Sweet Little Lies: Heartbreaker Bay Book 1 (15 page)

Pru caught him looking at her with a raised brow, like
are you really going to say the word
?

“I roughed myself up,” she admitted. “Softball.” She started to reach into her pocket for a few dollar bills to give Eddie but Finn put a hand on her arm to stop her. With his other hand he fished something out of his duffel bag.

The third sandwich he’d bought at the deli.

Eddie grinned and snatched it out of thin air. “See? I get good stuff. And you know your way to a man’s heart, boy. Mayo?”

“Would I forget? And extra pickles.”

“Chips?”

Almost before the word was out, Finn was tossing Eddie a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

Eddie clasped a hand to his own heart. “Bless you. And tell Bossy Lady that I got the bag of clothes.”

“Elle?”

Eddie nodded. “She said I was going to catch my death in my wife beaters and shorts, and insisted I take these clothes from her.” He indicated his trousers and long-sleeved sweater. It was the surfer dude goes mobster look.

“How
do they fit?” Finn asked, smiling, enjoying the old man’s discomfort.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Like a cheap castle—no ballroom.”

Finn laughed and reached for Pru’s hand again, tugging her toward the elevator.

That’s when a whole new set of worries hit Pru. Was he going to come in?

Had she shaved?

No
, she told herself firmly.
It doesn’t matter if your legs aren’t hairy, you are not going there with him
.

At her door, he held onto her hand while rummaging through her bag for her keys, and then opened her door like he owned the place.

But before they could get inside, the door across the way opened and Mrs. Winslow stepped out.

Pru’s neighbor was as old as time, and that time hadn’t exactly been particularly kind. Still, she was sharp as a tack, her faculties honed by staying up on everything and everyone in the building.

“Hello, dear,” she said to Pru. “You’re bleeding.”

This was getting old. “Skiing accident,” she said, trying something new.

Finn flashed her an appreciative grin.

Mrs. Winslow chortled. “Even an old lady knows her seasons,” she said. “It’s high summer, which means it was softball.”

Pru sighed. “Yeah.”

“Did you at least win this time?”

“No.”

“I think the idea is to win at least sometimes,” Mrs. Winslow said.

Pru
sighed again. “Yeah. We’re working on that.” She gestured to Finn at her side, steady as a rock, but looking a little hot and dusty. “I recruited a new player,” she said.

“Good choice,” Mrs. Winslow said. “He’s put together right nice, isn’t he.”

Pru’s gaze went on a tour of Finn from head to toe and back again. Nice wasn’t exactly the description she would use. Hot as hell, maybe. Devastatingly, disarmingly perfect . . .

At her close scrutiny, his mouth curved and something else came into his eyes.

Hunger.

“I got a little something delivered today,” Mrs. Winslow said. “That’s why I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Me?” Pru asked.

“Yes, my package came via your dumbwaiter.”

“Why?”

“Because, dear, the dumbwaiter is only on your side of the building.”

Okaaay. Pru gestured to her open door. Mrs. Winslow let herself in, unlatched the dumbwaiter door and removed a . . . platter of brownies?

Pru’s mouth watered as Mrs. Winslow smiled, gave a quick “thanks” and exited the apartment, heading for her own.

“Those look amazing,” Pru said, hoping for an invite to take one.

Or two.

Or as many as she could stuff into her mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Winslow said with a negative head shake. “These are . . . special brownies.”

Pru
blinked and then looked at Finn, who appeared to be fighting a smile. “Special brownies?” she repeated, unable to believe that Mrs. Winslow really meant what she thought she meant.

“Yes,” the older woman said. “And you’re not of age, or I’d share.”

“Mrs. Winslow, I’m twenty-six.”

Mrs. Winslow smiled. “I meant over sixty-five.”

And then she vanished into her own apartment.

Finn gently nudged Pru into hers, which answered the unspoken question. He was coming in. Into her apartment.

And, if her heart had any say at all, into her life.

Finn
dropped both duffel bags and the deli bag on Pru’s kitchen counter and then turned to her. “Okay, time to play doctor.”

Her entire body quivered, sending “yes please” vibes to her brain. Luckily her mouth intercepted them. “Sure, if I can be the doctor.”

His mouth curved. “I’m willing to take turns, but me first.”

Oh boy. “Really, I’m fine. I think I just need a shower.”

“Do you want something to drink? I could call down to the pub and—”

“No, thanks.”

“I wasn’t talking about alcohol,” he said. “I already know you don’t drink.”

There weren’t many who would so easily accept such a thing without some sort of question. People wanted
and expected others to drink socially when they did. Usually whenever she politely declined, the interrogation inevitably started.
Not even one little drink?
Or
what’s up with that, are you an alcoholic
?

Pru couldn’t imagine actually being an alcoholic and facing that kind of inquisition with class and grace, but the truth was that she didn’t drink because her parents had. A lot. They’d been heavy social drinkers. She didn’t know if they’d had an actual problem or had just loved to party, but she did know it had killed them.

And that had quenched her thirst for alcohol at an early age.

But Finn didn’t push. “How about something warm?” he asked. “Like a hot chocolate?”

She felt her heart squeeze in her chest for his easy acceptance. “Maybe after my shower.”

He nodded and leaned back against the counter like he planned on waiting for her. Not knowing how to deal with that, she nodded back and headed for the bathroom. She shut and locked the door and then stared at that lock for a good sixty seconds, because did she really want to lock him out? No. She wanted him to join her, the steam drifting across their wet bodies as he picked her up, pressed her against the shower wall and buried himself deep.

Ignoring her wobbly knees, she left the lock in place, shaking her head at herself. Apparently it’d been too long since her last social orgasm and while she handled her own business just fine, her business was clearly getting bored with herself.

Stripping out of her clothes involved peeling her shirt from the torn skin of her elbows, not a super
pleasurable experience. Same for her knees and her jeans. Naked, she took inventory. Two bloody knees, one bloody elbow and a bloody chin.

When she was little and got hurt, her mom would hug her tight and then blow on her cuts and bruises and whisper “see, not so bad . . .”

It’d been a long time, but there were moments like right now where she would’ve traded her entire world away for a hug like that again. She looked at her bruised, bloody self in the mirror and took a deep breath. “See, not so bad,” she whispered and got into the shower.

She made it quick, partly because as she ran soap all over her body, she only ramped herself up, but mostly because her various road rashes burned like hell. But also because as she soaped up, she couldn’t help but think of Finn standing in her kitchen, arms casually crossed, pose casual, his mood anything but.

Waiting for her.

Her good parts quivered so she turned the water off, going from overheated to chilled in a single heartbeat. With her bad parts stinging and her good parts throbbing, she stepped out of the shower.

At the knock at the door, she nearly had a stroke.

“How bad is it?” Finn asked through the wood.

She yanked her towel off the rack and wrapped it around herself, her hair dripping along her shoulders and down her back. “Not bad.” Her voice sounded low and husky, and damn . . . inviting. She cleared her throat. “Not bad at all.”

“I want to see.” He tried the handle. “Let me in, Pru.”

Her hand mutinied and unlocked the door, but didn’t go as far as to actually open it for him. She couldn’t
because dammit, he was already in. In her head, her veins,
all
of her secret happy places, and, she suspected, her heart.

Finn pushed the door open and stood there, eyes scanning her slowly, his body stilling as he realized she was in just a towel.

He took what looked like a deep breath and stepped the rest of the way in, a first-aid kit in his hand. “Had this in my bag,” he said and set it on the countertop to the left of the sink. Turning to her, he put his hands to her waist and lifted her, setting her on the right side of the sink.

Ignoring her squeak of surprise, he opened up his kit, fingered his way through, and came up with gauze and antiseptic. Turning toward her, he sprayed and then bandaged up her elbows, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. When he’d finished there, he crouched low.

With another surprised squeak, Pru pressed her legs together and tugged at the bottom of her towel, trying to make sure it covered the goods.

This got her an almost smile as he went about doctoring up both knees, using the spray again, keeping his eyes on his work, his big, strong, capable hands moving with quick, clinical efficiency.

Pru occupied herself and her nerves by watching the way his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders and back, every muscle rippling as he moved. His head was bent to her, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his long, dark lashes hiding his thoughts.

Fine with her, as she was having enough thoughts for the both of them, the number one being—if she relaxed
her very tense thighs even a fraction, he’d be able to see straight up to the promised land.

The thought made her dizzy but she told herself it was the spray giving her a head rush.

Because actually, there was something incredibly erotic about that, her being nude beneath the towel and him being fully dressed. But she was all too aware that not only was she a wreck on the inside, she was looking the part.

His concentration shifted from what he was doing, his gaze cutting to hers. Reaching out he brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not.”

He arched a brow.

“I’m a mess,” she blurted out.

He rose at that, brushing his hands from her ankles up the backs of her calves, resting just behind her knees for a beat before giving a little tug, sliding her forward on the counter toward him.

Her legs parted of their own volition and he stepped between them, leaning in close at the same time, his body heat warming her up. His arms slid around her hips, snugging her closer as his lips gently brushed hers. Then those lips made their way along her jawline to just beneath her ear, trailing tiny kisses as he then worked his way down her throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “A beautiful mess.”

She choked out a laugh.

“You are,” he said against her shoulder now. “So beautiful you take my breath away.” Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes letting her see he meant it, entirely.

It’d
been a long time since she’d felt beautiful, but she realized that she did. Very much so. She wanted to close her eyes and get lost in that, lost in him, but with one last nip at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, he shifted his attention to her chin.

She hissed in a breath when he pressed a gauze to it and then held her next breath as well when he leaned forward and kissed her there.

He’d shifted slightly to reach and the rough slide of denim brushed the skin of her bare thighs, making them tremble for more. “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding a little like Minnie Mouse on helium as his mouth and stubbled jaw gently abraded over her skin.

“Kissing your owies,” he said innocently, his voice anything but as he continued with his ministrations.

Her traitorous body responded by arching and pressing closer, oscillating her hips to his for the sheer erotic pleasure of hearing him groan.

His mouth brushed her jaw one more time before he met her gaze. “Where else?”

Completely dazed, she shook her head. “Huh?”

“Where else do you hurt?”

She stared up at him. Where else did she hurt? Nowhere, because with his hands and mouth on her, all her pleasure receptors had overcome the pain. But not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, she pointed to her shoulder.

Finn gave it his utmost attention, running his finger over a growing bruise. Then he bent and kissed her there, letting his lips linger a little.

She looked at his mouth on her, those amazing lips pressed to her skin, and shivered.

With
a wordless murmur, Finn shifted even closer, his warm, strong arms encircling her so that she could absorb some of the heat coming off him in waves. His long, dark lashes brushed his cheeks when his eyes were closed, like now. He hadn’t shaved that morning and maybe not the morning before either. She could feel the prickles of his beard when he turned his head slightly and opened his eyes.

“Where else?” he asked, his voice pure sex.

And here’s where she made her mistake. She needed to stay strong, that was all she had to do. But the problem was that she was tired of being strong. And she was having a hard time remembering why she needed to.

“Pru?”

She swallowed hard and pointed to her mouth.

He pulled back, gave her a hot look that melted her bones, and slowly worked his way up her throat with hot, wet kisses. When he got to her jaw, he fisted his hands in her hair and tilted her head right where he wanted her. She felt him open his mouth on her jawline, and with just the tip of his tongue made his way back to her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, she moaned and held on tight as he kissed her like maybe she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And God, the feel of him against her, steady and solid. She didn’t know how he did it but even after a long ball game he still smelled amazing. Something woodsy and pure male . . .