by Jo McNally
She knew Finn’s divorce had been ugly. Nana had heard about it from Rick in the book club. Something about his wife leaving him for a trusted friend. Did the woman try to blame her infidelity on Finn?
“Finn, you are not a snob. You’re a sarcastic pain in my ass, but a snob? No. A snob wouldn’t be pushing a broom in a tacky American-Irish pub for his faux fiancée.”
His mouth opened, then snapped shut. He looked down at the broom, and his expression finally softened. So did his stance. His shoulders relaxed, and he gave her a brief nod.
“Sorry. Touchy subject.”
“I can see that.” She hesitated. Should she mention her hunch or leave it alone? “An ex-wife sort of subject?”
“Something like that, yeah.” The corner of his mouth lifted, but his voice was firm. “A subject I don’t want to discuss.”
“Have you talked about it with anyone?”
All hints of a smile were gone. “There’s nothing to talk about. I fell in love.” He stared down at the floor. “I thought we had a perfect, golden life. But she was bored. Boredom turned to anger, and we fought for a few years. That’s when she threw the ‘snob’ thing at me. Then the fights stopped, and I thought we were okay.” He looked up. “And they were. For her. She’d fallen in love with someone else.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. She could sympathize.
“I’m with you on the don’t-talk-about-exes thing. Been there. Done that. Got the bruises to show for it.”
She hadn’t talked about Clark much with anyone since coming home. Partly because she was embarrassed. Once she got to Rendezvous Falls, she got busy taking care of the pub and the house and her grandmother. No one had asked many questions about her life on the West Coast, and she’d pushed her former lover into the furthest back corner of her mind. Almost forgotten. But not quite.
She started fluffing the centerpiece on the table nearest her, knowing they’d probably end up being used as footballs by the end of the party. That’s why they used paper flowers and shamrocks. And no candles. Finn’s hand on her shoulder made her flinch—she thought he’d gone back to his broom duties.
“What do you mean about having bruises, lass?” There was a tender concern in his rough voice that turned her belly into a quivering mess. “Did he...?”
“What? Oh...no. I was referring to metaphorical bruises. You know, the kind you get when someone you trust rips the rug out from under your feet?” She told him how Clark had laughed when she asked him to come to Rendezvous Falls to help her. So much for her being his soul mate as he’d claimed so many times. He didn’t even pretend to think about following her, after she’d bounced from city to city for his career. She huffed a soft laugh. “I was his treasured ‘muse’ right up to the moment I asked him to sacrifice something for me. He dropped me like a hot rock.” She lifted her shoulder. “I’m better off, right?”
Finn set the broom against the bar and took both her hands, pulling her close. She didn’t resist, basically hypnotized by the dark fire in his eyes. If the look wasn’t enough to render her mute, his deep, gravelly voice finished her off.
“You are better off, I’m sure. Just as I am.”
“Our stories aren’t that different. Clark was bored. Then he was angry. Then he tuned out. If I hadn’t left to come home, he would have found someone else.” Finn stared at her, still holding her hands. She took a quick breath. “You told me once that you and I were a lot alike. I laughed then, but you may have been right.”
“Because we both have lousy taste in mates?”
She laughed, and his body language eased, as if her laughter had released something inside of him. He moved a step closer. And that brought him really close. He smelled really good. What were they talking about again?
“Uh... Yes, we have lousy taste in mates.” She thought about it. “I don’t know about you, but I ended up feeling pretty beat up in the heart department.” He nodded in understanding, and she kept thinking out loud. “And I haven’t had anyone in my life since then. Have you?”
He shook his head. It was a bit of an epiphany. She kept dismissing Clark as a mistake in her past that was over and done. But maybe her friends were right. Maybe she had been using her busy life as an excuse not to see anyone. Maybe Clark’s betrayal was the real reason.
Finn smiled at her, holding her hands as she continued to psychoanalyze herself. As usual, his presence opened up something inside of her.
“So if I’m still mad about Clark and have trust issues, and you’re still mad about... What was her name?”
“Bridget...”
“No way—her name was Bridget?”
He laughed. “No love, it wasn’t. But I’ve got things I’d much rather talk about right now. Don’t you?”
He squeezed her fingers before raising one hand to cup the side of her face. What. The. Hell. Was. Happening? His gaze held her captive. And made her voice disappear. Finn O’Hearn was cupping her face with his hand, saying sweet, understanding things in that amazing accent, and her emotions welled up out of nowhere. Along with a flood of words.
“I have no idea why I just dumped all of that psychobabble on you. You unlock something in me, and I don’t know why. It’s like I start talking and I start saying all this stuff that I didn’t even know was inside of me. That I don’t talk about with anyone. I...”
“Bridget.” His voice was low and tender. “Stop talking.”
The only sound in the pub was the hum of the furnace, interrupted by the occasional whir of the ice machine under the bar. She looked away from his face and found the power to step back, but his other hand was on her hip—she had no idea when that happened—and he wouldn’t release her. Her face went hot. What more was there to say? She’d just spewed her whole failed relationship history at him. Who knew what would come out of her mouth next? She fixed her eyes on the back wall of the pub, ignoring the magic ninja of his eyes, and doing her best to ignore the heat of his fingers moving gently on her hip. Pulling her in. She sucked in a broken breath, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist him much longer if he kept touching her.
She stepped out of his reach. “Sorry. I don’t know why we keep doing this little dance, but it’s a bad idea. We should just stick to the fake stuff, and only when we have an audience to perform for. No more soul-baring, I promise.”
Finn tipped his head to the side and stared hard at her with eyes that grew darker and more intense by the second. Her hands twisted together under his steady gaze, like a schoolgirl finally getting the attention of her high school crush. She didn’t know what to do with herself. And the man wouldn’t speak, so she felt compelled to fill the silence.
“So...uh...hey, thanks for stopping to check on me. Sorry things got weird. Let’s not let that happen again, okay?” She reached for the broom. “I’m almost done here, so you can go...” As she reached past him, his arm wrapped around her waist.
“Finn...” She closed her eyes, knowing if she looked up she was a goner. His fingers touched her chin, lifting her head.
Nope. Not gonna look. Do not look at...
“Open your eyes, Bridget.”
And she did. Just like that. He said the words and her eyes opened of their own accord. When did he get so close? Why was his face right above hers? Damn, another kiss from this man would undo her. He knew how to freakin’ kiss a woman. His green eyes went soft and dark and tender. And she was lost, sagging into him in surrender, raising her hands to his shoulders because the floor felt like it was slipping away beneath her feet.
“I know all about bad relationships, love. I could win awards for the bad choices I’ve made when it comes to women.” He hesitated, a distant look crossing his face. “And friends. And jobs.” He smiled softly. “And lies to keep jobs.”
She huffed out a laugh, about to say something sarcastic, but he wasn’t fi
nished.
“But this?” His arm tightened. “This...what did you call it? This weird thing that happens between us? I think it needs a bit of our attention.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, tracing his fingers down the sensitive skin on her neck. He smiled when she couldn’t hold back a shudder. “Because I’m not sure why we’re fightin’ it so hard.”
“Seriously?” She told her body to move away. Her body did not move. “You and I are an act. We’re not really in love, remember?”
He was close enough that his warm, whiskey-scented breath moved across her face.
“D’you need love to have sex with someone, Bridget? Is that one o’ your rules?”
Hearing Finn say the word sex while holding her made her insides turn to lava. Hot, liquid, dangerous. Was he actually suggesting what she thought he was suggesting?
“No, not really...” She stumbled over her words, feeling way out of her depth. “But Jesus, Finn. You and I having sex? Isn’t that the definition of bad choices? Not to mention being complicated as hell.”
His arms were resting at her waist. Encircling her, without holding too tight. He was giving her room to run if she wanted it. She didn’t move. His smile deepened.
“Think about it. We don’t have to worry about getting caught or being careful, because people already think we’re together. We plan to fake break up our fake engagement in May. We have an end date, so not messy. We’re two adults who have something...weird...going on, with no genuine reason not to explore it.”
Her laughter was high-pitched and nervous in her own ears. “What exactly are we exploring, again?”
“Babe, am I really the only one feeling this chemistry between us? When we kiss...do you not feel that heat? Don’t you want to see where that might take us?”
She couldn’t argue there. “We kiss really well. I’m just trying to be...”
“What? Practical?” He brushed his lips against her hair. “Isn’t it a bit late for that? You already accepted my wedding proposal, love.”
“I accepted a fake proposal. You’re talking about a very real night of getting naked together.”
She closed her eyes, but that didn’t help, because all she could see was her and Finn together. Naked. And that vision was very, very tempting. The warmth in her chest dropped lower and heavier. She swayed against him.
“Ah, Bridget...” She loved the way his accent rolled the r in her name just enough to make it unique—Brih-jit. He dropped his head, breathing the words across her ear. It was intimate. And sexy as hell. “Do you not want to get naked together? It doesn’t have to happen if you don’t want it to. If I misread...”
“I want to.” His arm tightened around her when she said it. “I really want to. But I’m trying to be logical here...” She had no idea why. Who used logic when anticipating sex with a gorgeous, kind, funny man like Finn?
His voice was gentle. “We’re just gonna explore the possibilities and see where they take us, love. Perhaps we won’t get any farther than me kissing my way down your neck and my hands sliding under this sweatshirt, yeah?” His voice dropped even lower, starting a fire burning in her abdomen. “And then we’ll deduce the next step together, yeah? Nothing happens unless we both want it to.”
There were probably a hundred reasons to say no. But Bridget couldn’t think of a single one as Finn’s lips moved lightly across her ear and down her neck. His mouth was magical. That’s the only explanation. That’s why his kisses knocked her sideways—magic.
“It’s not fair...” She whispered her thought aloud.
“What’s not fair, love?” He spoke against her neck, kissing the base of her skin. Her head automatically dropped back to give him easier access.
“Your mouth...what it does to me...”
His laughter against her skin was her new favorite thing.
“As you Yanks like to say, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet...” His hand slid under her shirt as promised, his fingers hot and soft on her back, stroking her in a rhythm that matched the way his mouth moved against her.
She pulled back just enough that he raised his head to look at her, a shadow of concern in his expression. She needed to be looking him straight in the eye one last time.
“Just to be clear, we’re exploring chemistry here. No obligation. No commitment. No messy emotion.”
His smile slanted up on one side. “I agree on the first two. But no emotion? Not possible. We’ll have pleasure and passion for sure.” He gave her a brief, hard kiss as if to prove his point. “Desire is an emotion, yeah? ’Cuz I’m feeling a lot o’ that one, too.” His smile faded. “I’m not looking for a quick emotionless bang, Bridget. If we do this, it’s gonna be more than just physical activity.” His fingers started moving again, making her moan as her eyes fell closed. “I want you to feel something. Lots of things, actually.”
She was feeling something, alright. She was feeling hot and bothered. Her hands gripped his butt, pulling herself tight against the erection pressing against his jeans. His emerald eyes went black and he hissed at the contact, growing even more rigid. Why was she trying to fight this?
“Make me feel something, Finn.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
FINN WAS FEELING all sorts of things. He was so hard it hurt, but that wasn’t what he was focused on most. His top feeling was...wonder. Bridget had just consented to this crazy idea of his, and it felt like he’d just been given a precious gift. He wanted her. Lord knew, he wanted her. But even more, he wanted to give her pleasure. To make her moan like she had just a moment ago. To make her cry out his name. He went a little light-headed—so much so that he dropped his head to her shoulder to gather his thoughts.
Bridget’s hands cupped the back of his head, fingers working through his hair. He moved his hands against her back, sliding up to unhook her bra. Then sliding forward to cup her breasts in the palms of his hands, where they fit perfectly. He kissed the tender skin beneath her ear, where her pulse raced beneath his lips. His fingers rubbed against her nipples, back and forth until she twisted and pushed against him, murmuring words he couldn’t decipher. It didn’t matter. She was telling him she was feeling the same thing he was. Hot, molten desire.
“I want you so fucking bad.” His thoughts sounded crude out loud, but he’d never said anything more true. “I’m thinkin’ we need to do that naked thing you mentioned earlier.”
His fingers continued their work on her breasts, and she gave a little whimper before answering.
“Oh, hell yes!” Another gasp. “But where?”
Good damn question. Doing it on a bar table might make for a hot memory, but was that what either of them wanted for their first time? Bridget deserved candlelight and silk sheets. And had he ever locked the front door? Could someone else walk in? Bridget read his mind.
“Go lock the door. I’ll hit the lights. We’ll go out the back...but hurry.”
He couldn’t help thinking that if he stepped away from her right now, she’d have very visible evidence of his mental state. Then he remembered she’d already grabbed his ass and rubbed against him. There was no way she’d missed the ridge behind his zipper. He sucked in a breath and gave her breasts one more playful squeeze before turning to rush toward the door. He didn’t want time apart to burst this bubble of desire. Bridget laughed that whiskey laugh of hers, deep and rough, then hurried toward the back hall to turn off the lights.
The only light when he rejoined her was coming through the window in the storage room from the parking lot light, casting the narrow hallway in a soft, gray glow. It made the space seem other worldly. As if all the colors had been turned down a few notches, leaving a very noir effect. Everything was softer. Bridget looked softer and even more inviting. She was leaning against the wall, waiting for him with a sexy smile and no visible signs of doubt or hesitations.
Did she reach for him first, or was it him who grabbed her?
Did it matter? All he knew was that they ended up wrapped around each other in the shadowy hall, her back to the wall, one leg hooked around his thigh. Their mouths came together in a furious-paced kiss, twisting, and pushing. Her kisses hit him like a freight train every time. The idea that this time they didn’t have to stop or worry about an audience. That they could just keep going...
His hands tugged her hips forward. She moaned into his mouth, rubbing against him until he thought he’d lose his mind. He was hungry for her. Starving. Her fingers grabbed at the waist of his jeans and he realized she was fumbling with his belt. Someone else was hungry, too. A low growl rose in his throat as the kiss grew even more frenzied.
Hands were flying now, unbuckling, unbuttoning and unzipping. She had flats on, so she was able to kick them, and her jeans, to the side. But he’d slipped into his winter boots before walking across the slushy parking lot, so his jeans—and briefs—fell to his ankles and stayed there. He didn’t care. He’d stopped caring and thinking about anything other than burying himself in Bridget McKinnon the minute they’d come together in the hall.
It was as if those few minutes apart to secure the building had fanned the flames instead of cooling them. He’d give her the rest of tonight in the comfort of a warm, soft bed with sweet words and slow moves. But right now? He needed her. And since she was practically climbing him at the moment, she apparently felt the same way. Still, he wanted to be one hundred percent certain. As his fingers began sliding her panties down her thighs, he spoke against her mouth.
“You sure?”
“God, yes!”
He’d grabbed a condom from his pocket before his pants dropped. He quickly put it on, then cupped her bottom and lifted her just enough against the wall so that he could enter her. She was as ready for this as he was, and he slid in easily, letting out a loud groan as he did.