Pursued by the Rogue (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 1) (4 page)

“Mercy’s not. Neither’s Zel. No partners, no kids.”

Finn waited, but nothing more was forthcoming as Faith headed down the other end of the bar to tend one of their regulars. She didn’t seem inclined to pick up where she left off when she returned.

Finn heaved out a sighed. “Are you really going to make me do this the hard way?”

“After your performance the other night? Absolutely. It’s what sisters are for.”

“She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”

He noticed things like that.

“Doesn’t mean much these days,” Faith said blithely. “Would you wear one if you were married?”

“You know I would. C’mon. You know what I’m fishing for.”

“Brothers,” he heard her mutter beneath her breath. And then she took pity on him and reached up and wrapped her hand around his neck and tugged him close. “Dawn’s single too, no kids, and if you play her the way you play everyone else I
will
castrate you.”

“You don’t even know how I play.”

“Fast, loose and with a great deal of skill. Don’t you have enough other women to dazzle with your charms?”

“Faith—”

He pulled away. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. “Have you ever heard a piece of music that you
have
to learn, no matter how difficult? Because you know you’re going to want to play it for the rest of your life? That’s me when I get anywhere near Dawn. Fast and loose isn’t what I want at all.”

Not their usual level of disclosure, that was for sure.

He’d managed to turn his sister mute.

He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, where Faith’s hand had just been. “Forget it.”

“Unlikely,” she murmured, still staring at him. “What do you want to know?”

“About Dawn? Whatever you can tell me. What she’s doing in New York. Whether she’s seeing anyone. Whether she wants to.”

“Dawn’s not seeing anyone, she has an apartment in Soho that I suspect she owns and she’s made a lot of money out of medical research and streamlining various genetic tests. Gene mapping. That kind of thing,” Faith offered. “She’s driven when it comes to her research. Same way you are when it comes to your music. Whether she’s looking for a relationship …” His sister looked a little sad. “I don’t know. She’s successful by anyone’s standards but she still doesn’t seem to think much of herself.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. So whatever you do, don’t make that worse.”

“You have no faith.”

The pun was too old for her to do more than roll her eyes. “I know. I have bills to pay instead. Would you like some?”

Sully’s barely made money. Simple fact. “How did Sully’s go this month? Did we break even?”

Faith gave him a nod and a grin. “We did.”

“Have you taken
your
wage out yet?”

“Yes.”

Good news. Finn knew for a fact that when times had been lean, Faith had often rolled her wage straight back into the business. “You ever think about trying to convince the old man to sell?”

“It’d kill him,” she said, and maybe it would.

“What are
your
thoughts on selling it?”

“Why would we?” she countered defensively. “This is our home, Finn. The heart of this family is right here. Our memories are here.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Mom’s here,” she countered stubbornly, and Finn was the first to look away.

Kathleen Sullivan had run Sully’s alongside her husband. She’d lived for it, loved in it, raised a family within these walls. His mother’s decisions were stamped here – from the color of the barstools to the pictures on the walls. And Faith, more than any of them, kept the family legacy alive.

But she did it at the cost of her own artistic dreams, and this itched at Finn. Made him feel guilty for not doing more.

“Want us to start playing live music on Friday afternoons again?” That always pulled a crowd and made their father happy. “I’ll organize it with Ronan and Case.”

“I’ve already asked. They start touring again next week. They don’t have time.”

If he could make time, so could they. “I’ll use words they can understand.”

Faith bit back a laugh. “Good luck with that. What words are you going to use on Dawn?”

“Music. Food. Company.”

“Not marriage, babies and eternal love?”

“Not yet.”

Got to save something for the finale.

*

Ten minutes later,
from the privacy of the booth in the far corner of the pub, Finn dialed the number Faith had given him and set about reissuing an old, old invitation.

He’d made a mess of it last time – or maybe the timing had simply been all wrong.

The fallout from those stolen bottles of wine had been harsh and neither his sister nor her friends had been in any position to come and watch him play his first paying gig.

Anyway.

“There’s this jazz club off 8
^th
Avenue and West 51
^st
and I play there sometimes,” he began.

“Finn?”

Call it arrogance, but it had been a long time since he’d had to start with his name.

“So, yeah. Let me do that again. Finbar Sullivan here. Wanting to speak with Dawn.”

“Speaking,” she replied dryly. “Do you always call for a repeat when you don’t get something right the first time?”

“Musician,” he countered. “You’re lucky I don’t want to hang up and start from the top.”

Actually …

He hung up.

He called back.

She got the first word in before he did. “Dawn Turner speaking.”

“Hey, Dawn. Finn Sullivan here, Faith’s brother.”

“How come you didn’t start with
Finbar Sullivan here. Notoriously charming famous musician?
”

“You’re messing with the plan. Don’t make me start again.” Because next time he might mention virginity.

His. Hers.

And the fact that they’d lost theirs together some ten years ago. “There’s this jazz club—

“Is this the same jazz club from years ago?” Dawn asked.

“You remember that invitation?”

“I remember that we didn’t go.” There was something in her voice. Something wistful. “And that you went to Juilliard soon afterwards. Faith was so proud of you.”

“Is that why you never answered any of my phone calls? Because of Juilliard?”

“In some ways, yes. Immaturity and insecurity on my part didn’t help. Your priorities lay elsewhere – that was very clear. So did mine. I didn’t want to complicate our lives.”

“Who’s to say it would have?”

“It was for the best,” she offered quietly, and if this conversation were music it would be a lament. Notes filled with sorrow, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

“A lot of years between then and now,” he said.

“Yes. A lot of years.”

Moving on. “It’s the same jazz club. They gave me my first break and for that I stay loyal. They do good barbeque wings and dirty blues and I’m heading there this Saturday night. You want to keep me company?”

He didn’t need the extended silence on the other end of the phone to know that this wasn’t going well.

“Finn?” She sounded hesitant. “Why are you doing this?”

“You are the second person today to question my motives.”

“Motivation’s important.”

“How about I say that I saw you again the other day and I wanted you all over again. I’m a free agent so I’m following up on that response. Is that motivation enough?”

More silence. So much for honesty.

And then, “It’s not that I’m not flattered by your invitation, because I am,” she said quietly, and there was that wistful note in her voice again that he didn’t know how to interpret. “But I have motivations too and you need to know them. If I meet up with you it won’t be because I’m looking for a relationship. The only reason I date at all is because I like sex. I like sex a lot. I probably have you to blame for that.”

So. Well. “And this is meant to put me
off
?”

She laughed, albeit reluctantly. “It’s meant to give you fair warning as to who I am and what I want. I’m a bad bet if you’re looking for a relationship that’s going to lead anywhere. I tell everyone this up front and not as a challenge. I don’t like disappointing people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Do people see it as a challenge anyway?”

“Some do,” she offered dryly. “It usually takes them around two dates to figure out that I’m unlikely to change my mind. That’s two dates too long.”

“So … just sex, no ties.”

“Smart man.”

“Is there
any
kind of general affection involved?”

“Yes. That as well. There can definitely be friendship involved.”

“I can work with that.” He was sure of it. “Come out to dinner with me on Saturday night.”

“I have a fundraising dinner to go to. Part networking, part business deal. There’s no escaping it.”

He noted she didn’t ask him along. “Coffee late Sunday morning, then. I have rehearsal all Sunday afternoon. We can aim for a breakfast place I know in Little Italy.”

“Finn—”

“Say yes. I’ve heard your warning. I’m still interested. Music demands a lot of me. More than most lovers are willing to put up with. Sounds to me as if you might understand.”

Silence.

“One last question.” And it wasn’t just because ego demanded it. He wanted to hear her speak without warning. He wanted to hear an unqualified yes. “Do you ever think about what happened between us at my brother’s party all those years ago?”

“Sometimes I do.”

Not quite the unqualified yes he’d been hoping for. “I remember your mouth on mine, driving me clear out of my mind. I couldn’t get enough of it, enough of you. I remember tightness and heat and trying desperately not to hurt you. I barely knew what I was doing. Neither did you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she whispered. “We did okay.”

“We did better than okay.”

Silence. Heavy and waiting.

Finn smiled and moved in for the kill. “Imagine what we could do if we practiced.”

“Finn—”

There was only one word he wanted to hear, and that wasn’t it. “Have breakfast with me on Sunday,” he pressed. “I agree to your terms. No ties. Friendship only. Let’s add good food into the mix. Sunshine if we’re lucky. A smile or two. But I need to hear a yes from you. One that doesn’t come with reservations.”

“All right,” she said faintly. “Yes.”

“Louder,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said more firmly but it still lacked a little something. Like enthusiasm.

“Still not feeling it.”

“Yes! What do you want? The
When Harry Met Sally
version?”

Well he did
now
. “See you Sunday, Dawn. Feel free to give me that particular version at the restaurant.”

He hung up on her groan.

Before he lost his mind completely and asked her to repeat that a few times as well.

*

Dawn had a
good life. She’d stumbled across a genetic sequencing breakthrough in her third year as an undergrad, and had promptly dropped out of university for a shot at setting up her own research company. Venture capitalists had come on board and the end result had been a career trajectory envied by many.

She loved her work and was proud of what she’d been able to set in motion in such a short time.

She had a loft apartment in Soho, in a landmark building steeped in history. Two bedrooms, three bathrooms. A vast, open plan, architect-designed living and dining area and a view through floor to ceiling windows that took her breath away. Wrought iron latticework framed the view through the windows – a leftover relic from days gone by.

Her favorite deli was less than a block away.

It took her ten minutes to get to work.

She’d set her life up for maximum efficiency and luxury aplenty.

At twenty-seven, Dawn had enough money to never have to work again and enough ideas to make that impossible.

She didn’t need the complications Finbar Sullivan brought with him. Not her overwhelming attraction to him. Not the worry of letting spill that she’d once thought herself pregnant with his child. She kept other secrets these days.

Darker beasts altogether.

And she wasn’t about to share any of those either.