Emerald Fire (27 page)

He set his glass down beside hers, walked over to the great room, grabbed their bags, and led the way through a wide-arched entryway and into a short hall. She followed, and he opened the door to his room and waved her inside.

She sailed past him, only to stop short when she realized it was his domain.

“This is your room.”

“Yes.”

She shot him a glare. “Where’s the guest room?”

“Across the hall.”

Without another word, she turned and left. He just waited, knowing she’d be right back. It didn’t even take thirty seconds.

“There’s nothing in there. No furniture, no shower curtain, no towels, nothing. It’s just an empty room.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t done a lot to the house yet.”

“It’s been two years,” she said through gritted teeth. “What are you waiting for?”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t have many guests. I haven’t really needed it.” He held her bag out to her. “The shower is through there.”

* * * *

She took her bag and marched right past him. The man was unbelievable. She was falling for him, hard and fast, and he told her she was a job, a family duty, an obligation. How could she have been so wrong about him? Wait, no. How could he be so obtuse?

It took a lot of willpower to resist slamming the door, but she managed. She had to count to ten, though, to get her temper under control before turning to face the room. When she did, the sight that met her froze her in place.

She suddenly realized she had no idea who Finn really was. Fancy coffee makers and a dream bathroom, one right out of HGTV. Double-sink vanity, separate tub and shower, built-in custom cabinetry, and a huge walk-in closet the size of her bedroom at home.

But the shower, heavens above, was the stuff of luxury. There was no door, just a glass block partition, recessed lighting, a tiled bench seat, and dual shower heads with a handheld attachment. She walked inside, turned the handle to maximum heat and couldn’t strip down fast enough.

A sideboard-style cabinet sat at the walk-in with a stack of rolled-up towels and a basket full of hotel size soaps, body washes, and shampoos. She stepped back around the glass block partition and made her selections, grabbed a thick washcloth, opened a fluffy towel and hung it on a wall hook just inside the shower, and then beelined for the hot water.

Steam had built up inside, and she stepped under a jet stream of liquid heaven, letting the moist heat relax her tense and sore muscles. She let her head fall back, closed her eyes, and released a long, deep sigh as she soaked her hair.

“Chloe.”

She squeaked out a little scream and opened her eyes, but she was alone.

“I’m sorry,” came Finn’s voice from the other side of the glass block. “I was an idiot.”

“Yes, you are.” No referencing past tense, he still was as far as she was concerned. “Now go away.”

“I just want to say one thing, then I’ll go.”

She eyed the towel hanging at the entrance, ready to jump if need be. “Can’t it wait till I’m done?”

“No.”

She wanted nothing more than to stand in the hot water until she pruned. Alone. But he wasn’t going to cooperate. “Get it over with then, but don’t you dare come another step closer.”

She wasn’t going to waste the hot water while he talked. She grabbed the washcloth and poured on a liberal amount of ocean fresh-scented body wash, worked up suds, and started bathing.

“I meant what I said back there.”

“That I’m an obligation? Nice to know.” He had come in here just to underline that bit of heartbreak? God, he really was an idiot.

“Family honor is the obligation. You are a choice. My choice. And I said it all wrong. Let me start over.”

She paused and considered. “I’m listening.”

“When I read Desmond’s journal, I had this sense of crossed time, like his words reached out to me despite the distance. I felt his dedication to the woman he loved, the great lengths he went to preserve her legacy, and his high regard of my ancestor. NorthStar was built thanks to his friendship and loyalty to Reginald Mathis. How can I repay that gift with anything but the same honor and respect they shared during the darkest days of Desmond’s life?”

Chloe hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word, afraid to disturb the raw emotion in his apology. But her heart was pounding, and he’d grown silent.

“Chloe?”

She padded over to the doorway and reached around for the towel, shook it open, and held it against her front before stepping into his line of sight.

“Is that why you’ve risked your life to save mine? A debt of honor?”

“Only a small part.” He stood there wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and an expression that spiked her pulse. “At first you frustrated me, then you fascinated me. You are smart, tenacious, resourceful, and…beautiful.”

He reached out and brushed strands of wet hair from her face. Chloe barely breathed, suddenly conscious of her own nudity and the heat in his eyes.

“The more I learned about you, the more impressed I became. You’ve had an uphill road for a long time, and yet you pushed through it, refused to quit. Once I knew what you faced, I couldn’t leave you to fight it alone. That’s not obligation. That’s choice.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she stepped closer and rocked up onto her toes to plant a light kiss on his lips.

* * * *

It wasn’t near enough for him, and he growled as he pulled her flush up against his chest, kissing her with every suppressed urge he’d held at bay since the day he met her. He needed to feel her skin sliding across his, but the towel interfered. He slowly pulled it from between them, tossed it on the floor, and waltzed her backward into the stream of hot water, never once leaving her lips.

She was a temptress. He’d never seen anyone look as fine as she did soaking wet and all…bubbly. He brushed his fingers across the pale bruises at her throat and arms and vowed to inflict serious damage on the one who did this to her.

He lifted the still soapy washcloth from a rail, ran it under the hot water for a quick second to heat it, then began to soothe her skin, his eyes following the trail of tiny soap bubbles as they sluiced down over her breasts. She stood passively as he stroked her, watching him as he caressed her, and moaning softly when his hand covered a breast. He could feel her nipple harden beneath his palm, and as her gorgeous eyes closed, her lips parted slightly. It was all the invitation he needed.

His hands gently held her jaw as he placed small kisses against her lips, across her cheeks, then trailed a warm water path back to her mouth. She tasted like heaven, and he drank deep, his tongue dancing with hers as his hands glided lower, down the curve of her neck, her shoulders, and down to grasp her backside and squeeze, rubbing her against his erection.

Suddenly her hands were everywhere, caressing his chest, smoothing across his shoulders and around the small of his back where the pulse of the showerhead kneaded his skin. He was so lost in sensation that it took him a minute to realize that she was trying to unbutton his shorts. Why the hell were they still on?

He stripped them off, panting he was so damn hard for her. He needed her now. But he forced himself to slow down, to enjoy the feel of her body beneath his hands and savor every delectable inch. He turned her in his arms, and she dropped her head back against his shoulder with a shuddering moan. He palmed a breast with one hand and slid the other lower, reaching between her legs and sliding his fingers up and down against the most sensitive part of her.

He couldn’t wait another second to get inside her. He pushed them up against the tile wall, using it to brace her as he lifted her up enough to enter her warmth. She slid around him, enveloping him, squeezing. It drove him wild as she leaned against the wall with her hands and arched back against him, tightening the fit and flexing her hips around him. His gasped for air, heart pounding and legs straining with the urge to fill every inch of her.

But he waited, pulling her back flush against him, away from the wall, and then twisted them around to sit on the bench. He leaned back with her on top of him, her front exposed to the pulsating water. Then his fingers found her again, and he rubbed as he pumped beneath her. She grew taut, and he pumped faster, his fingers keeping rhythm until she cried out. Her hands gripped the metal rail behind them and held on as she climaxed around him.

An intense building of need pushed him beyond reason. He wrapped both arms around her middle and held on tight, thrusting beneath her until his world exploded into a thousand soaking wet pieces.

Chloe was never going to be the same again. Ever. She was ruined. She’d never again be content to go home to her tiny Boston apartment, drink regular coffee, and spend her days immersed in museum acquisitions. The man from NorthStar had become the benchmark to which everything and everyone would be judged. But she already knew there was no real competition, no point in even looking.

Worse, she didn’t stand a chance of being happy living that ordinary life anymore. It was all Finn’s fault with his fancy coffee and sex-toy shower.

Despite an exhausting several days and a spectacular soapy night, they’d managed to get out of bed fairly early this morning. She was too excited to care about sleep anyhow. Today she’d get to Desmond’s property and hopefully, another step closer to solving the mystery.

“We’ll head for Weymouth around ten,” Finn said around a bite of blueberry pancake. “Right after I show you the grounds.”

Ronan’s kitchen smelled like heaven, a blend of coffee and maple syrup, and she’d loaded her plate high with pancakes and bacon before joining the gang at the breakfast table. There was something about a night of debauchery that worked up one’s appetite. She’d really have to pace herself from here on out. The Kane men were a force to be reckoned with. One cooked like a French chef, the other drove her over the edge in too many ways. For her own peace of mind, she really should try and gain a little control. And she would, right after devouring the plate of pancakes.

Ronan poured a glass of orange juice and set it down in front of her. “Better watch the time,” he warned her. “Finn loses all track of it when talking shop.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Finn said to her. “I get it honestly.”

“Pretty sure it comes from his mother, not me.” Ronan pulled out a chair and sat. “I’m happily retired.”

Finn cracked a sideways smile. “Don’t believe him. It’s just something he says.” Finn helped himself to another stack. “I can barely keep up with him.”

“On that note, the Stephens’ cruiser arrived while you were gone. She’s trailered next to the old dry dock.” Ronan sat back with a mug of steaming coffee. “It’s a long-term project. Interior cabinetry replacement and signs of dry rot. Already contacted Jackson about doing some electrical wiring.”

They launched into shoptalk and Chloe listened as she ate, watching Finn get caught up on everything from the status of supply orders to the roofers they’d hired to repair a leak in the lumber corral. Even Uncle Jon got in on the act, asking questions about future expansion plans, machinery, staffing, and potential clients he could send their way.

Here was yet another side of Finnegan Kane. She’d joined forces with a shrewd bounty hunter and risked her life with his daring strategies. She’d had her personal defenses shattered by his innate sensuality and maddening tendency for taking command of every situation. This Finn, the knowledgeable and deliberate businessman, left her a little in awe over the controlled way he tackled his dream of tall ship restoration. Yet every facet of him had one thing in common. An extraordinary ability to focus. Last night she discovered just how beneficial that could be.

She stabbed another bite of syrup-covered pancake and glanced over at Finn. He met her gaze across the table, and from the way his blue eyes darkened, she suspected he had total recall of their evening adventures. So did she, and the memory still caused her to blush.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it either, even as they spent the next hour walking the four-acre compound that was NorthStar. Finn kept up a running commentary on each building, shared a funny childhood story with her, or identified an important piece of its history. He’d point toward something, and she’d admire his long, tanned fingers and grow warm with remembered pleasure. Another time he dropped an arm around her shoulders as he steered her view toward the harbor, and she couldn’t resist sinking back against the strength of his chest. The whole tour was like an exercise in torture. Whether that was intentional on his part, she couldn’t tell, but she suspected he knew very well his effect on her. Suspected and shamelessly used it.

She forgave, though, because it was easy to see that he loved this place. Every building, dock, and storehouse, every ship-working tool, every inch of coastline, tree, and blade of grass, he knew it all intimately. And it was easy to see why. Late June was a picture-perfect time of year in Connecticut. Even amidst old buildings, boats, and piles of lumber, there were intrepid patches of purple violets, wild daisies, and blue phlox.

“There are several small buildings scattered about, some from the late eighteen-hundreds or early nineteen-hundreds,” Finn said. “They were used for a variety of reasons, storage mostly.” He pointed to one nearby. “That one we call the Lobster Shack.”

When they walked past the front driveway, they stopped at the office where he pointed out a relatively new addition to the original building. “We extended by adding a four-hundred-square-foot conference room with a table large enough to accommodate blueprints. There’s also a media console so we can show video of past restorations to potential clients. We’ve started a marine pre-purchase inspection service, too, though that’s mostly dad.”

They moved on to a huge lumber corral, a yards-long rectangle of a building, roughly two stories high and completely open in the front. There were ten or more square compartments, each full of different widths and lengths of board lumber, pallets, and cordage. They passed a massive red barn that he called the preservation shed, and one expansive pier that stretched into the harbor.