Hotshot (11 page)

“Why?”

He didn’t see any reason not to tell her. “The drama. I got tired of it. My job can get . . . tense, and I didn’t want to come home to that every night.”

The waitress put the bill on the table, and Finn reached for his wallet as he said, “I used to think I wanted marriage and kids, but not anymore.”

Frowning, she said, “You want peace when you come home, right? You have to deal with serious issues, and when you finally get home you want peace and quiet.”

He was pleased she understood. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”

She rolled her eyes. “Boring, Finn. You want boring. What you need is excitement and fun. Love and laughter. You need to balance the bad with the good.”

“Yeah? And what do you need?”

Her answer was immediate. “Normal. I need normal. Did you find any bullets in my car?”

“No,” he answered. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the rain starts. The clouds are black. We’ll talk in the car.”

She offered her eleven dollars to help with the check and laughed at his exasperated expression. They just made it to the car before the skies opened and the rain poured down.

“I didn’t think you’d find anything,” she said. “I’ve thought about what happened, and I’ve decided I made all the wrong choices. When the guy was chasing me, I should have called nine-one-one, and after he drove into the field, I should have waited by the side of the highway for the police or highway patrol to come. I guess I was afraid it would take forever for anyone to get to me. I never got a good look at his face, but if I’d stayed, the police would have searched his car and found his gun.”

“You also didn’t know that he had a gun and was shooting at you,” he reminded. “You know what I think? You should have gotten the hell out of there, and that’s exactly what you did.”

He was making her feel better about her decisions. “I was so angry when I left, I thought about sending the recording to the Internet and being done with it,” she admitted. “Mimi talked me out of it.”

“I’m glad she did,” he said. “Once you put it out there, it becomes as much about you as it is about Drew Albertson. You don’t want that. What is it you do want to accomplish?”

“To look Randolph Swift in the eye while he listens to the recording and to hear what he will do about Drew. If he doesn’t get rid of him, I’ll sue. You’re right,” she added. “The recording is leverage.”

“Albertson and his wife should be pretty complacent by now.”

“I’m sure Eileen has been checking her father’s e-mail while they’re in Europe, and I’ll bet she has someone checking his phone while they’re away. They’ve also had plenty of time to fill his head with stories about me, don’t you think?”

“It won’t matter,” he assured her. He turned on the engine, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to her and said, “If you decide to sue, this is the attorney you want.”

“I hate the idea of suing. There will be mudslinging, and the publicity will be terrible. It’s more complicated now because of Bishop’s Cove,” she added. “Swift Publications has never been sued, and their attorneys will come out swinging. They’ll try to destroy my credibility and maybe go after the restaurants in the Cove. Anything is possible.” She stared out her window, reflecting on the ramifications if she retaliated against the Albertsons. Taking a deep breath, she said, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do what I have to do to stop him.”

He nodded. He watched Peyton for several seconds without saying a word. Who was this amazing woman? She was breathtakingly gorgeous. That was obvious to anyone who looked at her—he’d barely been able to take his eyes off her luscious mouth all through dinner—and she was also funny and smart and caring. He was used to game players, but Peyton wasn’t coy or pretentious. She was refreshingly honest, and maybe that was why he liked being with her so much. No, he decided, it wasn’t just her honesty. He liked everything about Peyton Lockhart.

“I have to get back,” he said as he put the key in the ignition and backed the car out of the parking space.

Finn was quiet on the drive to the apartment. At first Peyton felt comfortable with the silence, but after several minutes, she looked over at him. He seemed lost in thought and she wondered what he could be thinking that would make him so pensive. Maybe he was thinking about a case he was working on, she surmised, or maybe he was mulling over her dilemma with the Albertsons. Oh God, she thought, maybe he was thinking about saying good-bye to her. That was it. He was trying to figure out a way to say good-bye without her throwing herself at him again. How humiliating! She’d have to think of a way to let him know she didn’t expect anything from him, to let him leave without making it awkward.

By the time he pulled up to her apartment building, the rain was coming down in torrents. Finn ran around the car and opened her door, and they made a mad dash up the steps. Standing in the small recess at her front door, they were barely inches apart and soaking wet.

“Finn . . . ,” she began. She looked up into his eyes and lost her train of thought.

“Yes?” he said.

“About the kiss the other day,” she blurted. “I’m really sorry . . . I don’t know what came over me . . . I guess I was just glad to see you after all these years . . . I don’t want you to think I do that all the time . . . I don’t blame you at all . . . it was all my fault . . . I—”

Her rant stopped when his mouth covered hers. Pulling her to him, he kissed her like she’d never been kissed before, a long, hot, ravenous kiss, and then he turned and hurried out into the rain leaving her weak-kneed and dazed.

F
inn decide
d he was out of his mind. He had to be, he reasoned, because there he stood outside Peyton’s door. It had been several days since he’d left her, and flying back to Brentwood for the sole purpose of seeing her again was crazy. He knew it was, yet he still did it.

He was leaving for Philadelphia tomorrow afternoon. He could have taken a direct flight from San Francisco, but he left a day earlier so that he could stop in Texas. For her. He wanted to see her one more time before she left for Bishop’s Cove and he moved on with his own carefully structured life. No, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t want to see her; he needed to. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and, yes, that was one of the reasons he was sure he’d lost his mind.

She would be surprised to see him, and if she asked him why he was here, he didn’t know what he would say. That he was drawn to her? That he felt the same peace and joy with her that he did when he was in the water? Or maybe he’d give her a little more of the truth. That every nerve in his body wanted her. Craved her. He wondered how she would react to that chunk of honesty. When he’d scheduled that flight, had he planned to have sex with her? He told himself no, yet he’d put a condom in his pocket.

It was a little after seven. He knocked on her door and waited. Maybe she still worked at that restaurant. No, she’d told him she had one more week to go and then she was finished. And the week was up.

She opened the door just as he was about to knock again. His intention was to ask her if she would like to go out to dinner with him, and if she told him she had other plans, he would try to figure out a way to talk her into changing them. It wasn’t a great strategy, and he was feeling a little nervous about it, but as soon as he saw her, he relaxed. She wasn’t dressed to go anywhere. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a baggy, long sweatshirt over a pair of leggings. Her face was scrubbed clean. Her cheeks were rosy, and so were her lips. She smelled wonderful, too.

She smiled, letting him know she was happy to see him, but she also looked surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Is everything all right? Why are you back in Brentwood?”

“I wanted to check on you.” Yeah, right. That was as believable as “I was in the neighborhood.” What would she think if he told her the truth, that he had made the detour because he couldn’t stay away.

“You’re just in time. Come in,” she said.

“In time for what?” he asked. He shut the door and locked it. He saw all the boxes against the wall and asked, “Do you want me to help you pack?”

“Oh no, I’ve got that covered. You’re just in time to eat,” she explained. “I’ve been cooking . . . experimenting on three new dishes. Two have shrimp in them. Do you like shrimp?” she asked as she moved a stack of folded laundry from the sofa. “The third dish is chicken. Will you try them?”

Peyton thought she’d done an adequate job of acting casual about his sudden appearance, considering her heartbeat was going wild. She’d been so shocked and happy to see him, it took all of her control not to throw herself into his arms.

“Come into the kitchen,” she said. She nervously threaded her fingers through her hair to separate the strands. God, it must look like hell. “What would you like to drink?”

Finn took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. “What have you got?” he asked.

“Water.”

Smiling, he said, “I’ll have water.”

Her recipe book with notes sticking out every which way was spread open on the table. She moved it to one side and got two bottles of water out of the refrigerator. Finn found the utensils and napkins while she prepared the first entrée.

“It’s still nice and hot,” she said. She placed the plate in front of him and sat down across from him.” Does it look appealing? You won’t hurt my feelings if you say it doesn’t, but does it? What do you see when you look at it?” She picked up her pen and waited for his answer.

He laughed. “Food, Peyton. I see food.”

Finn didn’t particularly like grits—he would never order them in a restaurant—but he took a bite of Peyton’s and changed his mind. The dish was delicious. It was spicy, yet not overly so, and there was just the right amount of heat.

“It’s really good,” he praised.

She was pleased. “I thought it was, but everyone’s taste buds are different. I’m glad you like it.”

The second entrée wasn’t quite as good, but he still ate all of it. She asked a few questions about the flavor, found the recipe she’d written, and crossed it off. Then she served the chicken. He told her it was okay. She thought it was bland and marked that recipe off her list as well.

“I don’t eat a lot of rich food,” he said. He picked up his plate and took it to the sink. “When I competed, food was fuel. I got used to bland, I guess.”

Peyton picked up a round tin container from the shelf and put it on the table.

“Food doesn’t have to be drenched in rich sauce to be good.”

He rolled his sleeves up and rinsed his plate. Then he tried to find the dishwasher.

“There isn’t one,” she said. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them later.”

“Let’s do them now, and you can tell me about France. Did you like it there?”

“How did you know I went to France? Surely not my mother.”

He was bent over the sink scrubbing a pan, splashing water everywhere. “Ivy told me. Why not your mother?”

“Cooking isn’t something she can brag about. I majored in English lit and journalism, and she can’t understand why I turned my back on all that education to cook instead. I’m a disappointment,” she ended with a dramatic sigh.

He rinsed the pan and handed it to her to dry. She patted the front of his shirt with a towel first. “You’re getting water everywhere,” she said. “I loved France. It’s a beautiful country.”

She talked about the culinary institute and Chef Jon and told him a few amusing stories about some of the students. The kitchen was cleaned up in little time. Finn grabbed another bottle of water and went to get his phone from his coat pocket so he could show her some photos from the wedding reception. She picked up the tin and followed him to the living room. He sat beside her on the sofa, scrolled through the camera roll on his phone, and handed it to her. The first photo was of a grinning Beck holding Ivy in his arms.

“He looks like he’s bench-pressing her,” she remarked.

All the photos showed happy couples celebrating with Tristan and Brooke.

“I wish I’d been there,” she said. She was handing the phone back to him when it rang. She saw who was calling and so did he. When he declined the call, she asked, “Who’s Danielle?”

He didn’t immediately answer. She nudged him.

“She’s a woman I used to date. That’s all.”

“The one you almost married?”

He nodded.

His relationship with Danielle was none of her business, but it still bothered her. “Why is she calling?”

“She wants to reconnect. I don’t,” he said, and before she could think of another question, he asked, “What’s in the tin?”

She wanted to talk about Danielle. What did she look like? What did she do for a living? Had he loved her? She didn’t ask any of those questions, though. She discussed cookies instead.

“Inside are chocolate cookies for dessert if you’d like. I make them for the restaurant. People say they’re addictive. They’re always asking to buy extra to take home.”

“I don’t usually eat dessert, but I’ll try one.”

She removed the lid and let him take one. “Be careful. They come with a warning,” she teased.

“That they’re addictive?”

“No, that there’s a slip of paper inside with a little note. It wouldn’t kill you if you ate it, but it’s best not to.”

“Like a fortune cookie?”

“No, those are clever sayings. Some of my cookies have notes; some don’t. The diner chooses.”

“Who writes the notes?”

“I do,” she answered. “They’re my words of wisdom,” she added with a smile. “Lessons I’ve already learned. Don’t laugh at me. I’ve learned a lot in the past five years.”

“Give me an example.”

“Turn the cookie over, and if there’s a note, you’ll see the end of the paper.”

There wasn’t a note. That was a shame because at the moment she couldn’t think of a single word she’d written. It was his fault. Sitting so close to him, looking into his eyes, made it difficult to hold a thought. She kept getting distracted.

She loved his smile, and she loved how protective he was. When she was a little girl, she knew he would watch out for her, and when she was in high school and at the university, she knew that if she ever really got into trouble, all she had to do was call him, and he would help her. Yes, he was FBI, and he was trained to catch the bad guys and keep the good ones safe, but it was more than that. He was Finn, and in her heart he was still that hero. She hoped one day he’d realize she would always be there for him, too.

“Peyton?”

“Yes, the notes,” she remembered. “Let’s see. Don’t trust a man who comes to dinner with a ferret in his pocket. That’s one.”

Finn’s phone buzzed, indicating he had a text. He put the cookie back in the tin and quickly read the message.

She wanted to ask if the text came from Danielle.

“Mark wants to talk to you. You haven’t called him yet, have you?”

“Who’s Mark?”

“Mark Campbell, the attorney. I wrote his name and phone number—”

“Oh yes, the attorney.” She closed the tin and put it on the table. “How much does he charge for a consult?”

“It’s free advice. He has some suggestions for you.”

She didn’t want to talk about the attorney now. She wanted him to kiss her. How could he resist? She was such a seductress with her baggy clothes, her limp hair, and no makeup. How could he keep his hands off her?

“Mimi called today,” she said. She sat back against the cushions. “They’re all back home. Randolph and Drew and Eileen, the big happy family. It will be mighty interesting to see what happens tomorrow when Drew returns to work. I worry that he will hire my replacement. She could be in the same predicament I was, and what if she doesn’t have a way out? What if she can’t leave? She would be trapped with him.”

“I’m glad you’re going to stop him,” he said as he stood.

She thought he was planning to leave, and she wanted him to stay. “I was wondering,” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“If I comb my hair, will you kiss me?”

He didn’t say a word. He stared into her eyes for several seconds, and then his gaze moved to her mouth. Slowly he pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms. He didn’t kiss her right away but held her against him. His hands stroked her back, sliding under her thick sweatshirt.

Finn loved the softness of her warm skin. His hands moved up, and when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, he groaned and wanted to pull the shirt off and cover her with his body. She kissed the pulse at the base of his neck, then kissed his chin. “This is crazy,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

The day’s growth of whiskers tickled Peyton’s lips. She rubbed her cheek against his, inhaling his masculine scent, and sighed, “If you don’t want to—”

“Oh, I want to,” he said. Taking her face in his hands, he covered her mouth with his. His tongue sank inside, coaxing a response. She was soon trembling and wanting more.

She loved the taste of him, loved the way his mouth felt sealing hers. When at last he ended the kiss and lifted his head, the intensity in his expression thrilled her. He wanted her.

And she wanted him.

So this was what desire felt like. Real desire. Every part of her body reacted to him, and she had trouble catching her breath. Her skin tingled for more of his touch; her breasts ached, and a warm feeling invaded her limbs as the heat pooled inside her.

She began to unbutton his shirt, and he put his hand on top of hers. “Are you sure?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, letting him know how much she ached for him.

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to her bedroom. When he reached for the doorknob, she said, “No, I’m across the hall.”

Amazed that she could speak a coherent word, she put her head on his shoulder. Her heart was beating like a drum, and she could hear the pulsing sound in her ears. Was he having the same reaction to her? Did he crave her the way she craved him?

He put her down beside the bed, and she watched him remove his gun and badge and lay both on the table next to the headboard. He turned to her while he undressed. He was magnificent. She caught the thought before she spoke it out loud. He had a swimmer’s body, all muscle. She stepped closer and put her hand on his chest directly over his heart, feeling it pound under her fingertips. The muscles across his chest and upper arms were like steel, but warm.

Finn couldn’t wait a second longer. The ache to be inside her intensified. He began to undress her, and she tried to help but she kept kissing him as she struggled to get out of her clothes. Her sweatshirt was like a heavy blanket, and he helped her tug it over her head. When he finally succeeded, he dropped her clothes on the floor and looked down at her full breasts and narrow waist. He was in awe.

He followed her down on the bed and covered her, gently nudging her legs apart. He settled himself between her thighs, his arousal pressed intimately against her pelvis. Burying his face in the side of her neck, he groaned with sheer bliss. “You feel so good, so soft.”

Peyton was overwhelmed. Finn, naked, wrapped around her, holding her, warming her with his hot hard body. Never had she experienced anything as wonderful as this. Never. Should she tell him? Would he stop if she did? She didn’t want to disappoint him.

She began to caress his shoulders, loving the feel of his strength. Her touch was light as she stroked him, moving lower to the base of his spine. He was nuzzling her neck, causing shivers to cascade all the way to her toes. It was heavenly.

“I know you’ve been with other women . . . of course you have . . . and I—”

His kiss stopped her confession—a long drugging kiss that let her know how much he wanted her. He lifted up on his elbows, saw the desire in her eyes, and said, “I don’t care about your past, or the men you’ve taken to your bed. Forget them. You’re with me now.”