Spin (10 page)

It was the caterer. As she reviewed her
numerous and very valid concerns, I turned and gazed out the
window, nodding. Mrs. Lovey stood in conversation with a
construction worker at the edge of their lawn, near the circular
drive. She turned, pointing back toward the house, and I saw who
she was talking to.

Finn.

My heart almost stopped.

Faded jeans sat low on his hips, and he wore
a loose cotton shirt and exuded Big Bad, from the dusty work boots
to the backward-facing ball cap, to his scruffy black hair and the
way sex emanated off him like waves of heat, even at a hundred
yards through a bay window.

Also, he was pissed. Pissed emanated
too.

At me.

What is he doing here?

My knees actually wobbled.

I thought of all the things Finn had done in
his life, all the lines he’d crossed, all the trouble he’d
concocted simply by going his own way. I thought of the look in his
eye by the river when he toyed with outing me eleven years ago. I
thought of the way he said he didn’t want to talk about his time in
the military.

Finn didn’t play with toys anymore.

What would a man who didn’t care much for
rules do, if a woman had walked out on him without saying
good-bye?

I felt true fear.

Minimize the damage.
The mantra
kicked through my fear.

I could still hear the caterer talking on
the phone as I bolted for the door. Flinging the door open, I eyed
the expanse of lawn between me and them, then kicked off my shoes
and hurried barefoot across the lawn.

Only a true emergency could have made me do
it.

I sprinted over the cool green softness.
Finn’s head lifted slightly and his sunglasses looked over Mrs.
Lovey’s shoulder at me.

I made a stern face at him. He didn’t move.
I pointed a warning finger. He was like a brick, no reply. Then his
face tipped back down and he said something to Mrs. Lovey.

I hurried faster. I could hear the wind
whipping past my ears. Or maybe that was my inner voice screaming
horror stories at me.

I drew up just behind Mrs. Lovey,
breathless, tucking loose hair back in place and tugging down on my
skirt. She turned and raised her plucked eyebrows high on her
forehead.

“Jane, I’m surprised. Mr. Dante here
says—”

“I can explain,” I said, breathless.

She stopped. “You can?”

“Yes,” I said hurriedly, pushing hair off my
face. “We used to know each other, when we were kids.”

She nodded slowly. She didn’t seem
convinced. She seemed confused.

“I’m sorry you were disturbed, Mrs.— Lovey.”
I glanced at Finn. His sunglasses regarded me in silence. “This is
a bad time, Mr. Dante,” I told him briskly. “I’m kind of busy.
Maybe you could call me later? Or text me?” I added hopefully.
Smoke signals, anything that kept him a safe distance from my
body.

I felt rather than saw his look harden.

I turned back to Mrs. Lovey, who stared at
me. “I’m so sorry you were disturbed.”

“Jane, what is going on?” she demanded.

“Can you please move?” I said to Finn, my
teeth sort of gritted as I wrapped a hand around his bicep and
tried to drag him off. It was like trying to move a boulder. “It’s
all my fault, Mrs. Sandler-Ross.”

“
What
is your fault?”

The first glimmer of confusion threaded
through me, and I had the thought I might not actually be
minimizing damage here. I stopped, my hand still on Finn’s arm.
“That I…that he….”

“That he what?”

“That he’s here. That you were disturbed.” I
dropped my hand. “I’m sorry. He’s sorry.” I turned to Finn and
hissed, “
Say something
.”

He looked at Lovey and nodded gravely. “It’s
all her fault.”

Mrs. Lovey shook her head, exasperated.
“Jane, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

My face flushed to my eyelids.

“I simply want him to—”

“He’s leaving right now.”

“—look at the circuit breakers.”

I blinked. “What?”

She made a faint sound of impatience. “My
husband mentioned we might need additional circuitry, so I called
Mr. Dante.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked wildly.

“Jane, he built us the pavilion,” she
exclaimed.

“Right,” I breathed, nodding, trying to
regroup. “Of course. The pavilion. Finn built you the pavilion.
That’s why he’s here.” I turned and studied him and his stupid
sunglasses. “You didn’t mention you built the Sandler-Ross’s
pavilion.”

“We were busy with other stuff.”

I had a terrible fear he was going to
elaborate.

Mrs. Lovey squinted at me. “I didn’t know
you two knew each other.”

“Yes,” I admitted miserably.

“Well, this might be quite
serendipitous.”

What did serendipitous mean again, exactly?
’Cause as I looked at my reflection in Finn Dante’s sunglasses, I
wasn’t feeling “good fortune” coming from him. More,
Don’t fuck
with me
.

Or maybe,
Fuck me.

Mrs. Lovey’s voice filtered in. “…because I
know nothing about circuit boards. Who is that, Jane?”

I snapped my gaze away from Finn.
“Pardon?”

She pointed at my hand, which was still
clutching the phone. “On the phone?”

“Oh! Yes. The caterer. For you.” Then I
pushed the Off button. “Whoops. My battery just died. You better go
inside and call her back, though.”

It was something, to know the caterer I’d
never worked with before had got to hear all that. I always like to
make a good first impression.

Mrs. Lovey tottered off, heels daggering
into the electric-green lawn to go in for was going to be a long
phone conversation. Very long. The caterer had a lot to say.
Whereas I stood in my bare feet, staring at the pavilion, having no
conversation whatsoever, because Finn stood completely silent at my
side.

~ Jane ~

“SO YOU’RE NOT here for me?” I mumbled. This should
make me happy, right?

“Oh, I’m here for you.”

A shiver zipped through me. “And the circuit
breakers.”

“I don’t do circuit breakers.”

“Are you angry?”

“What do you think?”

“I left a note,” I said, rather lamely, if I
do say so myself.

He stepped up to me real close. “I’m not a
note person, Jane. And I do not like to be fucked with.”

All the breath whooshed out of me.

“Maybe we should talk,” I said.

“You read my fucking mind.”

The breath jackknifed in my chest. Two fucks
from Finn in as many minutes was about par for the course. Two
fucks coming out of his mouth in anger in that span of time? Not so
good.

I lifted my chin and led him off behind the
long, manicured hedge of yews that bordered the lawn, creating a
narrow strip of renegade brown grass that tumbled into the ravine
to the west.

Updrafts from the river valley lifted
strands of hair off my neck as I led him silently down the secret
corridor of lawn, to an old picnic table I’d found yesterday when I
was searching for a place to store the items we were going to need
to clear out of the house to make room for a hundred and thirty
guests. The whole area looked like it had been forgotten years
ago.

When we reached the table, I turned and gave
him a look, eyebrows up.

He returned it with a long, silent one of
his own, which went on. And on. And on. I felt scared. Wait, I
should
feel scared. But Finn didn’t scare me. So this wasn’t
fear, this electric cord snapping down my belly, deep into my girl
regions.

This was excitement. Red and fired up.

Uh-oh.

I reached up with shaky hands and slid the
sunglasses off his face so I could look into his eyes and not see
the reflection of me. I was breathing fast.

“I left because, you and me, Finn? It’ll
never work.”

His blue eyes regarded me. “We seemed to
work pretty good last night.”

“I mean in the long run.”

“You thinking about a long run with me,
Jane?”

Something big and wavelike rose up inside
me. Weightless. I pushed it down. “Of course not,” I said sharply.
“No. Never.”

He eyed me for a long time in a way that
made me uncomfortable. “You didn’t think it wouldn’t work. You
thought it wouldn’t
fit
. You thought
I
wouldn’t
fit.”

“I thought it wouldn’t matter,” I shot back.
“I didn’t think it would matter.”

His eyebrow went up. “To me?”

“Yes.”

“Really.” It didn’t sound like a
question.

“Really.” I felt the dew getting warm under
my toes as I tried to meet his eye.

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it. You
thought it
would
matter, to you. And you got scared.”

“Scared?
Scared?
I don’t get
scared.”

He snorted. “You live in fear.”

My jaw dropped. “That’s r-ridiculous.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. The
muscles in his forearms rippled. “Yeah? Tell me, then, why wouldn’t
I care?”

“Well, it’s just, you’re so….” I swung out
my hand. “We’re so…different. We move in different worlds.”

His smile was grim. “Meaning I’m still trash
and you’re not anymore?”

I shook my head fast. Finn Dante was the
opposite of trash. He was on the level in every way. What you saw
was what you got. He didn’t lie, not with his clothes or his words
or his body. He simply was.

Me, I was a big fat lie.

And if I stayed with Finn, he was going to
figure that out, fast. That sort of shredded me up inside. Like a
cheese grater down the inside of my chest.

“No.” I shook my head, staring down at my
painted toenails in the sparkling green grass. “No. You’re not
trash, Finn, not even close.”

He was dark, hard voodoo magic, and I was a
bright, shiny shell.

He leaned forward and put his mouth beside
my ear. “I’m tired of being your dare, Janey,” he said, real
quiet.

I shivered.

“Hear me?”

“I hear you,” I whispered back.

His jaw brushed my cheekbone. “I thought you
were being brave when you kissed me at thirteen.”

“I was.”

“You’re not now.”

I took a steadying breath. “I…it’s
complicated.”

“Not with me it’s not.”

“It’s supposed to be,” I said. In my bare
feet, he was over six inches taller, so I had to tip my head way
back to meet his blue eyes. “I get confused.”

A shaft of sunlight speared through the
tangle of branches and lit up the side of his face. “We’re good
together. How’s that confusing?”

“It’s not all about the sex,” I demurred, my
face flushing.

“I’m not talking about sex.”

Oh.

“Did you know my phone died last night?” I
asked fiercely. Accusatorily.

One dark eyebrow inched up. “I did not know
that.”

“Well, it did.

This brought a moment of contemplative
silence. His eyes searched mine, no doubt seeing all sorts of
things that would make a sane man run. Then the corners of his
mouth lifted slightly. “Okay. We can handle that. I’ll buy some
chargers.”

I swallowed.

He slipped his hand around the nape of my
neck and pulled me forward until our chests touched. His face was
right over mine. “Are you feeling confused right now?”

I shook my head, even though I was. Because
why did I feel like crying? Why wasn’t I running away? Why was I
letting him bring me so close, until my bare toes touched his work
boots and I could rest my palms on his chest?

“No, Finn,” I said softly, my body firing.
“I’m not confused at all.”

“Good,” he murmured. Shivers raked down my
body. He bent to my neck and kissed it, then licked me under my
earlobe, a hot flick. “So we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“You’re in?”

My body was hot, and everywhere he’d touched
yesterday tingled, as if I’d been traced with gold lining. And he’d
touched me
everywhere
.

“I’m in,” I whispered.

He slid his hand up the hem of my summery
dress, up the front of my leg. I froze.

“I don’t think
here
is the right
place,” I whispered.

“Here’s the perfect place,” he disagreed,
biting my neck. He had a point.

“But….”

“But what?” He didn’t seem terribly
interested in my reply. He flattened his hand and slid it between
my legs.

I glanced wildly at the yew hedge. Far in
the distance, maybe by the driveway, I heard voices.

“But someone might”—my voice dropped to a
tiny whisper—“
hear us
.” As I said the words, a small hot
shiver undulated through me.

“Oh,” he said, real low. Like he saw
something. Or understood something.

Like he knew something.

He reached around me to flip up my skirt and
cup my bottom with his hard hands.