As soon as I hang up with him, I reach down to clear the table. But the lock on the front door turns, and before I can move, Finn walks in.
There’s no more panic about cheese trays and beer, because he sees me and smiles. And, damn if I it doesn’t light me up like one of those old-fashioned pinball machines. I’m grinning back so hard my cheeks hurt, while those little zings of giddy pleasure dance through me.
He’s wearing gray track pants and a black Henley, which should make him look like a slob. He doesn’t. Those clothes hug that hard, fit body of his, showcasing every ripple, every bulge. I envy those clothes.
Finn tosses his gear bag onto the floor, never taking his eyes off me. “Honey, I’m home.” He says it like a joke, but his voice is thick and rough.
Exhaustion? Or something more? I can’t think. I should say something witty or light, but the only thing that comes out is, “Hey.”
Finn’s smile only grows. He heads straight for me, as if I’m the happy end of a very long day. And I can only stand there, shifting my weight on my feet, my fingers curling at my sides with the repressed need to grab him.
Before I can say a word, he’s sweeping me up in a big, bear hug, my nose pressed in the small space between his hard pecks. The scent of clean cotton, warm skin, and potent as hell male pheromones washes over me like a sigh.
Finn’s voice rumbles in his chest and warms the crown of my head. “I’ve missed you.”
The simple declaration slides through my defenses with such ease, I don’t have time to brace myself. I close my eyes and give him a gentle squeeze, unable to form words, because I am not a sentimental girl. I don’t know to say sweet things.
Maybe Finn senses that. Or maybe he’s just tired of hugging me. Either way, he sets me back on my feet. “How’ve you been settling in? Is your wrist still hurting?” He peers at my face as if trying to make sure I’m okay.
When he’s away from me, I forget how blue his eyes are. Azure blue. I’m a fan of brown eyes. Yet here I am, staring up at his eyes like I’ve never seen the color blue before.
And, holy hell, I don’t recognize this moony person I’ve become.
I take a step back and get some much needed space. “I’m fine. The swelling has gone down and the pain is nearly gone.”
He nods but then glances behind me, catching sight of the food. Surprise registers first. His big body gives a little jerk. And then he blinks as if trying to clear his sight.
I grow uncomfortably warm, my arms twitching with the desire to swipe the table clear.
But then his gaze meets mine. “You did miss me.”
The heat inside me grows. “What a thing to say. Of course I did.”
That soft expression of his expects too much.
“I should probably warn you…” I gesture toward my damn cheese tray. “I like to do this in the evenings.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You think I’m going to complain?”
I shove my hands into my back jeans pockets. “James says it’s very nineteen fifties domestic.”
Finn chuckles.
“But that’s about all I do that can be considered domestic,” I warn. “So don’t expect me to greet you with dinners or—“
“Cocktails?” Finn supplies, pulling a beer out of the ice bucket.
Fuck.
“Yeah…”
He laughs again, and then swoops in, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Relax, Chester. I’m not expecting anything. I won’t be asking you to fetch my slippers. Although, if you want to…” He wags his brows. “I won’t try to stop you.”
“Asshat.” I give his arm a slap. It’s like warm granite.
With an expansive sigh of contentment, Finn plops onto the couch, twists the top off his beer and takes a long drink. He sighs again and rests his head against the back of the couch. His lids lower like a relaxed cat’s. “Gotta admit,” he says in a near purr. “Coming home has never been this good.”
“Glad I could—” I yelp as he takes hold of my good wrist and tugs me onto the couch with him. “Easy there, Superman.”
Finn cuddles me up next to him, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Sorry. But you were standing there all twitchy and shifty like you’d been caught stealing or something.”
The laughter in his voice is unmistakable. And I elbow him, trying to ignore that his fingers have threaded through my hair, lightly stroking the strands.
“You colored your hair again,” he murmurs, playing with the tips that now have glints of teal, gold, green, and magenta playing in the black.
A shiver of pure pleasure goes through me. His body is warm and solid, and I’d like nothing better than to rest against it without care.
“It’s called an oil slick effect.” Why am I telling him this? He doesn’t care about color techniques.
But he lifts a whole section and slowly lets it sift through his fingers. “It brings out the green in your eyes.”
It feels good. Too good. And wrong. I don’t cuddle with James. I’ve never wanted to. I don’t cuddle with anyone. Ever.
What we’re doing here is dangerous. Because it would be so easy to turn my head and nuzzle the heated hollow of his throat, to lick a path up to the curve of his jaw and the soft turn of his lower lip. It would be as easy as taking a breath.
I’m living with him now. Hitting on my host is a definite faux pas. And stupid.
I edge away, causing Finn to frown slightly.
“Hey, Chess?”
I don’t like the quiet, serious tone of his voice. “Yes?”
“When are we—”
The doorbell rings. We both flinch as if snapping out of a daze, and then Finn glares at the door. “Who the hell?”
“You don’t get random visitors?” I tease, rising.
Finn sits forward on the couch. “They have to get past the doorman. My assistant Charlie has clearance, but I happen to know he’s hanging out with Rolondo and Woodson right now.”
The bell rings again.
“I’ll get it,” I tell him. “You have your beer. Dear.”