I’m torn between begging him right now, and showing him I’m not so easily controlled. I hate how easily my body responds to his dirty mouth and tempting hands. But I love it, too. Nobody ever made me feel this way.
Finn strokes me again, inching my skirt higher, but with super human strength I pull away. “Not here,” I manage. “Someone could walk in.”
“And?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eye.
I flush, and he chuckles. “OK, we’ll have it your way. Outside.”
Before I can point out that’s not what I meant, Finn pulls open the door and peers out. “All clear,” he says, and takes my hand, pulling me after him. He grabs a blanket from the closet behind us, and a bottle of champagne from the table in the hall, then ducks out the back door.
I hesitate.
Isn’t this what I’ve been fighting all along? If I walk out that door after him, there’s nothing but heartache waiting for me – and incredible, bone-deep pleasure.
But if I stay, I’m playing it safe, the way I’ve done for years now: a neat, careful life with a heart that never breaks, but doesn’t have a chance to swell or beat, either. No chance to feel the storm crackling with electricity, or know the rush of total release.
“Eva?”
Finn stands in the doorway. My Finn. He’s wearing that heartbreaker smile again, the one that always takes my breath away.
My heart aches for him. Sometimes I think it never stopped.
The past can stay hidden, I remind myself. Secrets don’t have to be told.
I make my choice, and follow.
Thirteen.
Outside, the air is still warm, and the blast of music and lights is softened, filtering into the dark. We walk in silence down the path behind the house, under the lanterns that are strung all the way to the dock. I expect him to sit on the end of the wooden jetty like we did all those years ago, but instead, Finn climbs down the rickety ladder, down to a row-boat that’s tethered there, bobbing gently on the water.
“Come on, I want to show you something.”
I carefully climb down and join him in the boat, my heart beating faster.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, nervous. I take a seat on the narrow wooden bench opposite him, holding on to the side to keep my balance.
Finn gives me a wicked grin and reaches for the oars. “Someplace nobody can hear you scream.”
I laugh out loud, breaking the tension. “Way to sound like a serial killer!” I kick him lightly.
Finn gives a grin. “You know that’s what the French call it: le petit mort.”
My cheeks burn, and he laughs again. “You’re cute when you blush.”
“It’s dark out, you can’t even see my face.”
“I know you’re doing it anyway.”
He rows us down the creek with long, even strokes, until the bright lights of the house are swallowed up by the trees. Still, the moon is bright tonight, casting a silvery glow on the water and marshland as we glide on by.
“It’s so quiet out here,” I marvel, listening to the distant chirp of the crickets. “You must feel a long way from home.”
Finn shrugs. “LA isn’t home. Nowhere is, really. Even when I was here, it wasn’t about the place. Home is people to me.” I can’t see his expression clearly; I can only hear a note of emotion in his voice. Or maybe that’s just my mind playing tricks on me, because he barely skips a beat before adding in a teasing voice. “Now it’s just the two of us. You can’t bolt when you get self conscious.”
“But I can push you overboard,” I counter.
Finn laughs. “I could use the cold shower right about now.” My stomach curls. Me too. Finn looks around in the darkness. “Here we are,” he says, angling the boat off the main creek. “Watch your head.”
I duck just in time as we glide under an old cypress tree, the branches dipping heavily to skim the water. It’s like passing through a secret gate. Suddenly, the woods rear up, the creek collecting in a still, silent pool, fringed with trees and grassy riverbanks. Moonlight falls against the black ripples, and all I can hear is the hush of the forest and the trickle of water slipping over smooth, worn rocks. Everything is darkness, painted with silver reflections, private and alone.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, taking it in. There’s something almost enchanted about this hidden corner of the world, so secluded it’s like the rest of the universe doesn’t exist.
“I found it the other day.” Finn steers us to where the water gets shallow, then jumps out onto the shore. He tethers the boat to a tree branch, and offers his hand to help me out.
“You’ve been here a week.” I hold on tightly as the boat rocks beneath me, carefully stepping onto solid ground.