Page 16 of Forever Finn

“Relax,” she snorts. “I’ve got them on a wild goose chase. Yesterday, I may have implied that you were taking some personal time in a private cabin we own in Alaska.”

“We don’t own a cabin in Alaska.” My mouth twitches.

“Don’t we?” she replies innocently. “My mistake. Still, I’m sure they’ll figure it out after they’ve hiked through the outskirts of Girdwood with their cameras for a couple of days… You know what, come to think of it, I’m sure you said you were heading to Colorado.”

“Sky.” I chuckle.

“I know, I know.” She sighs dramatically. “You’re not a fan of the Broncos, but they do have amazing cheeseburgers.”

“I love you,” I say simply.

“I love you too, but I gotta go. They’re calling me back on set. Let me know how your date goes.”

“It’s not a—” I hear the line disconnect. “Date,” I finish lamely as I toss the phone down on the sofa beside me and lean back into the plush cushions, scrubbing my hands over my face.

God, who am I kidding? It’s totally a date.

8

By the time I knock on Wyatt’s door that evening the sun is already dipping toward the horizon. I hover on his doorstep my hands sweating slightly as I rub them nervously against my jean clad thighs. I must’ve raised my hand to knock three or four times before dropping it back against my side.

My heart is pounding as I draw in a deep breath. Finally, before I can change my mind again, I lift my hand and knock. It only takes a moment before the door swings open, and I nearly swallow my tongue.

“I wondered if you were going to actually knock.” He smiles slowly as my eyes trail down his body appreciatively.

He is literally wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans slung low on his hips. His feet are bare and somehow, I find it ridiculously sexy. His rippled abs are framed by a delicious ‘V’, which disappears into the waistband of his jeans. There’s a thick dusting of blonde hair fanning across his chest making my hands twitch with the desire to run my fingers through it, or maybe rub my face against it as I breathe him in. There are a few errant drops of water rolling down his golden skin, and his hair hangs damply around his shoulders.

“You coming in?”

I step over the threshold, following him like he’s a really sexy pied piper. As the door closes behind me, he throws me the kind of smile that warms my belly.

“Beer?” he asks as he heads into the kitchen and snags a t-shirt, which is slung over the back of a chair.

“Thanks,” I reply absently, as he tugs the shirt over his head and leaving me no time to lament over the loss of such a tempting view.

Grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge, he hands one to me and pops the lid on his own, taking a slow swig as he leans back against the counter comfortably, his eyes sliding over me lazily.

“So, I have a confession to make.” Wyatt’s mouth curves slowly. “I was totally intending to seduce you with my famous Chicken Alfredo, but I ended up wrestling 60lbs of indignant Labrador who was adamant he was not getting his shots. Which means we have two options: Chinese or Pizza. Not quite the romantic overture I was going for, but a man’s gotta eat, right?”

It’s his easy demeanour and playful tone that has me stepping closer to him, sliding my unopened beer onto the counter beside him and impulsively leaning in. As my body presses against him, I brush my lips over his in the barest hint of a kiss.

His eyes widen a fraction, and I’m not sure who’s more surprised by the shy sweetness of our barely there kiss, me or him.

“You don’t need to romance me,” I whisper as I look up into his eyes. “I don’t need that.”

“Finn,” he breathes out slowly, his warm palm sliding along my jaw, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “You may not need it, but you deserve it.”

Wordlessly, I lean in and kiss him again. For a second, we pause, our lips pressed together. Finally, I tilt my head and slant my lips over his, tracing the seam with my tongue until he opens his mouth and lets me taste him.

He lifts his arms, his large hands tangling in my hair, and we kiss lazily. Although it has none of the raw desperation of the night we met, it’s no less intense. My arms snake around his shoulders, pulling him in close as I feel his cock thicken against mine through our jeans.

Slowly he pulls back and presses his forehead to mine, his breathing unsteady as his mouth curves.

“So, Pizza or Chinese?” he rasps.

I huff out a laugh against his mouth. “Either. I’m easy.”

He pulls back further, his gaze searching my face as his fingertips trace my jaw, scraping against my stubble. “No,” he mutters thoughtfully. “That’s one thing you’re not.”