Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(8)

He dragged off my hat, tossing it into the passenger seat. His fingers slid into my hair and under my shirt as he pulled me back onto his lap with a frustrated groan.

Tires squealed. We jerked apart, breathing hard, as a truck skidded to a stop at the foot of my driveway. Its taillights glared, a livid shade of red.

I slid out of Julian’s arms into the passenger seat. Julian turned, following my gaze out the back window, his eyes still smoldering as he panted, “Your ex?”

I nodded, waiting for Steven to put his foot on the gas and leave. Instead, he put the truck in park. “Shit!” I muttered.

Julian sank back against the headrest, his voice husky. “I should probably go.”

“Don’t. Please. Just … don’t move,” I said, holding up a finger as I threw open the door of his Jeep.

I slammed it harder than I’d intended, adjusting my sweatshirt and raking back my ruffled hair as I stormed down the driveway and met Steven at the bottom of it.

“What are you doing here? I told you, the kids are with my parents.”

“Whose Jeep is that?” Steven frowned at the GMU sticker on the rear window, craning his neck to see inside it.

“A friend.” I put a hand to his chest as he took a determined step toward the Jeep. “Look, I’m a little busy right now. Can’t you just call me tomorrow?”

He paused, surprise coloring his cheeks. “Why’s your neck all red? And what the hell happened to your hair?”

“Nothing’s wrong with my hair. Can you please just—”

A car door shut behind me and Steven stiffened. I squeezed my eyes closed.

“Who the hell is this?” Steven asked as Julian came up beside me.

Julian drew me aside. “You two look like you need to talk, and I should probably get home. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Are you going to be okay if I go?”

“She’ll be fine,” Steven grumbled.

I nodded.

Julian dipped low, stealing a slow, lingering kiss that left me a little breathless.

“For crying out loud, kid,” Steven snapped. “Don’t you have a curfew or something?”

“I’ll text you when I get back,” Julian whispered. I melted into a puddle of frustration, seriously reconsidering that one-hundred-thousand-dollar offer to kill my ex as Julian climbed in his Jeep and drove off.

I rounded on Steven, planting my hands on my hips—better there than around his neck. “What the hell was that about?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Was that him?” he asked, throwing a finger toward the Jeep’s diminishing taillights. “Was that the mystery attorney Vero keeps blathering on about? Jesus, Finn! How old is he?”

“How old is Bree?” I fired back. I doubted the perky blond assistant at his office was old enough to legally drink.

“That’s none of your goddamned business!” I raised an eyebrow, but apparently the double standard was lost on him. His mouth pursed with disgust. “Is this why Delia and Zach are at your mother’s for the weekend? So you can be out here in your damn pajamas, steaming up the windows of some kid’s car?” His eyes narrowed on the front of my sweatshirt. “For Chrissake, Finn, you’re not even wearing a bra.”

I folded my arms around my chest, dimly aware of a light flicking on in Mrs. Haggerty’s upstairs window. “Why are you here, Steven? It’s Thanksgiving. Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”

He scrubbed a hand over his short beard, masking a flinch. His parents had retired to Tampa a few years ago and his sister had relocated to Philly. Ketchup stains dotted his untucked flannel and onions soured his breath. He’d probably spent Thanksgiving eating fast food in his car.

Steven paced short, irritable lines in front of his truck, raking his hands through his untrimmed hair. He looked as horrible as he had the last time he’d shown up in my driveway in the middle of the night, when he and Theresa had been fighting and he’d come crawling back to talk.

“Bree dumped you,” I said, certain I was right when he didn’t bother with a snappy comeback.

“She didn’t dump me,” he said bitterly. “It was a business decision. I lost too many clients after the police investigation, and I couldn’t afford to keep an assistant on payroll anymore. I let her go a few weeks ago.” I choked on a wry laugh, shaking my head. “What?” His cheeks reddened under the glow of the streetlamp. “I offered to let her come in on an as-needed basis. It’s not my fault she turned it down.”

I dropped my head into my hands, whispering his name through a sigh. He’d be lucky if Bree didn’t take him to court and paint #MeToo all over the billboard in front of his farm. I didn’t even want to know how many women Steven had done this to over the years, casting them aside when they rejected his advances. He’d pulled the same crap with Vero before she came to live with us, claiming he couldn’t afford to pay her, only agreeing to keep her on if she worked a little overtime in his pants. He’d fired her under the guise of a layoff when she’d flat-out refused his proposition for sex.

Arms folded around me, I headed for my front porch. “Go home, Steven.”

“I don’t have a home,” he called after me. I stopped in the middle of the driveway, cursing myself for turning around. His nose was red, his face washed out by the harshness of the streetlight. “That house isn’t home. Not without the kids.”