Neck & Neck (18 page)

“Did they at least take you to a hospital to get stitched up?”

“Eventually. They hauled us into juvie first. It was only when I passed out from loss of blood that they finally—”

“Finn!” she interrupted him, aghast. “Tell me you’re joking.”

He smiled at that, neither confirming nor refuting the comment.

So instead of pressing, she said, “You guys really ended up in juvenile court?”

He nodded.

“But for burglary, right? That’s not such a terrible thing. Lots of dumb-ass kids try to break into places and steal stuff.”

Not that any kids Natalie had ever known, dumb-ass or otherwise, had ever done that. Of course, had any of her friends wanted a Mac when they were kids—or anything else, for that matter—they either asked their parents for one or they tapped into their own money to get it. Then again, such crimes certainly weren’t unheard of in the upper classes. They were just excused more often as kids being bored or being angry or suffering chemical imbalances in the brain—or just kids being kids—than they were for kids in the lower classes, who generally ended up getting hauled into places like juvie, instead of getting hauled in front of the old man to have a heart-to-heart. A heart-to-heart that more often than not ended up with a slap on the wrist or, worse, a pat on the back. Money really could buy anything, including good PR and even better spin. Natalie saw it happen all the time.

Then the first part of what Finn had said gelled in her brain. “You and Russell Mulholland have been friends that long?” Nowhere in her Googling had she uncovered how or where the two men had met. Part of that shadowy, pre- Mulholland Games thing that had so intrigued her. She’d just assumed Finn had worked for Russell in some capacity at the company, probably security, before he’d needed a bodyguard and then got promoted to the position. She never would have guessed they’d known each other as juvies. Ah, as kids. And she sure wouldn’t have suspected they’d led a life of crime, however youthful and however temporary.

Finn didn’t answer her question right away. Instead, he cupped his hand under the one she was using to hold the Alka-Seltzer she’d all but forgotten about, and he urged it gently toward her mouth. Obediently, she drank, grimac ing at the bitter taste. The moment it hit her belly, though, it started to settle her stomach. So she forced down a few more swallows, then lifted the glass as if in a toast and drained the rest.

“Thanks,” she said softly after emptying the glass.

“You’re welcome.” His expression revealed nothing about what he might be thinking, and she wasn’t sure if he was going to answer her question about him and Russell or not. Finally, he just said, “Yeah, Russell and I have known each other a long time.”

But he didn’t elaborate further, so she wasn’t sure if that meant they’d known each other since birth, or elementary school, or high school. Then again, what difference did it make? In spite of her dubious plan B that may or may not have involved blackmailing Mulholland, Natalie realized then that she really didn’t care if she uncovered some info that might allow her to do just that. She really didn’t want to blackmail Russell Mulholland. She did, however, want to know more about Finn. Not because she wanted to blackmail him, either. She just wanted to know more about him.

“So how old were you when you and Russell started on this life of crime?” she asked.

“I never said Russell and I had a life of crime,” he denied. “One broken window does not a crime spree make.”

“No, but it’s a good start.”

He smiled at that. Then he dipped his head to look at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck in that way men do when they’re not sure what to say next. What finally came out, though, was, “Russell and I have known each other since we were fourteen. We landed in a group home in Seattle after being, ah . . . relieved of our parents. Our mothers, anyway. Neither of us knew who our fathers were, which was a major bonding moment for us. Good thing, too, since the other four guys we had to share the room with weren’t as squeaky clean as we were. Helped to have someone watching your back.”

Whoa, Natalie thought. Where had that come from? Mr. Taciturn was suddenly gushing like an
Oprah
guest. Well, okay, maybe that was overdoing it, but still. Finn had just revealed a wealth of information that told her
a lot
about both him and his employer. Information she hadn’t even specifically asked for.

“Finn?” she said.

He met her gaze, looking very, very tired. “Yeah, Natalie?”

“You do realize I’m sober now, right? And that I won’t be forgetting all this stuff you’re telling me in the morning.”

“It is morning, Natalie.”

“You know what I mean.”

Instead of replying, he folded himself onto the sofa, leaving a solid foot of space between them. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“So then . . . why the ritual spilling of the guts?” she asked. “I mean, even I don’t tell a guy that much about me on a first date.”

“Number one,” he said, “I can’t quite see you having stories to tell about breaking into a community college to steal a Mac. And number two, this isn’t our first date.”

She hadn’t been thinking it was a date at all. Was he being sarcastic? It was so hard to tell with him. “Right,” she said experimentally. “I guess that day at BBC was our first date.”

His expression grew puzzled. “BBC?”

“The beer place.”

He seemed not to remember for a moment—And, oh, didn’t
that
inflate her ego to the size of a snow pea?—then he nodded slowly. “Right.” He frowned again. “That wasn’t a date, either.”

She smiled. “Are you including that very first conversation we had in the lobby of the Brown? You romantic devil. I never would have pegged you for—”

“Natalie.”

She sobered at his tone. “What?”

“We are not dating.”

Okay, so then it
had
been sarcasm. Right?

She gave her head a mental shake and said, “So you and Russell were fourteen when you met. How old were you when you started on your maybe-maybe-not life of crime?”

He looked back up at her again, but his hand was still cupped over his nape, and she could tell by his expression that he really, really,
really
wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Nevertheless, evidently deciding the damage was already done, so what the hell, he told her, “We were fourteen.”

Her smile fell. “Oh. That’s young.”

“Yes, it is. That’s not to say that either of us was that age when we committed our first crimes.”

Natalie wasn’t sure what surprised her more. That he had been such a young offender or that he was actually telling her about it. “Meaning there were others,” she said, stating the obvious.

“One or two.” He squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Look, I shouldn’t have told you any of that,” he said. “It’s not just Russell’s body I’m employed to protect. It’s . . . other things, too. I actually can’t believe I just told you all that.”

Neither could Natalie, frankly. But she was oddly flattered that he had. It was as if he trusted her, even after knowing her such a short time.

“Then why did you tell me all that?”

He studied her in silence for a moment with an intensity that bordered on palpable. Then he said quietly, “I don’t know. There’s just something about you, Natalie, that makes me forget who I am and what I should be doing.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered by that or not. The words were good, but the tone of voice wasn’t, as if he kind of resented her for making him feel that way. Or maybe he resented himself for letting himself feel that way.

He moved his gaze to the beer, holding it up to the light as if checking to see how much was left. “Now you’ll probably go sell the info to the tabloids, and Russell’s PR people will have to work overtime denying it and proving it’s not true.”

Okay, scratch that part about him trusting her. Clearly the guy had issues on that score. Then again, after everything he’d told her, she supposed she wasn’t surprised. “But it is true,” she told him. Before he could interject anything, she hurried on, “Despite that, I would never, ever betray a trust, Finn. Not from anyone.” She paused until he was looking at her again, then added, “Friend
or
foe.”

His gaze held hers for a moment, then he said softly, “And what am I, Natalie? Friend or foe?”

Something warm and wistful percolated through her at the way he asked the question. Just as softly, she replied, “You tell me.”

For a minute, she thought he might actually choose one identifier or the other, and she found herself hoping it wouldn’t be foe. Because she didn’t want to be anyone’s foe. And she especially didn’t want to be Finn’s. Funny, though, that had nothing to do with her needing to go through him to get to his employer. Even funnier, she’d hardly thought about his employer tonight. Only when Finn had brought him up had Russell Mulholland been on her mind. And the fact that she so desperately needed to speak to the billionaire hadn’t even been on her radar.

Instead of answering her question, though, Finn said softly, “Finish up your Alka-Seltzer, Natalie, and I’ll drive you home.”

Her stomach did that little flip-flop thing at hearing him call her by her first name again. She thought about pressing him on the matter of his past, asking another question that might steer them in that direction, then decided it probably wasn’t a good idea. There was no point in her pursuing anything with Finn Guthrie, no matter how much she might want to.

She extended the empty glass toward him. “Thanks,” she said. “But I can drive myself home.”

He shook his head. “I know how hangovers work. There’s still the potential for dizzy spells and lightheaded ness. You might get sick or even pass out again.”

“I’m not going to pass out ag—”

“I’ll drive you home,” he interrupted, his tone of voice this time brooking no argument.

She started to tell him it wasn’t necessary, that Dean could take her home, but she thankfully came to her senses. Wow, Finn was right. There
was
still the potential for getting sick again. All she had to do was think about Dean. And speaking of Dean . . .

“What happened to Dean?” she asked. Not that she cared, really, and not that she couldn’t suspect, but it was a question worth asking. Especially if there was any chance he’d had anything to do with bringing her up to Finn’s suite, in which case he probably had copped a feel at some point. “For that matter,” she added, “what happened to me? After I . . . I mean . . .” She blew out an exasperated breath. “The last thing I remember is sitting down at the table with you and Mr. Mulholland. After that, it gets a little . . . fuzzy.”

Once again, Finn’s expression told her nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling. “Last time I saw your . . .” Strangely, he expelled what sounded like an exasperated breath, too. “Last time I saw Waterman, he was running his mouth to Russell about something. Not long after the two of you sat down, you got up to use the women’s room, and you were gone long enough for me to wonder what happened to you.”

“Dean didn’t wonder?” she asked. Then she immediately answered herself,
What are you, Natalie, nuts? Of course Dean didn’t wonder about you. Dean never wonders about anyone but himself. And even at that, he only wonders why a charming, handsome devil like him hasn’t managed to acquire an entourage by now.

Well, he
would
wonder that, she thought further. If he took time out of being self-absorbed to notice he didn’t have any friends.

“Well, Dean was pretty wrapped up in his conversation with Russell,” Finn said.

Yeah, he was probably doing whatever it took to ingratiate himself to the billionaire. When it came to people whose incomes had a comma more than Dean’s did, he was always Johnny-on-the-brown-nose-spot.

“Just as I was approaching the women’s room,” Finn continued, “you came out. Then you passed out. I caught you before you fell, but it wasn’t like I could just prop you against the door ’til someone came along and claimed you.”

Why not?
she wanted to ask. That was what Dean would have done. After copping a feel, she meant.

“So I brought you up here.”

Natalie nodded, trying not to think about how he must have had to manhandle her to do that. Mostly because thinking about being manhandled like that by Finn didn’t bother her nearly as much as it was probably supposed to. She was a twenty-first-century woman, after all. Manhandling couldn’t possibly be PC, right? Not unless the woman in question wanted to be manhandled. Which Natalie didn’t. At all. Of course. That little shiver of electricity that shot through her belly just thinking about it was the result of . . . of . . . of . . . revulsion. Yeah, that was it. The very idea of being slung over the XXX
OMGX
-Brawny shoulder of some guy with smoky bedroom eyes, a position that would probably require him to also have an XXX
OMGX
-Brawny arm wrapped around her waist. Maybe even an XXX
OMGX
-Brawny hand splayed over her, um . . . her, ah . . .

Well, suffice it to say that Natalie was just going to have to give the whole idea
a lot
of thought—like hours and hours of thought, after she went to bed, with the lights out, so she could really concentrate—before she decided what her reaction should be.

Um, where was she?

Oh, yeah. Dean never leaving the table so not being anywhere near her person while she was unconscious. In a word,
Whew.

“So did Dean ever notice I was missing?” she asked anyway.

She figured she could use the information as ammo the next time Dean started going on and on about how he could take such good care of her, since she obviously couldn’t take care of herself. She could say, “You’re so right, Dean. Any man who would abandon me to two strange men he just met is the catch of a lifetime.” And
okay
, so maybe he had some decent ammo, too, in that he could remind her of how she’d passed out in front of one of the most important men in the business world.