Abruptly he pushed himself to his feet, taking a few steps back to give her some space. “The whole story, Anna, tell me.”
She smoothed her hair with shaking hands, her chest rising and falling fast and hard beneath her T-shirt. “That’s all I know, okay? That’s all I can tell you.”
“So, you were attacked?”
“Yes. There were bruises on my legs. My arms. And my clothes were torn.”
“And you remember none of it?”
Something in his voice must have caught a nerve because her chin came up, a spark of green flame in her gaze. “No. I don’t remember anything.”
He could see the distress in her eyes, hear it in her voice. “Anna, I didn’t mean—”
She held up a stop hand and he fell silent. “That’s the worst thing, you know? Not knowing. Having to go to the doctor to get them to examine you because you have no idea whether you’d been r-raped or not. Going to the police with no description of the attacker because you didn’t see him. Because you couldn’t remember.”
His hands closed into fists at his sides. He’d never wanted to smash anything as badly as he did now. Someone had hurt her. Someone had drugged her, assaulted her, left her in an alleyway, bruised and bleeding. Someone hadn’t protected her.
He hadn’t protected her.
Abruptly he turned away, needing to move. To do something with the feeling inside him.
Ever since she’d been five years old, the shy, silent little girl from next door, he’d felt the need to keep her safe. Especially hearing the violent arguments coming from inside her house as her parents had yet another disagreement.
Anna, so quiet and watchful. Small and delicate. No one to look out for her. No one who cared.
“It’s not your fault, Finn.”
Christ. She knew him too well.
“You think I don’t know that?” Going over to the kitchen, he pulled open the fridge again, staring blindly into it, not knowing what he was looking for.
“Well, stop it with the thwarted-knight look, okay?” Her voice, closer this time.
He turned to see her standing on the other side of the breakfast bar.
“I’m fine.” She pushed her hair back from her face again. “Really.”
“So fine you cut your hair?”
Color stained her cheekbones. “I wanted to make a stand. The therapist suggested I do something to regain some control. That was part of it.”
“And not telling me was part of it too?”
Her color deepened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell anyone. It was too…hard.”
The hurt inside him wouldn’t go away. “Why? I’m your friend, Anna. We’ve been looking out for each other for twenty years. You were there for me when I couldn’t find a job and Mum and Dad were being pricks about it.” He stopped. “What was too hard about telling me this?”
She looked away. “You see, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. You go off the deep end, Finn. All the bloody time. I don’t want to deal with that. I don’t want to deal with your anger as well.” She turned back to him. “This is about me, not you.”
Fuck.
He slammed the fridge. “Do you want something to eat?”
The sudden change of subject seemed to catch her off guard. She blinked. “No. I’m not hungry.”
A silence fell.
“Lily’s been worried about you,” he said after a moment.
Lily had been a friend of Anna’s from university, one he’d come to know on and off over the years. He’d had a thing for her once. In fact they’d had a thing together until she’d called it off. Thinking Anna would be hurt or some such bullshit.
Anna wouldn’t have cared. Even if she had known about it. She was always trying to get him together with someone. As if she thought settling down was what he needed.
“I know.” She walked forward, leaned on the breakfast bar. “I haven’t told her yet.”
“Will you?”
“Eventually.”
He watched her. Quiet and self-contained. Her kelly-green T-shirt picking up the color of her eyes, the cut of her brown hair accentuating her pointed jawline. Intellectual, determined Anna, nearly a partner in one of Auckland’s biggest company law firms.
Shy Anna. Who used to drag him along to a lot of her work functions because she hated going by herself. Because she’d wanted someone “intelligent” to talk to instead of “stupid lawyers”. He’d used to love that. Especially the times when her colleagues turned into starstruck little teenagers after she’d introduced him.
“This is Finn Shaw. From Wild Life,” she’d say, making it sound as if the extreme sports show he fronted on TV was the most amazing thing since Shakespeare. Sometimes people hadn’t watched it and it meant nothing to them. But when they had, Anna would shoot him a secret smile, knowing exactly how much he got off on their awe…
Until she’d met Michael, of course. The archangel Michael—his term for the prissy, too-good-to-be-true asshole she’d hooked up with. The one she’d been apparently going to marry…
“What about Michael?”
She leaned against the breakfast bar. “Actually, I broke up with him.”
Finn rocked back on his heels, put his hands in pockets. Normally this news would have made him extremely pleased indeed. But now… If he was forced to it, forced to get past his own protectiveness, he’d admit that Michael wasn’t a bad guy. The man had cared for Anna. Respected her.
“Shit, Anna. I thought you loved the guy?”
Long, slender fingers rested on the pitted wood of the breakfast bar, an old piece of macrocarpa Anna had found for him on an auction website when he’d first moved into the warehouse.
“I did…I mean, I do love him.”
The inevitable tightness was there, deep inside him. When would it ever go away? He ignored the feeling, just like he always did. “So…I don’t get it.” His hands curled into fists inside his pockets. “You did tell him about the attack, right?”
One finger traced a knot on the wood. Her nails were bitten. Anna never had bitten nails.
“Yes. I did.”
His hands curled tighter. So she had told the archangel Michael, but she hadn’t been able to tell him. Goddamn it. Goddamn it to hell. “What did he say?” It came out like a demand rather than an interested question, but he didn’t give a shit.
Anna’s gaze flicked to him. “He was supportive. Very supportive.”
Of course he would have been. Bastard. “And?”
Her finger made another circle around the knot. “But…” She stopped.
“But what?”
She said nothing, staring at the knot.
“Anna?”
Abruptly she turned her back on him, leaning against the wood. “Jesus, Finn. Give me a moment.”
He took a breath, staring at the stiff line of her shoulders. Trying not to give in to the urge to go around the breakfast bar and demand she tell him just what the fuck was going on.
She didn’t need that after what she’d been through.
Anger sat in his stomach like a large, hot stone. Anna attacked. Bruised. Hurt. The thought of it made him want to punch something.
“I can’t be with him,” she said abruptly. “Ever since the attack, I hate being touched. I hate anyone coming near me. Especially men. After the first couple of months I thought it would fade. I went to therapy, group stuff, hypnotism, a whole lot of things I thought would help. But nothing worked.”
He went very still, watching her.
Her voice, quiet now and soft. “I thought I’d be okay around Michael. God, I love him, right? I trust him. But…every time he came near me I felt like screaming. And when he touched me…”
It took everything he had to remain where he was. To continue listening to her speak. But he managed it.
Sunlight ran over her glossy brown hair as she shook her head. “It was too much. It was easier on us both for me to break it off.”
Slowly he took his hands out of his pocke
ts. Unclenched his fingers. Forced his voice to work. “I’m sorry, Green Eyes.” Because he was sorry, even if a small part of him rejoiced at the news. He was sorry about anything that made her unhappy.
She’d always stood by him. She’d been the one who’d told him to go for the Wild Life audition. Even when everyone else had told him that they wouldn’t want some dyslexic high school dropout who couldn’t read and with no qualifications to speak of. Who couldn’t do anything much except surf really well.
She’d told him he could do it. She’d believed in him.
And now he wished—wished so much—he could do something for her.
She could feel Finn’s anger and frustration radiating from him like the heat from the sun. He wanted to do something. Typical Finn. He was a physical guy, and “doing” was how he usually coped with his emotions.
Now. Ask him now.
Tension instantly gripped her. No. Not yet. She needed to build up to it. Plus asking him when he was angry wasn’t a good idea. Right?
Turning around, she met his gaze. He was standing in his kitchen, hands at his sides, looking like he wanted to smash something.
Good job she hadn’t told him any earlier, because she wouldn’t have been able to cope with it. Dealing with her own emotions had been hard enough, let alone anyone else’s.
“I know you’re sorry,” she said. “Can we talk about something else for a little bit?” Anything to give her some space. Get a grip before she had to go into the next stage of her plan because, Christ knew, she needed to be calm for that.
He stared at her. He wasn’t very good at letting things go, but eventually the tension seemed to ease out of him. “Yeah, okay.”
“Get out the single malt, huh? I could use something stronger than beer.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, the corner of his mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. The famous Finn Shaw grin. The one that had thousands of women all over the country, and no doubt in other countries where his show was syndicated, sighing.
The one she remembered the first time she’d peered over the fence in her back garden to find a crazy boy trying to jump over ten empty cardboard boxes on his skateboard. He’d given her the same grin then. Challenge, excitement and mischief all rolled up into one.
God, she loved that smile of his. God, she’d missed him.
“I think I might have a little something you’d like.” The rough edge of anger had faded from his voice.
He turned, went over to one of the cupboards above the sink, reaching up to open it. His T-shirt, dark blue and faded, lifted slightly, exposing a line of tanned skin between the hem and the waistband of his jeans.
Anna found herself staring at it, a strange awareness unfurling inside her. And instantly her reaction was to force it away. Forget about it. An instinctive response. Because being aware of Finn wasn’t something that could happen. He was a brother to her, had always been.
Not any more though, right?
She swallowed, forcing her gaze away from him, conscious that her heart was beating double time. She’d need more than a couple of shots of whisky before she could ask for the help she wanted. She’d need the whole damn bottle.
“Here.” Finn put the bottle down on the breakfast bar, along with a couple of crystal whisky tumblers. “Look at this.”
With an effort, she looked. “A numbered bottle?”
“Uh huh. Which makes it extra special.”
She looked at it, frowning. “You haven’t opened it yet.”
“No. I was saving it for a special occasion.”
Something in his voice made her glance up at him. He wasn’t looking at her, too busy pouring out the Scotch. His lashes were so long, the kind any woman would be ecstatic to have. Had they always been that thick? That dark? Or had she just never noticed?
You’ve never let yourself notice.
“What special occasion?”
“Having you here.” He pushed a glass toward her. “Go on, taste it. See what you think.”
A fine appreciation for single malt was something they’d discovered a couple of years ago after Finn had done a Wild Life show on Skye, in Scotland. In amongst all the rock climbing and trekking, he’d visited a distillery, bringing back a bottle for her.
It had been a joke at first, since neither of them had been able to tell the difference in taste, but slowly it had become another one of their little traditions. She’d given him a whisky-tasting course once for his birthday. One he’d dragged her along to as well.
She took a sip. Fire and peat and smoke. The warm glow of embers. “Wow, this is pretty good.”
His grin deepened. “Yeah, I thought so too.” He raised his glass. “Slainte.” Then he sipped.
The warm glow of the Scotch spread through her, easing her tension. Giving her a little bit of respite.
“So, how’s the show going?”
“Pretty good. Ratings are excellent, which means I’ll be doing a third season.” He leaned his hip against the breakfast bar. “Put a proposal in to the producers about going to Nepal. Thought Everest might be a draw card.”
Anna took another sip of Scotch to cover the instinctive denial. God, she hated it when he went somewhere dangerous. Still, that was who he was. He liked a physical challenge. The adrenaline rush. And he was good at it.
She still remembered the skiing trip she’d taken with his family when she'd been ten and Finn twelve. They’d learned to snowboard for the first time. She’d spent the week sitting on her butt while Finn had picked up the basics in half an hour. He was doing jumps by the end of the trip.
“Are you sure?” she said, unable to help herself.
He just gave her that Finn Shaw grin, tinged with the tease he saved for her when she was being too careful. “And you call me protective.”
“It’s Everest, not Mount Eden. You don’t just drive to the top so you can get a view of the city.”
“I’ll have other people with me. You know I’m careful.”
Yeah, she did. He’d got a lot better over the years when it came to the dangerous sports he indulged in, taking on board some of her cautiousness. He’d often complained she was turning him into a lawyer, but nevertheless he didn’t stop doing it. And once he’d got the Wild Life job and had a crew to look after, he’d become even more safety conscious, his innate protectiveness coming to the fore.
Finn took another sip. His eyes glinted. “Plus, I’m good.”
“Even if you do say so yourself.”
Well, Finn had never met a sport he couldn’t do well within hours of trying it. As a total nonathlete, she’d always found that very impressive.
“I do say so myself.”
“So modest.”
“That’s me. Modesty is my middle name.”
“I thought Clive was your middle name.”
He laughed. The warm, genuine Finn laugh that made her feel good every time she heard it. “If that ever got out…”
“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.”
“Think of my fans, woman.”
This time it was her turn to laugh because Finn did indeed have many fans. Who wouldn’t give a crap about his middle name as long as he gave them a signed autograph. Or even a kiss. “You think of your fans. I’ll think of the blackmail potential.” It was good to be here in his apartment, sipping Scotch and talking crap. Familiar. Normal. She’d missed this as well.
Anna finished her whisky and put it down on the wooden counter. “Another, barman.”
He poured her another measure. Then said, “You’re putting it off.”
Oh crap. He knew her too well. And yeah, he never let anything go.
She didn’t look at him. “Putting what off?”
“Putting off telling me whatever it is that brought you here.”
“How do you know that?”
“How do I know? You asked me for help, remember? And you still haven’t told me exactly what kind of help you need.”
The tension that had eased while
they’d been talking began to gather inside her again. A tension born of nervousness and trepidation and…fear.
Fear he wouldn’t do what she wanted. Fear he would.
Anna picked up the tumbler, knocked back the Scotch in one hit. The alcohol burned its way down her throat and she coughed.
“Jesus, Anna. That bottle cost me five hundred bucks. You could savor it a little.”
She put down the glass, eyes watering, blinking at him.
“You don’t want to ask me, do you?” A straight-out question. No games. That was Finn.
It deserved a straight-out answer. “No. Not really.”
“Then why are you? And what the hell kind of help do you need that makes you afraid to ask?”
She’d thought long and hard about how she wanted to ask him. She’d practiced it in front of the mirror, rehearsed it over and over, but nothing had ever sounded right in her mouth. Right now, asking while drunk seemed a fine idea.
Pushing the tumbler toward him, she said, “Hit me.”
Finn put the cork in the bottle. “No.”
“Finn.”
“I said no.”
“Why not?”
He straightened, gaze opaque. “Since when do you have to be drunk to ask me for help?”
Anna swallowed. Better out than in, right? “Since I decided that I want you to sleep with me.”
Chapter Three
The glass Finn had been holding slipped from his nerveless fingers to crash onto the floor. Expensive crystal exploded.
He barely noticed. “What did you say?”
Anna didn’t look at him. She muttered something, coming around the breakfast bar, frowning at the smashed glass.
He held out an arm, stopping her where she stood. “Say that again, Anna.”
“What? The part about the glass?”
“Don’t you dare play games with me.” He felt as if he stood on the edge of a cliff with the wind at his back, trying to push him off.
She crossed her arms in a defensive movement. And lifted her chin, a curiously defiant, challenging look in her eyes. The way she always got when she was telling him something he didn’t want to hear. “Okay, fine. I want you to sleep with me.”
Falling for Finn Page 2