Page 61 of Stirring Up Love
“I’m working on it.”
“Need a hand?” Finn stepped forward, revealing a peek of hip bones and one long, hard thigh.
“No!” Simone shot out a hand reflexively—if he came closer she might combust, unlike the logs in the stove—and Finn stumbled back, knocking up against the door. His eyes darted around the room, and she followed his gaze.
With him inside, she realized how small the cabin was. The wood-burning stove she was fussing over claimed the corner of the “living room,” with a tan leather couch next to it. Across the room lay a queen-size bed, topped with a wool blanket and bracketed by end tables. And that was it. A couch, a bed, and a door propped open with a rock—pray it led to a bathroom with indoor plumbing.
“Just one bed?” Their eyes met across the few feet that separated them, the deep surety of his voice gone strangled and hoarse. “Which is fine, because we won’t be sleeping here. But if we were, I’d take the couch.”
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s chivalrous when it’s hypothetical. Why don’t you hurry and shower so we can get back on the road. If it comes to that, we’ll duke it out over the bed later.”
He grinned. “And when you say ‘duke it out,’ you mean of course—”
“Get in the freaking shower, Finn.”
He laughed, scurrying toward the bathroom like a streaker. The lighter finally ignited again as he turned sideways to enter the door, his wide shoulders dipping down to a smooth back that ended in twin dimples above the curve of his butt ...
Her thumb blistered in a burn, and she dropped the lighter onto the tiles. Distracting, infuriating ... she shoved her thumb into her mouth, sucking on it and recounting all the reasons she could not pursue Finn’s ambiguous take on the one-bedroom situation.
One: he was a customer-stealing rat. Two: he was an investor-stealing rat. Three: he’d called her entitled. Reason Four was on the tip of her tongue when Finn leaned out of the bathroom. “Good news! There’s plumbing.” Canines flashing in a bright grin, he disappeared again, and Simone fought against a treacherous grin and lost.
Reason Number Four why Finn Rimes was off limits: if it weren’t for the business, she might actually be interested in him. Not just his flat abs and sexy smile, buthim. The way he wore his heart on his sleeve and pushed all her buttons and managed to find a common ground with everyone. Even her. If she thought too hard about it, she might actuallylikethe guy. And that was Not Okay.
“This is not okay,” she repeated aloud, then latched the smoky glass door of the stove. That way lay madness. Pretty soon she’d be drowning in mushy nonsense like her besotted bride-to-be big sister.Bad enough one Blake girl had bit the emotional dust. She needed to keep it together for both of them.
Behind the knotty pine door, Finn was singing a medley of show tunes, and the fact that it didn’t curdle her blood meant something was very, very wrong.
On her feet in a flash, Simone went out to the car and fetched their bags. Set them up side by side on the luggage racks and unzipped them. Stepped back. Shook her head and carried her suitcase to the other side of the room, shoved it up against the wall. Pushed the couch up against the wall for good measure. Would’ve drawn a line down the center of the room if she’d had a can of spray paint handy.
By the time the shower shut off, she was waiting by the door, wiping her palms on her jeans, willing herself not to think of Finn in there naked and wet—you’ve already seen him almost naked and wet—and jeez, that wasn’t working. She rapped with her knuckles in a quick one-two knock. He stopped humming.
“Uh, yeah?” He sounded wary.
“I have some clothes, since you went in there—” Don’t say it, don’tthinkit. “Naked.”
The door creaked open a crack. His hair hung down over his brow, darkened with damp. “Thanks.” He reached out a hand, but she held on to the bundle as he tried to tug it away.
“Didn’t you bring anything comfier than jeans?”
“I guess the suit doesn’t count?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes, allowing her annoyance to put some distance between them, because Lord knows she needed it.
“No, and I cannot believe you balled it up and shoved it in there. That’s not how you treat a suit.”
“All right, Fancy Pants. Anything else you’d like to critique?”
She opened her mouth to say yes. Planned to say that she couldn’t stand the way he’d crammed everything into his duffel helter skelter. Couldn’t stand the way he raked a hand through his hair when hewas frustrated, or the way his eyes dimmed when one of her insults landed. Couldn’t stand the perfect plumpness of his lower lip, which was currently pulled between his teeth, and oh for the love of ... she was staring at his mouth again.
“Simone?” She blinked twice. Slow. Pulled the door closed as his laugh echoed on the other side. Why did he insist on torturing her? Why did she insist on letting him? Dazed and disoriented, she strode over to the couch and sank down.
Meg had texted her, and when she opened it, a picture of Willow frolicking in the snow filled the screen, and Simone smiled at the sight.
Simone:
Someone looks happy.
Meg:
Very. I would say she misses you, but I think it’s safe to say she’s living her best life.
