see what Canada had in store for a drunken celebrity early in the afternoon. A throng of people suddenly surrounded him, cameras raised. He flinched, adrenaline surging through his veins. Holy hell. Where had they come from and how had they trapped him so quickly? They’d slipped out of the bush like moose or mice or something.
He shook off the fear and gave the crowd a crooked grin, knowing his two-day stubble was making his blue eyes sparkle in contrast.
Finn waited. Nobody snapped a photo. What the hell? Had he stunned them all with his craggy good looks?
“Uh…” He held open the screen door, making an ushering motion so the crowd could enter the bar. “Going in?”
“Are you Finian Alexander?” asked a teenager.
“Yup.”
“Can we take your photo?” asked a breathless granny, a camera clutched to her ample chest.
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. What the heck was up with these people? They appeared out nowhere, pressed in on him, all eerie and silent, and then asked if they could take photos? Didn’t they realize his fame had put him in the public domain, and they could take a shot of him taking a crap in the woods and he wouldn’t have a case for them invading his privacy?
They lined up like obedient kindergarteners, making room for each other, polite and quiet. His nature-nut shadow wove through the group, her hair still in knots, her face buried behind her phone. She glanced at him with dazzling eyes that took his breath away, then frowned at her phone again as she came up the steps to where he was holding the door. She apologized to someone nearby, although he couldn’t figure out why.
Finn gave her a little bow and smile as she met him on the landing, and shot her a wink. She blushed and looked away. So very cute.
He began envisioning ways he could woo her. Have a little affair, wrap her around his finger so he could break up the boredom of this peacefulness. They could collaborate, or if that didn’t work, he’d get her to betray him by releasing a story of how he was a jerky badass. Somehow he’d find a way to get her to spin a story of his making, which would hit the rags and thrust him into the limelight. Just in time for his upcoming summer blockbuster release.
He shot her a massive grin as she moved through the doorway, and gave her a playful tap on the butt. Her eyes grew wide and she took a quick, unsteady sidestep before making it into the dimly lit bar.
Easy bait.
Plus she looked like she needed a drink. Even easier.
Finn shook his head and followed her inside. She looked so serious he wanted to pry her open, expose her to fun and make her smile.
Preferably while naked.
Yep. This vacation was about to get a whole lot more promising.
* * *
Finn followed the woman through the bar, ignoring the rough floorboards under his sandals as he watched her narrow hips sway. There was something about her beanpole body that did strange things to his mind. He wanted to bend her around him. Feel those long limbs. Skin to skin.
He gave himself a shake. Booty call later. Right now he had to friend her, draw out her photography skills, plant the idea that she could, and should, sell photos of him and get rich. Everyone wanted money.
He paused. This region, Muskoka, was a summer playground for the rich. Did that mean she was wealthy? Was that why she wasn’t snapping photos of him? She was an heiress to a multibillion-dollar company, and didn’t need to sell photos of the rich and famous because she was one of them?
If so, then he’d take the fame angle. Who wouldn’t want the prestige of selling an exclusive photo for thousands of dollars? He took another look at her swaying hips. Her jean shorts were faded white in the butt. They were a tad past “fashionable” and heading toward worn-out. Her sandals looked as though they should have been replaced a few seasons ago.
Hmm. Maybe not an heiress, then. Which meant he could likely sell her on fame and money. He grinned. This was too easy.
She turned suddenly, and Finn almost ran into her. “Whoa there.” He grabbed her elbows, his eyes meeting hers as he moved into her space, barely avoiding knocking her down. Mmm. She smelled nice. Outdoorsy. Fresh. Like rain and apple pie.
He glanced at her hands, looking for the coffee she’d had earlier, and found his eyes stuck on the cleavage exposed by her low-cut tank top.
Her knees buckled slightly as he leaned toward her heat, and her face paled.
What could he say? He had that effect on women. Although the pale face was odd. Usually they flushed. He glanced past her and realized he’d followed her—entranced by her sweet, worn-out butt—straight into a corner. There was no excuse for having followed her this closely. For cornering her. For holding her so close. For ogling her chest.
He gave her a dazzling smile. “Sorry, thought you were my sister.”
“You don’t have a sister,” she breathed. She blinked, eyes wide, catching herself.
Hot damn. She knew who he was. After days of being practically anonymous, he found it refreshing. A relief. Scratch that; it was sexy. Damn sexy.
“How do you know?” he asked with a grin.
“You’re a horrible liar.” She pushed him away, but he held on tight.
“What do you mean? I’m a fantastic liar. I get paid big money to lie every day.”
“To lie?” She crossed her arms in the sliver of space between th
em, eyebrow raised, her camera bag’s strap digging a swath into her shoulder’s skin.
She was challenging him. How interesting. He propped a hand on the wall beside her head, leaning close. Her eyes narrowed as he trapped her. Oh, this was fun. He’d forgotten how much fun a challenge was. He’d gotten used to women dropping their panties as soon as he shot them the right flavor of grin.
Time to pour it on.
He dropped his voice so it was low, gravelly. “Wouldn’t you like that?”
“What?”
He ran a finger down the side of her jaw and watched, mesmerized, as her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing stuttered. “To pretend to be someone else. Pretend to be mine for the night. Hot for me to touch you in ways that will make you pant.”
He ran a fingertip over her bottom lip, closing in. Any second now she’d suck on his finger, pull him into the bathroom….
He didn’t expect the slap.
And he certainly didn’t expect someone as slight as her to be strong enough to leave him seeing white spots. Wow.
She hadn’t even hinted that she was going to move.
Her mouth dropped open in horror, before she clamped her hands over it. He watched as she wrestled with herself, her back pushed against the wall. If he played his cards right he’d bet his new BMW she’d get him ice for his cheek.
But there was something else behind her eyes. Something real. Something he’d forgotten.
Oh…right.
He was one of those big cocky jerks women hated.
His stomach churned and he reached out for her, to let her know he didn’t mean it. To show her he was actually a nice guy. A guy whose mother would beat him about the ears if she’d heard what he’d just said to a nice Canadian girl in a nice Canadian town on a nice Canadian holiday.
Instead, he watched as his wild-haired chick slipped past him, fire blazing in her eyes. Filled with longing and regret, Finn placed his palms on the wall and hung his head. He liked her already.
CHAPTER 2
Hailey handed the tax reassessment form to her sister Melanie, her hands still shaking from slapping Finian Alexander less than an hour ago. Why the hell had she done that? She didn’t slap people. But he’d just been so…sure of himself. Intense. Sexual. Cocky. Cornering her and expecting her to fall against his crotch. Women like her didn’t want jerks like him, and she’d hated the way her body had responded, singing and vibrating at his touch. Wanting him. Badly. Wanting—no craving—to know what his skin would feel like, bared and warm, against hers.
“Do you think we can get them to reassess it before this year’s bill is due?” Hailey asked.
Melanie’s eyebrows shot up. “Doubtful. Bureaucracy and all that, right? Did taxes go up?” She sifted through the forms laid out on her small round kitchen table, her long legs tucked underneath her. “How much is it?”
Hailey clutched the slender teacup, hoping to hide her shaking hands. “Don’t worry about it, I just think we’re being taxed too high. No point in paying out, only to have it handed back, right? Plus, I’m not sure they reassess retroactively.”
“Do you need money?”
“I’m just trying to save us on taxes. We need to fix the chimney and some other stuff.” She pulled the papers back toward her. Melanie had just graduated with her law degree and wasn’t making much money in her first job and had a ton of student loans. In a few years she would be in a position to help carry the burden, but not yet. Letting her know how bad things were would just stress her out, and she’d worry herself into another ulcer. Plus, she’d feel the need to help out and there was no way she could. Not this year.
Other than help find some loopholes that apparently weren’t there.
“I can look into it,” Melanie said, pouring another cup of tea out of the fine bone china teapot that had been their grandmother’s. The one who had somehow got their cottage and island as a gift from an obviously wealthy secret admirer. “But you know, Maya’s business degree might be more helpful in terms of ducking through the ins and outs of taxation, red tape, and bureaucracy.”
Hailey bit her bottom lip. Maya’s nickname, Snap, had been well earned. She made snap decisions which she tended to stick to stubbornly. Plus, she always wanted to wrestle control from Hailey. “I thought your law degree would be able to help us.”
“Seriously, you two need to stop competing and learn to work together.”
“We work together fine.”
Melanie rolled her eyes as if to say, Yeah, right. She handed back the forms and straightened the oversize shirt she insisted on hiding her strong build in ever since a summer crush had called her Sasquatch in the eleventh grade. “You can figure this all out. Just follow the red tape. I don’t see a way we can one-up the system.”
She smoothed down her curly hair and, reflexively, Hailey did the same, finding it knotted and wild from her early morning boat ride from a photo shoot she’d done of a family of loons near the cottage, followed by stalking Finian through the rainy alley.
The bar. She almost groaned. He’d seen her with demented hair. The one time she got to face her crush and she looked like a patient who had escaped from North Bay’s psychiatric wing.
“I’ll print off a few photos to send with the application to prove it isn’t a fancy place with enhancements.” Hailey stood, gathering the papers and wishing her sister would read between the lines, guess the troubles they were in, and help her figure out what to do. Hailey was tired of the secrets, the promises, the feeling of obligation and duty. Yet she was the one who had promised their mother she’d take care of the back taxes, not add to them. Nobody had asked her to remortgage her house to finance a photographic show that featured her artistic side, but had never panned out monetarily despite all the awards and accolades. In fact, nobody knew she’d remortgaged everything to keep the cottage afloat. Why? Because it had been a stupid risk intended to buy them another year or two, when things would inevitably be better. But things hadn’t gotten better and taxes had taken an insane jump. People were losing cottages or selling them, and the Summer family would soon be joining their ranks.
She pondered telling Melanie what she’d done, but knew her sister would be aghast. Hailey solved problems, she didn’t dig herself deeper and deeper into holes. She didn’t take risks and fail as she had.
Hailey shook her head. She couldn’t do it. She had to keep it a secret. She had to solve this on her own. She couldn’t break their trust. And they still trusted her. Trusted her to keep everything safe.
And anyway, she had Finian. The man she’d slapped. Oops.
She closed her eyes for a moment. She should have slept with him and then blackmailed him. She almost laughed. How could you blackmail someone like Finian for sleeping with you when his reputation thrived on exploits?
Her crazy hair was onto something. She belonged in the loony bin.
Melanie was tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Photos might help prove the place isn’t worth millions, like those new year-round McMansions Maya is always drooling over. Make sure you show that the cottage and boathouse haven’t been upgraded or improved much in the past hundred years. Show that the plumbing and electrical hasn’t been changed since it was added a few decades ago. No A/C or jacuzzi tub. The old generator for powering the place, et cetera. And remind them that they don’t provide any services like power, water, sewer, or garbage pickup on the island—we’re off their grid.”
“I’ll do that.” Hailey grabbed a pen, scribbled on a sticky note and stuck it to the forms.
Melanie shoved her glasses up her nose. “Who is he?”
“Who is who?”
“The guy who has you all shaky.”
“It’s nobody,” Hailey replied too quickly.
Melanie raised her brows.
“It’s nothing. I just slapped this guy because he was coming on to me and got in my space and I’m shaken up from it. That’s all.”
“And?”
Hailey sighed and fell into a chair
. Slapping Finian had been stupid. Now she wouldn’t be able to stalk him, waiting for her money shot, because he’d remember her and run the other way. She was going to have to face him and apologize seeing as there was no miraculous cottage-saving loophole for her to dive through and she still needed him.
“I was hoping he’d become a client,” Hailey muttered. “How about an appeal? Could that save the cottage?”
“Save the cottage?”
“From overtaxation.”
“That’s something we should have started years ago, if they’re overtaxing us,” Melanie said.
“What if we sold it?”
“Good luck with getting that by everyone. Besides, Mom will never let you sell.”
“We haven’t been using it as much over the past several years.”
“Yeah, because Maya and I were in school and you were taking care of Mom and starting your photography business. But now we’re all here and on our feet.” Melanie smiled. “Besides, where would the fairies go?”
“Sorry?”
“The Nymph Island fairies.”
Hailey groaned. Tigger’s fairies. Their niece believed the island was inhabited by them and had built little fairy houses all over the island, taking up the torch the sisters had dropped when they’d grown up and become too old for such things.
“You should talk to Mom,” Melanie said.
“Yeah,” Hailey agreed, wondering how much her sister suspected.
Clutching the forms, she headed for her car. She had time to zip over to the nursing home where their mother lived, and see how much wiggle room she had in her promises. If they could sell the cottage quickly, Hailey could at least save her house, her livelihood.
As she started her car, a familiar anxiety grew until it was gnawing at her stomach. It had been several days since she’d last visited their mother, and, sometimes, when she hadn’t seen her in a few days, the worry and anxiety got so bad she’d become edgy and distracted, until she had to drop what she was doing and go to make sure her mom was okay.