Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(15)

I don’t admit as much to Finn. Instead I simply relish his company. For the first time since my mother’s relapse, I don’t feel so alone.

From inside the house Teo rumbles something that makes everyone laugh. I should be in there. After all I’m family. But it feels nice to have some peace given the chaos of this past week. And as much as I shouldn’t go there, it’s more than a little awesome to be here with Finn.

He’s arrogant, bordering on obnoxious, straddling sexy and rugged like they’re his bitches. But he has a heart, he proved as much all those years ago when he came to my recue. Remembering that night, how he took my hand and walked me out, makes me smile every time. Every time. He’s a nice guy, a genuinely good person. I only wish I could tell him as much.

I zip open my coat because the fire in the hearth is just that hot. But then against my better judgment I reach for his hand, carefully passing my fingertips over his knuckles. “How are you doing?” I ask. “You haven’t said much about you.”

He flips his hand over, threading our fingers together. Before tonight, he never struck me as the touchy-feely type. I guess I was wrong. “I’m all right,” he says after a breath.

I don’t think he is. Not if he’s seeing Mason. If anything, he’s about as good as I am. “You sure?”

He waits to answer. “Life can be a real bitch,” he admits.

“Yes, he can,” I agree, causing him to laugh.

He quiets after a moment, the way he takes me in making me feel like he’s wrestling with what to tell me. “Do you know what happened with me? Why I’m in counseling?” He frowns when I shake my head. “I thought you would, seeing where you work.”

His stance is rigid, as if he’s expecting me to judge him. But of course I don’t. “It’s against the law to read files of clients I’m not directly involved with or to even discuss their cases.” I brush away my messy hair with my free hand, but it’s probably pointless. “Cute” flipped me off the moment my hair band snapped.

“So you don’t know anything about me?” he asks. “Nothing at all?”

I think I surprise us both when my thumb strokes the back of his hand. “I’ll only ever know what you tell me.”

“Okay,” he says. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” I ask, crinkling my brow.

Although he’s grinning, I don’t miss the edge behind his words, and maybe the underlying warning he feels he needs to share. “Why you’re sitting here beside me, and not looking for an excuse to get away.”

Teo once told me that no matter my smile, my eyes have a way of giving away my sadness. I believed him. I wonder as I stare at Finn―a guy who’s so heartbreakingly gorgeous and who possesses a grin capable of halting me in place―if he can see that sadness I know must be there. “Is it that bad?” I ask.

He turns his attention in the direction of the flames. “Yeah. It is,” he answers quietly.

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks after a moment.

“No.”

I mean what I say. Most women would push until he spilled something juicy―eager for a shock or thrill. But I don’t. A shock or thrill at the expense of someone who’s been hurt sucks. If I know anything, it’s that.

“No?” he asks, laughing.

I grin because his smile and that dimple make it hard not to. But as my words come, my smile fades. “I don’t ever want you to tell me anything you don’t want me to know.”

“So there’ll be a next time in case I want tell you? Another time with you and me like this?” he asks, motioning to our hands.

“Maybe,” I say, before thinking things through.

“Yeah?” he asks, his stare darkening in a way that means trouble. “You know,” he says at the sight of my lips parting. “There are ways I can keep you warm that have nothing to do with this fire.”

“Ah,” I respond, as my girl parts tighten with a resounding, “hell, yeah.”

I don’t know what he sees in my expression, but it cracks him up. He leans in, lifting my chin so his mouth lingers just a few millimeters from his. “You really know how to make a guy feel wanted,” he murmurs.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” I stammer.

“Kissing?” he asks, his mouth so close his warm breath tickles my skin. “Or touching?” he adds, his hand gliding along my thigh.

My body shudders with a burst of mind-numbing desire. Holy Madonna and baby Jesus clinging to her leg. How is it possible for him to get me this worked up with just his words . . . and that deep voice . . . and that face? As it is, my nipples are saluting him like he’s their new leader.

“Did you get any snow in your jeans sitting out here?” he asks, his sly grin telling me he’s enjoying watching me squirm. “If so, I could help you get it out.”

“Finn . . .”

“Normally, I wouldn’t offer,” he whispers. “But you seem like a nice girl so I thought I’d help you out.”

His comment makes me smile, and maybe gives me a little courage, too. “Is that right?”

“Damn straight,” he says. “I meant what I said. That kiss I gave you is just a taste of what’s to come.”