Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(85)
“That’s not the only reason,” I argued.
“I’m not judging you, Finn. After everything Steven put you through, I think it’s admirable that you want to protect him.”
“He’s my children’s father. Of course, I want to protect him, but that’s not the only reason I’m—”
“I know.” Nick rose from his chair, blowing out a long sigh as he limped across the room. His hands were heavy on his hips, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “When Steven was here to pick up the kids, he told me you two are trying to reconcile. That you’re going to start seeing a marriage counselor.”
My jaw dropped. I set down my cup to keep from crushing it. “He told you that?”
“I feel like such an asshole for not seeing it before. I was so wrapped up in how I feel about you that I didn’t stop to think that maybe you wanted something else. It all makes sense now, the way you pull away every time we’re alone together. Like something’s holding you back.”
“That’s not it,” I said, launching to my feet as he paced. “I didn’t pull away because of Steven!”
“You don’t have to explain, Finn. I get it. He’s Delia and Zach’s father, and this is about them as much as it is about you. You had a house and a family and a life together before Theresa came along. And now she’s out of the picture and you feel like maybe the two of you have a chance at working things out, and I don’t blame you one bit for wanting to protect him, or for wanting to have your family back.” He turned to face me, his hand on his chest. “I just wish you’d been honest with me about how you felt.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Nick thought I was here at the academy because I was still in love with Steven. Because I wanted him back. Nick couldn’t be more wrong about that. But he’d been right about one thing—I hadn’t been honest with him about how I felt.
“You’re right,” I said in a steely voice. “I am here to find the person who tried to murder my ex-husband. Because he is the father of my children, and for that reason alone I will always want him to be safe. And maybe even happy. But I have no plans of going to counseling with him, and I would rather rip my own toenails out than welcome Steven back into my bed.” A spark lit in Nick’s eyes as I took a bold step closer. “But Joey was wrong if he told you that was my only reason for being here. I did come to do research for my book. I have writer’s block,” I said, confessions spewing out of me like a dam had finally broken. “Sylvia says my manuscript sucks, and my publisher is refusing to pay me because I can’t write a goddamn sex scene.”
Nick frowned. “You lost me.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with this book!” I said, throwing up my hands. “The cop and the heroine are supposed to be together—I know that—but every time I put them alone in a scene, I freeze up and I can’t finish it.” I looked up at the puzzled creases around his eyes, struggling to figure out how to explain. “The last book was different. The heroine’s romance with the lawyer was easy,” I admitted. “There were no strings attached and she had nothing to lose, because she could never picture a future with him anyway. But with you…” My mouth went dry at the intensity of Nick’s stare. “With you, the stakes feel higher, because this feels like it could be something more. And I think I’m holding back because I’m terrified of ruining it.”
His voice was husky. “What are you saying?”
What was I saying? That I was done waiting for everything to be perfect. For me to be perfect. I was done trying to contort myself to fit everyone else’s expectations of who I should be. I was done feeling guilty for things that weren’t my fault. Mostly, I was done denying myself my own happy ending.
I wanted dessert, to hell with the consequences.
I took Nick by the straps of his holster and kissed him. His body went still.
I drew back, afraid I’d gone too far. That maybe, after everything I’d confessed over the last twelve hours, he didn’t want this anymore. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” He slid a hand through my hair and pulled me close, his breath whisky-sweet on my face, our foreheads almost touching. Eyes closed, he said, “Don’t apologize for this.”
His mouth sank into mine, a teasing brush of five o’clock shadow and soft lips. He deepened the kiss with a maddening patience, the slow sweep of his tongue achingly thorough as I curled my fingers into the front of his shirt and drew him to me.
My body hummed with the buzz of whisky and adrenaline. With the warm leather smell of his clothes. Maybe it was this room or this place or the near-death experience I’d had only hours ago. Maybe it was the way he’d looked in a shower towel, with my son pressed to his chest. Or the way I’d thought about him every single night since he’d left me standing under the mistletoe. But when Nick kissed me, I felt it everywhere.
My fingers fumbled over his buttons.
“You sure about this?” he asked as I pushed his holster over his shoulders and dropped it on the floor.
“Uh-huh.” Our breaths started coming fast. All the frustration that had built over the last two months was cresting like a tsunami inside me.
“Finn…” I nipped his bottom lip and he swore under his breath. His muscles tensed under my fingers, his skin hot, his chest pebbling with goose bumps as I pushed his undershirt over his head. “Maybe we should set up some ground rules so we don’t get carried away. I can wait as long as you need. I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for—”