Cara O'Shea's Return (6 page)

She froze as his lips took a slow journey over her wide mouth. He nibbled and teased, and when she didn’t pull away, he used his advantage of height and bulk to turn her until she was wrapped in his arms. Only when he held her pressed full against him did he deepen the play of his mouth. He nipped at her full bottom lip, and her soft gasp of surprise sent a lash of heat straight to his groin. He hardened in an instant, slipping his tongue between her parted lips to rub and caress hers, silently demanding her response.

****

She opened her mouth to his exploration, stunned to discover a kiss could be so...well, erotic. Evan’s kisses had been soft and gentle, and the few times the boys in high school and college had cornered her to steal a kiss, she’d been frightened or disgusted, or both. She wasn’t disgusted now and she couldn’t be frightened, not when the heat of his kiss raced through her system like a lit fuse.

With her hands trapped between them, she shivered in delight at the sculpted muscle under her flexing fingertips. He was so big, so warm and solid. Even in the most shocking imaginings she had spun around Palmerton’s famous football hero over the years, she’d never come close to the reality of being held tight against his hard body.

Her bones were melting. Could bones melt? Oh, who cared? He shifted his head to take the kiss deeper, and her arms slipped up over those muscled shoulders to shove into his thick hair. A little whimper gurgled in her throat. Oh, yes. Bones
could
melt, if Finn the Fine was the one doing the kissing.

Finn the Fine.

The childhood nickname echoed through her head, and took care of her melting bones. They solidified in a rush. She went poker stiff in his arms, yanking her fingers from his hair and shoving hard against his chest. He released her immediately.

She staggered back several steps. Blinking at the ruddy color staining his cheeks, her heart pounded with panic. “This is exactly why I don’t want to hire you.”

He jammed one big hand through his hair, the action full of agitation, or irritation, she wasn’t sure which. His drawn out sigh sounded weary.

“It was a simple kiss, Cara.”

As far as she was concerned, there had been nothing simple about that kiss, and it scared the hell out of her. She’d spent her teenage years idolizing his bigger-than-life persona, and she’d been wrong. It was frightening to find, while her mind placed him firmly in the “off-limits due to character flaws” category, her body didn’t seem to give a damn.

“I told you once before.” Her voice was both raw and breathy. She cleared her throat. “I’m not interested.”

His brow arched dubiously, and when he spoke, the gentleness of his tone did nothing to ease the sting of his words.

“You’re interested, all right. You just don’t want to be. And you’re scared. Because you kissed me back or because you enjoyed it?”

Her chest heaved on a stifled gasp, and she stalked by him to march back inside. He followed, stopping several feet away to watch her digging through a crate at the front of the room.

“Cara, talk to me.”

“I’m not scared.” She straightened, but refused to meet his probing gaze. Pulling a case of supplies from the crate, she started passed him. He stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Yes, you are. The question is, why?” His thumb rubbed soothingly across the bare flesh of her upper arm. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Cara. I’ve never hurt a woman in my life.”

Her head snapped in his direction. “Tell that to your
wife
.” She yanked her arm free and moved behind the counter to begin shoving things onto shelves.

“Ex-wife,” he corrected.

“Whatever!”

He stood with his hands on his hips, confusion slipping into his expression. “What, exactly, does my ex-wife have to do with this?”

She slapped a box of brushes on the counter with a thump, leaning forward to give him a steady glare. She didn’t answer him directly, saying instead, “There’s physical hurt, and then there’s emotional hurt.”

“You’re obviously accusing me of one of those. Which is it?” His deep voice told of his rising annoyance, going cold and clipped.

“I’ve personally experienced the kind of hurt infidelity can cause.”

Stunned disbelief skittered across his features. “You think I cheated on Andrea?”

She really didn’t want to have this conversation, but maybe it was best she put her cards on the table, so to speak. Sometime in the past half hour, she’d decided she wanted Finn to do the work on her studio. What she
didn’t
want were personal complications.

She’d told him she wasn’t interested. He simply didn’t believe her, and considering her reaction to that bone-melting kiss, why would he? But he would, once he understood the depth of her disdain. She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms.

“I seem to recall seeing you a couple of years back, having dinner with a very attractive blonde. Funny, she didn’t look anything like your wife.”

For several heartbeats his face went completely blank, then disappointed resentment hardened his eyes. He raked them over her as if he were looking at something distasteful. When he finally spoke, his voice dripped sarcasm.

“No, she didn’t, did she? She didn’t appear anything like a high-powered divorce attorney, either. But she sure as hell acted like one, when my loving wife decided she didn’t like the idea of being married to a washed up jock after my second knee surgery.” His furious gaze seared her uneasy one. “Get your facts straight before you accuse, O’Shea.”

For such a big man, he moved quickly. He stalked across the room to wrench open the door. Fury blazed from his eyes when he paused to glance back.

“Ralph Gillespie can take care of the changes you want made to the building. I’ll tell him to give you a call.”

She winced at the crash of the slamming door.

Well, crap.

She didn’t even consider he’d been lying. No one was that good an actor. Okay, so she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, but everyone in town knew of her father’s infidelity. Considering her experience with Tom, could Finn really blame her for faulty assumptions?

Of course he could, and did.

As much as she hated the idea, she’d have to apologize. Not right away, though. Not while he was so angry. The fury in his eyes was hot enough to singe, but the accompanying flash of disappointment was to blame for the guilt squeezing her heart.

She still didn’t want a personal entanglement with him, even if he hadn’t turned out to be a cheating dog as she assumed. He’d hit the nail on the head when he said she was scared. More like terrified. The way she burned at his touch proved she had no defense against him, and though she was no longer a shy teenager, Michael Finnegan was way out of her league.

He said to get her facts straight, before he effectively withdrew his offer of a bid. Well, she didn’t want Ralph Gillespie, whoever he was, tearing into her studio. She wanted Finn. He’d do it right.

As he had moved throughout the bottom floor of her new home, it became evident he loved the old building as much as she did, and was proud of the work he’d already done. She’d use that possessive streak to get him to change his mind. And she’d get her facts straight, before she offered an apology.

She’d talk to Maive.

Cara entered through the back door of the house where she’d grown up. “Ma? Is anybody home?”

“I’m in the den.”

Grabbing a soda from the fridge, Cara walked through the silent house. She found Mary with her feet up on the coffee table. A box of old pictures sat on the floor beside her and a pile of photographs rested in her lap.

“What are you doing?” Clearing a space beside her, Cara sat down and picked up a stack of photos. She grinned at the discolored picture of her and her sisters from years earlier, grinning like maniacs while sitting astride matching bicycles in front of a Christmas tree.

“I’m sorting through these old shots. I thought Erin would like to have the ones of her, now that she’s married.”

Cara leaned over to peer at the picture on top of the pile Mary held. Erin, in her high school cheering uniform, preened for the camera. Cara laughed. “She always was a ham.”

Mary smiled. “She never had a shy bone in her body, that’s for sure.”

“Unlike some of us,” Cara grumbled in good-natured acceptance.

“There’s something to be said for being a little timid on occasion.” Mary bumped her shoulder into Cara’s in a gentle nudge. “You always studied the situation before jumping in with both feet. It saved you from being sorry later, like your sister often was, on more than one occasion.”

“And kept me from
experiencing the moment
, according to Erin.”

“I recall a number of times when I could have wished you hadn’t experienced the moment quite so enthusiastically,” Mary scolded with a laugh. “Like the time you slipped the waxed paper under Aunt Paula’s backside on the park slide.”

Cara burst out laughing. Aunt Paula had shot down the slide like a bullet. She’d landed in the dirt six feet away and had to sit on a pillow for the rest of her visit. Cara had been grounded for a week.

She snickered. “I can still see her face.”

Mary’s smile was reluctant. “It was an awful thing to do.”

“I know, but who knew it would work so well? We saved our money to buy our own waxed paper after that. We charged a nickel a sheet and made a dollar-fifty profit off the neighborhood kids.”

“Sometimes I’m glad I didn’t know everything you girls were up to. I’d have been gray at thirty.”

Mary paused in sorting the photos when she came across a picture of her and Tom, smiling at the camera on a beach with a brilliant sunset in the background.

“Ma.” Cara draped an arm around her shoulders.

Mary tossed the picture on to the growing pile, and shook her head. “I’m fine. I was just remembering how much fun we all had on that trip.”

“Come on, Ma.”

At Cara’s doubtful tone, Mary set the pile of pictures on the table. “Honestly, Cara. You don’t need to look at me like I’m going to shatter.”

“I worry about you, Ma. What he did to you was so unfair.”

Mary dropped her head to Cara’s shoulder for just a moment. “I know you worry, but you don’t have to.” She straightened and brushed the hair back from Cara’s face. “It’s been a long time, sweetheart. Believe it or not, I’m happy with my life, and your father and I have come to a workable understanding.”

She knew they had. She just didn’t understand it and didn’t think she ever would. “He wants to talk to me. He’s left several messages on my machine.”

“And what do you want?”

“I don’t know, Ma.” She stood, too agitated to sit, and began to pace. “I don’t know what he expects me to say to him, and I can’t think what he could possibly have to say to me.”

“Maybe he wants to tell you he loves you.”

“God.” Instant tears clouded her vision. She swiped at them with stiff fingers. “How can you defend him?”

“I’m not.”

“Please,” Cara huffed, and shook her head in disbelief.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Cara Brennan,” Mary said sharply, her mouth stretched tight in a disapproving line.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ma.” Returning home was proving more difficult than she’d imagined. So many conflicting emotions swirling just beneath the surface left her floundering. She lost the battle with her tears, but tried to laugh them off with a weak smile. Her mother wasn’t buying it. She rose from the couch and wrapped Cara in her gentle arms.

“Sweetheart, I know he hurt and disappointed you in the worst way possible. He hurt and disappointed me, too, and for a long time I struggled to forgive him. But over time, I’ve come to understand what he did, which he didn’t do maliciously. He loves you girls so much, and it pains him to know how much he’s hurt you.”

Cara pulled back and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him because he’s hurting? He made his choices and to hell with all of us.”

“No, sweetheart. No one expects you to feel sorry for him. You’re entitled to feel however you feel, but look at you. The situation with your father is tearing you apart because you’ve never really dealt with it. Wouldn’t you feel better if you understood his reasons? Knowledge is power, as they say.”

“I’ll never understand him,” Cara sniffed.

“Not if you never try.” Mary held up a hand when Cara opened her mouth to object. “If you don’t want to talk to him, that’s your choice. But isn’t that how you’ve handled the situation so far? It doesn’t appear to have made you very happy. I want my babies to be happy.”

Mary pulled a tissue from her pocket. Cara accepted it and blew her nose.

“Did you know your father knew Hannah before we were married?”

Cara froze with the tissue pressed to her nose. “What?”

“They dated in high school.”

“Does that make what they did right?” Cara demanded. How could her mother be so accepting? She was talking about her husband, who had left her for another woman.

“No, it doesn’t make anything right,” Mary answered softly. “But time moves on. I’ve gotten over it. Can you say the same?” When Cara remained silent, Mary sighed. “This estrangement between the two of you has left you sad. I’m afraid it’s going to make you bitter.” She tucked an errant curl behind Cara’s ear. “I know a good portion of the anger you have for your father is on my behalf.”

“And justified,” Cara insisted.

“Yes, it’s justified, but I don’t
want
that responsibility, Cara. I don’t want to be responsible for you not having a father, even an imperfect one. What’s between Tom and me is our business. If you want to be mad at him for something he did to you, fine, that’s your right. I just can’t stand the idea of you cutting yourself off from him as a kind of backhanded support for me.”

She patted Cara’s cheek and returned to the sofa. “You haven’t yet learned the truth of this apparently, but nobody’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m not being glib,” she insisted when Cara rolled her eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, everyone has something about them that you won’t like, even those you love the most. If you shove everyone who ever disappoints you out of your life, you’re going to end up a lonely hermit.”