by Jasmin Quinn
Her words were so enticing, her face so open. He didn’t understand what was holding him back. He wasn’t a boy scout with women. He didn’t even know the last names of some of the women he’d laid. Why didn’t he just let it all go, for the night, take her in his arms and see if she shared his lust? It might even serve to make her more compliant, more willing to talk to him. But he knew why. He wasn’t one for games, and he wasn’t going to be a hypocrite by toying with Nika. If she truly was who she claimed to be – a woman in trouble, a friend of Kelsie’s, then when this mess was cleaned up, he wanted to keep her, and he wanted her to want to stay.
“What do you mean, you can’t either?” he said bluntly to mask the direction of his thoughts.
Finn cursed at himself as he saw Nika flinch at the tone in his voice. He’d made her feel vulnerable and unsafe again. She didn’t immediately respond, her face wary. Finn took a last swallow of the scotch and waited. Finally, Nika said softly, carefully, “Finn, I’m worried about the same thing. I want to trust you, but how do I know that you have not manipulated me?”
He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes as she spoke. Was he going to rage again, be unreasonable? Maybe he deserved her distrust. They were both going down destructive rabbit holes. “I’ve made you afraid of me.”
“No,” she said, but her eyes suggested otherwise.
“Tell me where your head is at, Nika.”
Confusion flickered across her face. She didn’t understand what he meant. But she also didn’t want to draw his wrath again by saying so. It became clear to him in that moment, that she was who she was – a beautiful enticing unworldly woman whose naïveté grew from being raised in isolation. She took everything literally, while the world around her spoke in metaphors.
Finn sighed heavily, “Nika, why don’t you think you can trust me, other than the fact that I’m an asshole?”
Her face was so easy to read, Finn thought, when he considered her from a clear-headed, rational perspective. She was guileless. That’s all she was. He could see the struggle she was having about what to say next, how to say it. She inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly, “How do I know, Finn, that I wasn’t manipulated by you and Kelsie? After all, Kelsie is Randall Scott’s daughter. How do I know she hasn’t manipulated Mr. Jackman and Dean Copeland, too?”
Finn swallowed his urge to laugh; he and Little Miss Privileged in cahoots? Not in this fucking lifetime. “You said you knew about me, Nika. Did you find anything that suggested that I’m a corrupt cop?”
“No,” Nika replied in a small voice.
He wanted to reach out and touch her, squeeze her hand to reassure her. This was his fault, his anger at her led her to this line of thinking. “I helped Kelsie Scott because no one else would. She was in a mess, afraid for her life. She needed someone to believe her.”
“Like I do, Finn.” Her eyes were sad and defeated as she looked across the couch at him.
Finn’s heart shredded, at her words, at her hurt. Jesus he was a bastard. He put his job on the line for Kelsie Scott, a woman he didn’t know well, didn’t like all that much, didn’t really trust. But with Nika, he was resisting doing the same fucking thing. Understanding dropped on him like a grenade. This woman in front of him was holding his heart in her hands, and he didn’t like the feelings of fear and vulnerability she evoked in him. If she hadn’t had such a hold over him, he would have known from the beginning that she was genuine. And he would’ve made the right choices and decisions to get her back home.
Finn found himself at a loss for words and so, he said nothing, letting her last words hover between them.
“Finn,” Nika whispered breaking the silence, “I want you to believe me. I want that more than anything in the world.”
Finn thought he should sweep her into his arms, hold her to him, comfort her, promise her he would keep her safe. His gaze raked her, her hazel eyes staring out from her pale face, her wild hair, her full lips, a hint of breast peeking out from the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.
A gust of wind slammed against the house then, rattling the windows, startling him out of his reverie. Thank god, Finn thought as he got to his feet. He’d been getting close to losing his control again. Tonight was not the night to be doing that. He was still too raw, they both were.
“What are you doing?” Nika asked tremulously.
“We’re losing light fast. We need to find some candles or a flashlight.”
A palpable sense of relief swept the room, they didn’t have to talk anymore, but they’d also reached a tentative understanding. Nika stood up too. “I’ll help look, Finn.”
She went to the storage room as he rifled through the kitchen. He found a flashlight in the cabinet under the sink. As he switched it on, it lit up dimly. Batteries were dying. But they would last long enough to help them orient themselves for the night. He walked toward the storage room and shone the light on Nika, who was emerging with a small box. “I found them,” she said. “An entire box.” She placed the box on the breakfast bar and pulled out one of the candles, handing it to Finn. “They are all very wide around, so we don’t need to find holders for them.” She started to take the rest of the candles out of the box. “How many, Finn?”
“Three.” He lit the candle he was holding, and then used the match to light the other two. “We’ll leave one here on the counter, one in the bedroom and one on the coffee table.” He picked up two of the candles and carried them into the bedroom, setting one on the end table and dropping the box of matches beside it. Nika followed him into the room and as he turned he caught her eyes in the glow of the candle he was holding, flecks of gold flickered in a soft moss of hazel. He stood stock still, holding his breath, trying to control the desire that swept through him.
Nika stared back at him, her face shuttered. Surely, she must know what he wanted. “Finn,” she said softly.
Finn tried to douse the heat rising in him. This was too fucking convenient, a snowstorm, candlelight, a soft inviting bed and a bewitching woman. He knew she couldn’t have possibly set up this scenario unless of course, she was a witch. And at that moment, Finn thought maybe he did believe in fairy tales.
But he shook off his thoughts. “I’m hungry. We should eat.” He brushed past Nika and left the room, the lust that he had under control only a second ago, raged through him again as his arm touched hers. He slammed the candle down on the coffee table and pulled off his socks.
“Finn, what are you doing?”
“Only one thing I can do, Nika.” He strode over to the door of the cabin, flung it open and walked into the snowstorm in his bare feet. He stood there, a makeshift cold shower, swirling around him. He stood for a minute, it was all his feet could take. Then he returned to the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him, walking passed a clearly puzzled Nika and planting himself in front of the fireplace.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nika woke up to an eerie stillness. The storm had settled sometime in the night, and the snow was like a cocoon, wrapped around the cabin, preventing sound from filtering through. The cabin was warm and cozy. It was late morning; grey light stole through the cracks in the curtain. Finn was obviously up before her, lighting the fireplace. But it was as quiet in the cabin as outside. She thought maybe he went back to sleep. She flipped over onto her back, flinging her hand across her forehead. She had a little headache, her eyes stung from crying and her face felt like it had been washed with sand. She was alone in the big bed, Finn insisting that she sleep in the bedroom and he on the couch.
She told him that he would be more comfortable in the bed and that she was small, so the couch would more easily fit her. But he wouldn’t listen to her logic and insisted that she take the bedroom. She was afraid to argue with him, so she conceded.
It was awkward for them last evening. They ate peanut butter sandwiches for supper, hers washed down with water, his with scotch. She thought he was drinking too much, hoped that wasn’t typical and then wondered why it mattered. She�
�d tried to talk to him, start a conversation, but he shut her down each time. He didn’t want to talk to her. He told her that it had been too long of a day. They were both tired and he didn’t think he had a tight enough rein on his emotions. He didn’t trust himself. And he also wanted to be fresh of mind when they talked. And he expected her to tell him everything. All of it. She would have no choice but to betray Mr. Jackman.
She sat up and raked a hand through her hair, pulling at the tangles. Nothing he did yesterday made sense to her. Well, she understood his mistrust of her. Who wouldn’t under these circumstances? But the anger – she thought it was misdirected. She thought he was angry at himself because of his attraction towards her. How could she be responsible for his emotions? And his need for answers driving his anger, as if that would help him to believe her.
She slid from the bed and stepped quickly to the suitcase. The room was not nearly as warm without the covers wrapped around her, and the floor was cold enough to make her dance. She chose the pink lacy underwear and then black leggings. She hugged Finn’s shirt to her face, inhaled deeply, wishing it smelled like Finn. Nothing that happened yesterday made her desire for him ebb. She looked at her other choices for tops, rejected them all and slipped Finn’s shirt back on.
When they’d stood together in the bedroom last night, she would have gone to him, if he’d let her. Her body ached uncontrollably with need, a feeling foreign to her and yet it seemed so natural. In that moment, she forgot that he shoved her against the wall, that he shook her, that he threw her on the floor and then abandoned her. It leaked from her brain when she saw him looking at her, candlelight betraying his lust for her. And even now, in the light of day, the simple thought of him caused an unrequited burning in her body as wetness pooled in her underwear.
She walked quietly out of the bedroom, looking for Finn. He was not there, not anywhere in the cabin. Panic flared up in her as she flew over to the frosted window. She exhaled in relief. His Jeep was still in the drive, he was just outside. She opened the door to see if she could find him, but he was not anywhere in her line of vision. It had stopped snowing though the clouds hung low promising more white brushstrokes. Then she saw his footprints trailing away through the fresh snowfall, around the corner of the house. She thought she should go find him, looked down at her clothing, the shoes on the mat by the door. She was already freezing, and a sweater, hat and mittens were not going to keep the cold air out.
She closed the door softy, guiltily and turned towards the fire. The fire had burned down, and she made her way quickly across the room remembering that this was what triggered their fight the day before. She put a small log onto the embers, urging it to catch fire. She’d never actually built a fire in her life. A frown tugged at her lips, so many things she didn’t know, hadn’t done.
She sat on her knees in front of the fire watching its hypnotic dance, thinking about who she was. She knew a lot about a lot. She read about biology, chemistry, physics. She believed in facts, not biased journalistic reporting, so she rarely indulged in the news. She studied politics, world events, and the human condition. She was fluent in more languages than anyone she knew. But she rarely had a chance to practice them.
Still, most of her learning was theoretical, not useful in a practical way. Nothing she did at the compound had ever prepared her for real life. She was so sheltered. She knew what she saw on television, read in books. But she rarely watched or read fiction, she didn’t understand nuance or romantic love. She wasn’t sure how couples in love talked to each other when they were happy, sad, angry. She sure didn’t know how to talk to Finn.
Tears stabbed in her eyes, and she blinked them away. She hated self-pity. Mr. Jackman gave her so much, rescued her from a wretched life. Why should she expect more? Why should she want more? So deep in thought, she didn’t hear the crunch of Finn’s shoes in the snow, didn’t hear his approach until he banged open the door and walked in with an armload of wood. He kicked the door with his foot, slamming it closed.
Nika scrambled to her feet. “You’re back.” Then she frowned, worried that he might be angry at her for not doing anything. She scrambled to find a pacifier. “I was going to make breakfast.”
Finn kicked his shoes off and strode over to her. “I don’t need breakfast,” he replied without inflection. Nika couldn’t read him, didn’t know the next words to say. Then she saw the snow caked on him as he hovered over her. Dripping as it melted, soaking him through.
“Finn, you’re getting wet.”
“Move Nika, I don’t want to drop a log on your toes,” he replied ignoring her concern.
She stepped away from him, backed up several steps. Had to ask, “Are you still mad at me?”
Finn’s head was bent as he stacked the wood. He crouched down and threw a large log on the fire, poking at it to make sure it caught. Then he looked up at her. “No.” He paused, studying her, his face impassive. Then he added, “I’m ashamed.” Nika stood stock still, not daring to breathe. Not fully comprehending what he was saying. “Nika, sit down.” He waved with his hand to the couch.
“Okay.” Nika walked around the back of the couch to avoid passing too closely to Finn in case she lost her control and wrapped her arms around him. She dropped herself next to the sofa’s overstuffed arm, leaning her back against it so she could see Finn. She sat cross-legged and gathered Finn’s blankets around her, smelling them, breathing in his scent.
Her eyes followed Finn as he stripped off his jacket and then his shirt and his socks and tossed them to the floor near the fire. His chest was wet, his muscles glistened in the firelight. He walked over to the sofa and dropped down beside her, so close he was almost touching her. So much for keeping her distance, Nika thought.
“I have never touched a woman in anger in my life, before last night.” He paused looking down at his hands, then up into her eyes. She could see his anguish. “There’s no excuse for what I did. It doesn’t matter that I was tired, a little drunk, angry, mistrusting.” He looked away from her, into the fire.
“Finn –” Nika started.
“Let me finish. I’m drawn to you, as foolish as that sounds. And it does sound foolish to me. I don’t know how to have soft, gentle conversations with women. I generally try to avoid them.” He threw her a pained glance. “I mishandled you Nika, and of all the women I have ever known, you are the one I want to be with. When I think of the future, I see you.”
“How many women have you known, Finn?” It was the only question Nika could think of in that moment, the only thing that she could logically draw from the conversation.
Finn looked at her strangely, “That’s irrelevant, Nika.”
“Right.” Nika nodded, not fully understanding its inappropriateness.
He ran a hand through his hair. “This is crazy – maybe it’s because this is an intense situation, I don’t know. But I’m off-topic.”
“Like I was.” Realization dawned on her.
He turned to her suddenly and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m a man of my word, Nika. You don’t know me well enough yet to trust me on that. But I promise you, I will never touch you in anger, ever again.”
Nika placed one of her hands over Finn’s. “I believe you, Finn.”
Finn drew in a sharp breath as she touched him. “You shouldn’t be so trusting.”
“And you shouldn’t think me so naive as to not understand what happened last night. I don’t believe you are man of violence, Finn.” She saw the doubt in his face. “I think you are a man of passion.”
Finn groaned. “That’s such a fine line. So easy to cross.”
“If you treated me like a grown woman, if you acknowledged your passion, then you wouldn’t be angry. I am not trying to seduce you.” She stopped, thought about it, and then said, “Or maybe I am, but so what? I don’t understand your hesitation.”
“Trust me Nika.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, then ran a finger down her cheek, reaching her mouth, tracing her
upper lip. “I think of you as a full-grown woman every time I think of you.”
“What does that mean, Finn?” Nika pulled herself up into a kneeling position and faced him fully. Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest. A physiological reaction to her desire for him.
He brought his thumb to her lower lip and tugged at it gently. “It means that every time I look at you, I want to fuck you.”
Nika grasped Finn’s wrist, pulling it away from her lips, but then brushing her lips lightly across the back of his hands. “Why don’t you, Finn?” Her need was growing in her belly, in her vagina. Wet heat settled between her thighs.
Finn touched his other hand to her hair, running his fingers through the waves, stroking her head. “Because that’s not who I am. I don’t want to take advantage of your inexperience and vulnerability. I am not a gentle man.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nika, I’ve been dead inside for two years. Then you walk into my life, and I feel more alive than I’ve been in years. You brought me back to life. Everything I’ve kept in here,” Finn said as he pointed to his chest, “wants to come out and I’m afraid I’ll overwhelm you.”
Nika frowned at him. “Does it have to be that complicated. I have never wanted a man before I met you. Isn’t that enough?”
Finn stood up abruptly and walked away from her over to the fireplace, leaning his hands on the mantle, gazing into the flames. “I might hurt you.”
Nika was confused – she ran her hand across the back of the sofa, where he’d been sitting, touching the warmth of his body, trying to hold onto it. “How will you hurt me, Finn?”
Finn turned to her, crossing his arms in front of him. “Emotionally, maybe. But if you’ve never been with a man –”
“I haven’t.” Nika watched his eyes as they raked over her; she could see the pull of passion in his face, the internal struggle. How could she convince him? She hadn’t realized it would take this much work to get a man to be with her. “Could we kiss?”