Page 17 of Hotshot (Buchanan-Renard 11)

  She shrugged. “I keep replaying the conversation with Drew, and that’s taken my appetite away. I guess you weren’t as disgusted as I was,” she added with a smile when he reached for the last slices of fruit. She pushed the small fondue pot toward him.

  “I’m used to dealing with the depraved,” he said as he dipped the orange into the rich dark chocolate and popped it in his mouth.

  “So, no surprises with Drew?”

  “No,” he answered. “He’s a good-looking guy who could probably get most of the women he went after, but that doesn’t do it for him. He wants them young and beautiful, and you’re both.”

  Her head came up. “You think I’m beautiful?”

  He seemed surprised by the question. “Yeah, I do . . . when you’re not being a royal pain.”

  She didn’t understand why, but she was inordinately pleased with the backhanded compliment. Smiling, she was content to watch him finish dinner. She didn’t have to ask if he enjoyed the meal because he ate every bit. He needed the fuel. God only knew how many calories he burned in a day. He was a big man and very muscular. She remembered running her fingertips over his broad shoulders, down his rock-hard chest, and over his thighs. She remembered everything about their night together . . . every little detail.

  “You still have a swimmer’s body,” she blurted.

  “I still swim,” he said as he stood and reached for her plate, stacking it on his and carrying both to the kitchen. He helped her clear the table and load the dishwasher, then picked up his phone. “I’ve got to make some calls.”

  “Finn? Do people ever recognize you?” she asked. “You won three gold medals. You could have been a celebrity.”

  “That happened a long time ago. People see an FBI agent, and that’s what I want.”

  “You could have done commercials,” she pressed. She laughed then because he looked so appalled. “Picture it. You in your Speedo holding up a tube of toothpaste, smiling into the camera.”

  If she wanted to tease, he could, too. “And you could have been a model. Picture it. You wearing high heels walking down the runway in your undies, smiling into the camera.”

  “Models never smile. It’s a rule. No smiling on the runway. And I could never be a lingerie model. I’m not overly . . .” She suddenly realized what she was about to say and stopped.

  He saw her blush and wouldn’t let it go. “Overly what?”

  “Endowed,” she finished. “Most of them are overly endowed. And I couldn’t be a fashion model, either. Most of them are flat-chested, and I’m not.”

  His eyes slowly scanned her body, and several heartbeats later he said, “No, you’re not.”

  Every part of her reacted to his sexy voice. How did he do it? He looked at her, and she was ready to tear off her clothes. And his. It really was the craziest thing. One glorious night with Finn had turned her into a shameless nymphomaniac.

  The heat that was warming her face was rapidly making its way down her body and settling between her thighs. She hastily folded her dish towel and laid it next to the sink. Stepping around him, she headed toward her bedroom. “Make your calls. I’m going to get into the shower.”

  As she was closing her door, he called out to her. “Peyton?”

  “Yes?” she answered expectantly, hoping he hadn’t noticed how flushed she had become.

  “Dinner was great. I’ve never eaten chicken that tasted so good.”

  She beamed with pleasure. Now, that was a lovely compliment. She was flattered when Finn told her she was beautiful. It was a very nice thing to hear, but she couldn’t help the way she looked. She sure as certain could roast a perfectly delicious chicken, though.

  She showered, washed her hair, and used a gallon of scented body lotion on her arms and legs. While she dried her hair, she thought about her nightgown choices. Should she wear the short, black silk nightie? Or would that be too obvious? If she walked out into the living room wearing it, he would immediately know she wanted to sleep with him. Not actually sleep, of course. Call it what it was, she told herself. Sex. She wanted him to make love to her again.

  As she sorted through the drawer trying to decide, she could feel her heartbeat quicken. She’d never felt or acted this way toward a man in her entire life. It was a totally new sensation, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

  Yes, this was unfamiliar territory for her, but what about Finn? He was behaving normally, in his relaxed and self-assured way. What was he thinking? He certainly hadn’t given her any indications that he wanted to go to bed with her again. In fact, he’d been acting rather aloof and businesslike since he’d arrived, treating her as though she were just an old friend who needed help. He hadn’t even kissed her.

  She surveyed her sleepwear choices again. Maybe she shouldn’t appear to be so eager. Maybe she should wear her old faded cotton pajamas. But if she chose those, what message would that send? And why hadn’t he kissed her? She frowned thinking about that. Maybe sex with her hadn’t been all that great, and if so, why not?

  By the time she put on her short, pink silk nightgown she was primed for a fight. She was going to storm into the living room and demand to know why he no longer wanted her.

  Mimi saved her from making a fool of herself. Peyton had just pulled the down comforter back on her bed and was reaching for her robe when her friend called.

  “Want a laugh?” Mimi began.

  “Sure. I could use one.”

  “Bridget told me that now that I’m back in the Bountiful Table family—honest, those were her exact words—I’m no longer banned from the celebration of Miriam Swift’s life. She personally delivered the invitation.”

  “She couldn’t have. She’s dead.”

  Mimi laughed. “Bridget handed me the invitation. It’s such a crock. The celebration is on a Sunday afternoon, and everyone in the company is invited, which would imply they had a choice, right? Not so. It’s mandatory.”

  “When are you going to give your notice?”

  “Lars went to HR and handed his in today. They asked him to stay the full two weeks and he agreed. I’ll give my notice on his last day and leave then and there,” she promised. “We want to drive down to Florida together . . . you know, following each other in our cars. Can you wait that long for us?”

  “Yes, but no longer than two weeks and you’re out of there. I worry about you. Did Lars tell them where he was going?”

  “No,” she said. “You know Lars. He can’t lie, but he hinted that he was homesick. If they want to believe he’s going back to Sweden, that’s fine. I’m finished with my news,” she added. “What’s going on there?”

  “You’ll never guess who stopped by.”

  She told Mimi all about her encounter with Drew, and when she was finished, her friend was flabbergasted. “Did he come right out and threaten you in front of an FBI agent?”

  “No,” she said. “He implied.”

  “According to his calendar, he’s in L.A. checking out a couple of new restaurants. Guess that’s a lie.”

  “What about Parsons? Have you seen him around the office?”

  Mimi thought for a second. “Good old Rick Parsons is usually glued to Eileen’s side, but, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him all week. Could be longer. Eileen has been in the cafeteria for lunch every day this week, but Parsons hasn’t been with her. I’d remember if he was there. I could ask around.”

  “No, I don’t want you asking questions. In that tight little community everything gets back to Eileen, right?”

  “Right,” she agreed. “Parsons doesn’t come into the main building unless Eileen is here. He’s supposed to work in the plant. He’s one of the supervisors who doesn’t do diddly.”

  “Drew takes care of his friends, doesn’t he? There’s no telling what he’s put him up to.”

  “This is all my fault,” Mimi sa

id. “Drew must have read that text I sent you before I erased it. That’s why he came to threaten you.”

  “It’s okay. I told him you talked me out of suing. You might get another raise.”

  ______

  As soon as the call ended, Peyton went into the living room to tell Finn what Mimi had to say, but he wasn’t there. She could hear water running and knew he was in the shower, which meant he was naked. Of course he was naked, she reasoned. He wouldn’t shower in his clothes.

  “Don’t picture it. Don’t think about it. Don’t . . .” Saying it out loud didn’t make any difference. The second she heard the water running she envisioned gloriously naked Finn standing under the spray of water cascading down his muscular shoulders. He was just feet away from her. In her mind she saw the ripple of muscle across his chest, the curly dark hair that tapered just above his navel, and those thighs . . . those gorgeous thighs . . .

  “Oh, for the love of . . .” She groaned as she turned around and walked back into her bedroom. “You just had to picture it,” she muttered to herself.

  This sensation was new to her, and she didn’t like it one bit. So this was what sexual frustration felt like. Difficulty swallowing, rapid heartbeat, sweaty palms, and trembling all over. There was heat, too, heat in her belly. Some of these symptoms were signs of a heart attack, weren’t they? One way or another, she was probably going to keel over. Hot and bothered. Might as well add those to the list, too. She guessed she knew exactly what they meant now.

  She was in trouble, all right. If just thinking about him naked aroused her, there was no hope. Was she doomed to a perpetual state of misery?

  For Pete’s sake, why hadn’t he kissed her?

  She sat on her bed and drew her knees up under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. She was able to force the foolish thoughts from her mind because the water wasn’t running any longer. Finn had clothes on by now. Turning her attention to the resort, she made a mental list of what needed to be done tomorrow. There would be several trades arriving. She would have to coordinate the electricians, plumbers, painters, and movers, but all in all, it wasn’t going to be too hectic. She had worked out a schedule for each of them.

  Everything was organized and on track, and she was feeling pretty good until the phone started ringing. Four phone calls later she was in a state.

  Her uncle Brian was the first to call. He wanted to talk to her about his little girl, Debi. He asked Peyton to let his sweet daughter be part of their exciting venture.

  Little girl? She was thirty years old. And sweet? Was he serious? Peyton was surprised he could say “sweet” and “Debi” in the same sentence and not choke. Yes, he was her father and, yes, he loved her, but surely he could see what a shrew she was.

  Peyton patiently explained that it wasn’t possible to include Debi. A contract had been drawn up and signed by all parties. It was a done deal. When she finally hung up from speaking to her uncle, she knew he wasn’t happy, but she thought at least the matter had been settled.

  Ten minutes later, her father was on the line. When Uncle Brian didn’t get her cooperation, he had immediately called to complain about her. Peyton’s father wanted to keep peace in the family, and for that reason, he asked her to give Debi a chance. Peyton once again explained about the contract. She also reminded him that Debi had passed up the chance to run the California resort. According to her father, that was water under the bridge and they shouldn’t dwell on it. Despite his protest, she stood her ground, and she ended the conversation thinking, once again, the matter was settled.

  Unfortunately, Uncle Brian wasn’t through campaigning for his daughter. He called once more and threatened—in loving uncle talk—to tell her uncle Leonard that she was being uncharitable. He would have to wait to speak to his brother because he was in Bali, but as soon as Len returned home, they would have a lengthy conversation about her attitude.

  Peyton’s father was sick of hearing from his brother and wanted the matter resolved. At least that’s what he told Peyton when he called yet again. He pulled out several religious punches. It’s better to give than to receive, isn’t it? No, not always, Peyton silently answered. She should turn the other cheek with Debi. Why? she wondered. Yes, Debi could be difficult, he agreed, but in her defense, she was an only child and didn’t have sisters to show her the way. Peyton thought that was a lame argument. She knew plenty of people who were the only children in their families and they weren’t dysfunctional or spoiled; however, she didn’t say her thoughts aloud. She knew she’d be on the phone an hour if she debated the issue.

  She could hear her mother in the background but couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  “What does Mom want?”

  Her father’s long, drawn-out sigh came through the phone. “Your mother wonders if you’ve met anyone down there.”

  Peyton decided she had two choices. She could either start screaming or she could laugh. She chose humor. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been busy. I’ve got to go now.”

  “Hold on,” her father insisted. “Do you know where Lucy is? Your uncle Brian has been trying to get ahold of her, but she isn’t answering her phone. Do you know why?”

  She could tell him the truth, that Lucy was smarter than she was because she had looked at caller ID before answering. Lucy knew why Uncle Brian was phoning and didn’t want to argue with him. Her uncle wouldn’t give up, though. Lucy knew that, too.

  “She probably went to bed. She put in a long day. I’m exhausted, too,” she added. “Love you, Dad. Night.”

  Before the phone had a chance to ring again, she turned it off and plugged it in to the charger. Then she dropped down on the bed on her stomach and closed her eyes.

  Finn stood in the doorway listening to Peyton mutter to herself. His gaze went to her long legs and slowly moved up to her sexy backside.

  “Peyton? Mind if I come in?”

  She rolled onto her side and gave him a disgruntled look. “Sure, come on in.”

  “What were you doing?” he asked as he crossed the room and sat on the bed next to her.

  “Having a moment.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I was contemplating the merits of being an orphan.”

  “Ah,” he drawled. “I’m guessing Debi’s father called.”

  “How did you know?”

  “She promised to get him to call and make you change your mind. In fact, she screamed it as she was leaving. So, did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  His grin was devilish. “Change your mind.”

  She was having trouble following the conversation. The man was a distraction. He was wearing a pair of faded navy shorts and nothing else. She wanted to stare at his massive chest, to run her palms down his hard, warm body, to kiss him everywhere, especially those amazing thighs . . .

  “No,” she blurted. “I didn’t change my mind.”

  Threading her fingers through her hair to give it some semblance of order, she sat up. One of the straps on her nightgown slipped down her arm, exposing a good deal of her breast. She adjusted the strap and waited for him to tell her why he had come into her bedroom.

  She vowed she wouldn’t bring up the past. Every ounce of her wanted to ask, what is this? To tell him she didn’t know the rules and could he please explain them. They did have sex, didn’t they? She didn’t imagine it. But now he was acting as though they hadn’t. Was being blasé about it all the sophisticated way of behaving?

  Having sex with her must have been a disappointment for him, she decided, and he didn’t want a repeat performance. That much was obvious to her because here she sat in her scanty nightgown, and he hadn’t even looked at her. In fact, he was staring at the top of her head, giving the impression he was bored. What were they supposed to be now? she wondered. Pals? Best buddies? Okay, then. If that’s what he wanted, that’s what he would get.  “Did you say something?” she asked. He nodded but remained silent. She nudged him. “Yes?” she prodded.

  “I just got a call. Albertson is at the airport waiting to board the company jet. I’ve got a man watching him,” he explained. “So far, Albertson is the only one there. No Parsons.”

  “Maybe he’s in Dalton, and Drew really did come here alone. When will I get my car back?”

  He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Tomorrow, probably late afternoon.”

  She didn’t ask if the technicians had found anything that would help them identify the shooter because Finn would have told her.

  “How long are you staying?” she asked.

  He stretched out on the bed and propped two pillows behind his back. “I don’t know yet. Ronan’s gonna need some help with a case pretty soon. This is a great mattress.”

  She watched him stack his hands on his chest and close his eyes. “The mattress in your bedroom is identical. Go try it out.”

  “I’m kinda comfortable here.”

  “Listen, pal—”

  “Pal?” he repeated, laughing.

  He pulled her down beside him and held her close. She struggled to get up until he pushed her head down on his shoulder. “There, comfy now?”

  Laughing, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Relaxing.”

  She threw one leg over his hips. He blocked her knee before it slammed into his groin. Snuggling up against him, she yawned and asked, “Is the outside door locked?”

  “Yeah.”

  This was crazy, she thought. He should either kiss her or get out of her bed and go to his own. Yet, it was chilly and his body was wonderfully warm. She couldn’t resist the temptation and began to caress his chest with her fingertips. Finn put his hand on top of hers, keeping her still.

  “Behave yourself and go to sleep.”

  Finn had made up his mind that he and Peyton would talk about expectations before they had sex again. No messing around until she understood there couldn’t be a long-term relationship. Going forward would be up to her. Until the talk, he was going to be honorable and leave her the hell alone.