Page 36

The floor-to-ceiling windows cast angled blocks of moonlight across the room.

Building blocks? Cell blocks?

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep much,” I admitted when Finn climbed into bed a few minutes after me.

He gave a funny laugh, reached out, and I moved into the circle of his arm. He smelled comfortingly familiar: soap, toothpaste, himself.

“I never thought we’d do this again,” I said.

“Sleep? Me neither.” I could feel his smile although I continued to watch the indigo dome of sky tilt and slide its bowl full of stars into the ocean, the glittery reflection spilling across the rippled black water.

Beyond the harbor, dark silhouettes of fishing boats rocked gently in their slips, deck lights casting pale halos onto the inky water.

His words registered. I made a sound of amusement, turning my face up and, still smiling, he dropped a kiss on my mouth.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered. I was happy in this instant, but that hole in my heart still ached a little.

Finn hesitated, said quietly, “I kept waiting for that moment when I knew I’d made the right choice. It never came.”

The next time his mouth brushed mine, it wasn’t a kiss so much as gravity—the force by which one body draws another toward its center. We closed the gap, held each other tightly, silently, breathing in soft unison.

Just held each other.

I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent, feeling the rebellious softness of his hair, hearing the roughness of emotion in his breathing.

“I’m so sorry, Keir.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I never meant to hurt you. It kills me to think I’d be the one to cause you pain.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured. “We’re okay.”

His instincts had been correct, after all. I had been harboring dangerous secrets, secrets that could harm him, too.

I slid my fingers into his hair, holding his face still, gazing into the colorless gleam of his eyes.

“I love you.”

I’d only ever said it twice in my life, and my heart thudded as though I’d suddenly leaped from a balcony, dropped into empty sky.

He made a sound that seemed closer to pain than pleasure. His mouth found mine, his lips surprisingly soft. I opened to him, tasted his answer.

For a moment we stayed like that, lips barely brushing, eyelashes flickering, soft, unsteady breaths. When we kissed again, we were both tender, both reassuring. Yes, there was wear and tear. Damage had been done. But nothing that couldn’t be repaired with time and patience.

At least the harm Finn had done had been inflicted without malice. Even before we’d thought of reconciling, he’d tried to undo some of the damage.

He pulled me in carefully, then more firmly, and I let myself be held, wanted to be held.

It was lovely to be stroked and caressed, lovely when it was Finn, who knew when and where to touch lightly, delicately, when and where I liked his demands and urgency.

From our first time together, he’d seemed to instinctively understand things about me I barely understood myself.

That I did not like roughness or grabbing or surprises. I did not like to be rushed.

He whispered, “I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”

Tears started in the back of my eyes. I said shakily, trying for a joke, “That I love you?”

“That I love you .” Finn said it steadily, seriously.

I shook my head, but he said gently, “Of course I do. You’ve known for a long time.”

Yes. Although these last few days there had been reason to believe he’d changed, that I’d lost that love.

I’d done little enough to deserve it.

“It’s terrible timing,” I said.

“I don’t agree.” His mouth moved against mine with tender insistence, and we were kissing again. Kissing till we were out of breath.

Maybe he was right. If his plan didn’t work, if I did end up in prison, the memory of this, the promise of this would probably be the only thing that could keep me sane.

“I don’t want you to pay the price for my mistakes.”

Finn said, “There’s always a price for loving someone.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant—other than once you loved someone, anything that hurt them, hurt you. That was true.

Finn’s hands continued to move over me, exploring, pleasuring. When his large capable hand closed around my cock, I pushed into it, making encouraging sounds, willingly giving up control, letting Finn set the pace, shoving into that sure and knowledgeable grip… teamwork makes the dream work …

It took almost no effort from either of us before I was spilling over in high tide, coming in pulses like the waves rushing the pilons beneath us. My heart pounded in time to each silvery surge. Distantly, I heard the sounds I was making, somewhere between laughter and tears.

Finn nuzzled me, making comforting sounds. I could hear that little thread of humor in his voice, but I didn’t mind—had never minded—because he wasn’t laughing at me. Or if he was, it was with affection. He did not think I was a joke.

We continued to kiss and touch. It was all nice. Everything with Finn was nice. But for me, this was the best part.

He said, “The first time you let me crash at your loft, I saw you had a very battered copy of How to Make Friends and Influence People in the back of your bookshelf.”

“ Oh no .” I laughed self-consciously.

“I think that’s when I started to love you.”

“Jesus. That’s…”

“I finally felt like I was starting to understand you.”

I shook my head. “I just wanted to be liked when I was a kid. That’s all there is to understand.”

“You are liked. You’re kind and funny and smart. But mostly, you care about people and it comes through. You didn’t have to organize that management buyout. You could have left early on.”

“Well, it failed, so it wasn’t much of an effort. Anyway, I’m not sure why everyone thinks I had so many options. I don’t have any more options than anyone else.”

“Bullshit.” Finn said it gently.

I was silent for a moment, and then I admitted, “Rudolph told me he put my name before TM’s board of directors.”

It was Finn’s turn for silence.

“Good,” he said at last. “It’s the obvious move for you.”

I half sat up. “I can’t accept it! Even if they do offer—and I don’t think they would, especially if I end up going to trial—”

Finn sat up, too. “Whoa, whoa. What’s all the uproar?”

“You know better than anyone what the uproar is!”

“Keir.” He put his arms around me. “If you don’t think they’re going to make you an offer, why are you panicking?”

Until Finn pointed it out, I hadn’t realized that I was starting to panic.

I took a couple of deep breaths, shook my head.

“It’s just…a lot. We’re going to talk to Judge Baldwin and then I’m probably going straight to jail do not pass Go.

Lila fucking hates me. So even if— I’m not qualified for that job! ” I heard myself babbling and shut up.

“You’re not going to prison,” Finn said. “I don’t care what I have to do. You’re not going to prison.”

I gave a shaky, hopeless laugh.

“Secondly, Lila doesn’t hate you. She resents the fact that you made choices she didn’t have the nerve to make, and those choices paid off for you.

She isn’t happy at W&W but she feels trapped.

Thirdly, you’ve been doing the job of editorial director without the commensurate pay for how many years now?

You’re a senior editor in name only and everyone paying attention—which includes Rudolph Dunst, as it turns out—knows it. You are qualified.”

I swallowed.

“This is absolutely the right move. It’s a fucking godsend, and I one hundred percent think you should take it.”

“I can’t just walk away in the middle of everything!”

“Keiran, look at me.”

I raised my head, stared at Finn’s stern face.

“Millbrook House is gone. It’s over. You did what you could to save it, you failed, and that’s the end of that story. Wheaton & Woodhouse is not the right place for you. It’s not the right place for a lot of your authors. Including me.”

“Wait. What does that mean?”

“It means the only reason I’m signing with W&W is you.”

“But—”

“And I’m guessing a number of your authors feel the same way.”

Some of them did, I knew that for a fact. But that didn’t mean—

Well, what did it mean?

“I still don’t think I’m qualified.”

“Rudolph does. You seem to have a lot of respect for the guy. Do you think he’d recommend you for a job he didn’t think you were qualified for? Especially his old job?”

Well, no.

I shook my head, but I had no idea what I was denying. The idea that there might be a solution for at least one of my problems? That despite not deserving it, I might get a happy ending after all?

“This is an awful lot of heavy lifting for this time of night,” Finn murmured.

“I know. I wasn’t going to bring it up now.”

“Or at all,” Finn said wryly.

“No, I’d have told you. I-I want your thoughts. It’s just I’m not used to…”

“Having to take someone else into account?” He was teasing, but gently.

“Yes. That’s true.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

He said it with such confidence, I laughed.

But it was moving to hear it, to think that maybe I would have this—someone I loved who loved me back.

He knew, understood that I was not a safe bet, might be going to prison for a long time, and even if they didn’t throw away the keys, I wasn’t great at this, at relationships, but Finn was willing to, well, work with me.

I was still wondering about it as he urged me over and onto my knees.

This was his favorite part, and I liked being able to give him exactly what he what he wanted, what he needed.

It was always easy and light with Finn. My thighs were widely parted, forehead resting on my folded arms, smiling a little as he took his time with warm fingers and oil that smelled like driftwood.

When he began to press his very large cock into me, I concentrated on my breathing, on relaxing my muscles.

I focused on the always strange, always confusing sensation of being filled—of being shared.