into laughter.
“Feck’s sake,” he curses before he walks away.
I hurry after him, still laughing. When it finally fades away, he grumbles, “You done?”
“For now.”
Yeah, he’s not the only one playing this game between us. Going forward, I’m considering laughing at him every time he dodges my questions.
Finn charges off, but I keep a steady pace behind him. We enter a populated area then continue across town, ending up at a small inn at the top of a hill. Finn disappears inside before I can catch up. By the time I enter, he has the room key in hand.
One key.
One room.
I can’t say I’m surprised. Finn loves a challenge, for sure. My laughing at him must feel like I tossed down the gauntlet. But seriously, hot bodied or not, do I want a repeat performance of that night?
Forcing my thoughts away from his muscular body, I make a mental list of questions for him as I follow him to the room, namely: Who is the buyer? Is he certain he won’t leave town? How exactly does he plan on catching his attention?
The room is small. The full-size bed, covered in a bright, floral-pattered quilt is small. The table by the window, covered in the same fabric as the quilt, is small. The fake flowers scattered throughout the room are bountiful, as is the thick, heavily fragranced, floral bouquet air-freshener in the air.
Finn curses as he opens the window.
“Jaysus. I imagined a thousand different deaths. Never thought flowers were what would do me in.”
“Death by daisies.”
He chuckles.
“I ordered a proper supper be brought up. Ladies first in the shower, though be quick about it.”
“Such a gentleman,” I comment, heading into the attached bathroom. I’ll rinse my underwear out in the sink and hang them to dry. But I’ll have to rewear the T-shirt and light khaki pants I have on. Tomorrow, I’ll see about buying new clothes.
Thirty minutes later, I let Finn have a turn in the bathroom. While he showers, I comb out my hair and then do a slow inventory of everything in my knapsack. Mascara. Lip gloss. Gum. Cell phone. Gun. A wallet with two credit cards and a few hundred American dollar bills. Passport. Notepad and matching pen.
One condom.
I blink, then stare at it like the foil has an imprint of a happy face.
A sharp knock on the door interrupts me. I curl the condom into my hand before answering it. An older woman carrying a large tray pushes her way inside and over to the table. “The things yer fella wanted are on the tray.”
“Um . . . thanks.”
“You from the States?” she asks.
My stomach growls, but I ignore it. “Maine.”
“That near Arizona?”
I shake my head.
“I’ve got a cousin in Arizona,” she begins, then continues on and on, proving that the Irish do indeed have the gift of gab. I politely listen to her story about a cousin who isn’t fond of the sun yet has moved to the sunniest place on the planet. At one point, the innkeeper waves me into the hallway to show me a picture of her extended family, a picture taken in Arizona but one that doesn’t include the cousin in question because the day the picture was taken, she’d “had too much sun and was suffering sunstroke.”
My stomach growls, loud and merciful.
She notices. “Go. Yer food’s getting cold.” I’m waved inside. “Holler if you want two more Blacks.”
With a polite nod, I step back inside the room. If Finn wants another pint, he’ll need to fetch it for himself, though I’ll innocently ask him if he could ask the innkeeper for some suntan lotion. I wouldn’t want my fair skin to get sunburned or miss a chance at sweet revenge.
Smiling, I close the door, turn, then jump.
“For a big guy, you move like a—” My mouth drops open and I forget what I’m saying. I mean, the sight of him . . . Oh. My. God.
The beard is gone.
And Finn McDuff is gorgeous.
Absolutely, positively gorgeous, in a ruggedly male kind of way. Long, rich, auburn-colored hair. High cheekbones. Firm jawline. Why didn’t I notice the slight bend of his nose? The strong chin? Everything else about him is pure, rugged alpha male.
The two black eyes only enhance his raw masculinity.
He’s shirtless. His skin is damp and a light shade of pink. His broad chest is firm and without an ounce of fat on it, muscles taut and well-defined like those of a male sports model. He’s pulled on jeans yet neglected