The Player's Club: Finn (2 page)

“I’m glad we decided to come back to your place,” her date, Travis, said as he sat down next to her on her couch. He stroked her shoulder, his eyes alight with anticipation.

She looked away for a second, taking a quick sip of the wine. It was expensive, sophisticated—much like Travis.

I really should have brought the Peterson file home.

She closed her eyes for a second. No. She wasn’t going to think about work tonight. She wasn’t going to screw this up by getting distracted.

She was going to have
sex
tonight, damn it.

She’d been on six dates with Travis. Granted, they’d been spread out over four months, but still…that was practically a relationship.

For her, considering her track record, that was practically
marriage.

She forced herself to gaze into his eyes. “I’m glad we came back here, too.”

“You know,” he said, leaning close enough that she could smell his cologne, “I admire you for your reputation at Macalister, but getting to know you… You’re so much softer, more approachable than I would’ve thought.” He nuzzled her jawline. “So much sexier.”

He’d pitched the words in a sensual tone, was obviously moving in, but something he said caught her attention. “What reputation?”

He laughed at that, pulling back. “They call you Macalister’s Hammer. I don’t think you got that nickname because you enjoy carpentry as a hobby.”

She stiffened, putting her drink down on her glass coffee table. She loathed that nickname. “I’m just a lawyer. Just because I’m good at my job some people might think that means I’m…tough, whatever.”

He looked immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m not trying to say you’re tough, or cold, or any of the other crap they say at the office.”

She stared at him.

This is so not helping me decide to invite you into bed, pal.

Sure, she’d brought him home with the idea of them moving on to the next step. Frankly, right now, he was the only candidate she had. He was attractive, easy enough to talk to without being too insistent. He worked in the patent office at Macalister Enterprises, pushing through patents for candy. Yes, candy. She’d met him at some company meeting, liked the look of him and the fact that he seemed interested.

Now she was wondering if maybe she hadn’t set the bar a bit low. Convenience and some superficial traits might not be the best barometer of bedmates.

He was nipping at her earlobe, and her mind kept whirring away. Yes, she was currently in a year-and-a-half sexual drought, but once she’d made it a year, it didn’t seem as urgent anymore. She leaned against the back of her couch, wondering how she’d never noticed before how uncomfortable it was. Of course, she was rarely home, and didn’t spend a lot of time loafing on the couch.

Maybe it was just that
she
was uncomfortable.

“So…” He stroked his fingertips along her arm, tracing up to her shoulder. “Where were we?”

He leaned forward, his lips brushing over hers. She tried. So help her, she tried. It wasn’t bad, but it completely lacked the sexual zip that she was hoping for. He seemed to sense it, too, but instead of acknowledging it, he redoubled his efforts, giving it the full court press.

She winced uncomfortably when he started plunging his tongue into her mouth. When she backed off, their breathing was ragged, his with arousal, hers in a desperate attempt to get more air.

Come on, Diana,
she chided herself.
You may not get a second chance at this. Did you really want to spend another night by yourself with a pint of Häagen-Dazs and a crappy chick flick?

“Come on, Diana,” he echoed, as if reading her mind. “We both know where this is going. We’ve been headed here for months. Why don’t we go into the bedroom, see where it takes us?”

Unless you’re hung like a Louisville Slugger and you’ve got some caramel-gingersnap ice cream on you, I seriously doubt it.

He tugged her hand, leading it down to the bulge growing in his pressed pin-striped trousers. Well, it wasn’t a slugger, but it wasn’t a pencil, either, she thought, slowly stumbling back into the mood. Besides, she could always provide her own ice cream.

She kissed him again, dodging when he tried to get too intense, but still trying to get in the mood. Her breasts tightened beneath the new black-lace bra she’d bought the weekend prior, with just this date in mind.

This could happen,
she thought.
This could really…

“What the hell is that?” he asked, glancing around the room.

“What are you talking about?”

“That sound. It’s like an alarm or something. What is that?”

She wanted to scream. Obviously, she wasn’t that good a kisser if he could be distracted by—

Then she heard what he was talking about. It was a song, tinny and blaring and growing increasingly louder: the Rolling Stones’ “Can’t Get No Satisfaction.”

She bounced off the couch. “My cell phone.”

“Didn’t you turn it off?” He sounded offended at her oversight. “Never mind. Let it go to voice mail.”

“Can’t. This is probably important.” She grabbed the still-ringing cell phone. That particular ringtone was her boss’s private line. If she let the call go to voice mail, he would be pissed. “Hello? Hello?”

“Diana.” Her boss, Thornton “Thorn” Macalister, sounded pissed anyway. “There’s been an emergency.”

All her ardor cooled. “What happened?”

“Finn.”

She closed her eyes, gripping the cell phone tight. It was ten o’clock at night and an emergency. One that required Thorn calling her from his private line. So
of course
it was Finn Macalister, the black sheep, the recalcitrant son.

“Need me to post bail again?” she asked, rubbing at her temple and noticing the tension between her shoulder blades. “Or…”

“He’s in the hospital.”

She stiffened. “I’m sorry. How bad? What can I do?”

“Don’t know. We’re flying out tonight to see for ourselves.” Thorn’s voice was filled with fury and sadness, mixed with frustration. “He could’ve gotten killed. Betty’s having a nervous breakdown, and I don’t know how many more of these episodes we can take.”

Finn was known for his stunts, although his parents usually found out about them after the fact when he was safe and sound. The guy had the devil’s own luck. Diana was surprised he’d survived this long, given what she’d heard about his exploits. She’d only seen him at a few family functions, since he rarely showed up at the Macalister corporate headquarters—even though he was on the board of directors.

She thought of his face. That handsome, boyish face, that quick, wicked, sexy smile. She remembered him at the Macalister mansion once. In swim trunks. With a rock-hard bod.

She sighed. Such a shame, on so many levels.

“What do you need me to do, Thorn?”

“Several things, I suppose.” Her normally blustering, pushy boss sounded defeated. “I need you in Oahu, as soon as possible. Betty and I are already in the air. I’m sending a driver to your place. Car should arrive in twenty minutes—you can take the other company plane. Betty didn’t want to wait for you. We’ll discuss plans when you get there.”

“Fine. I’ll be ready.” She wasn’t surprised when he hung up abruptly. She closed the phone, her head already clicking into business mode. She glanced over at Travis. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.”

“What?” He looked aghast. “Just like that?”

Because she’d already switched over, she largely ignored Travis as she started gathering what she would need with her. “It’s a crisis. Macalister crisis. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take to clear up, and I’ve got a car coming in twenty minutes. I’m afraid we’ll have to maybe do this another time?”

She probably could have asked that with more enthusiasm.

“That was Thornton Macalister? The big guy himself.” Travis stood up. His pants were definitely sporting an obvious bulge that was deflating fast. “I don’t work with him directly, but my boss says he’s, uh, challenging. Does he do stuff like this often?”

“Stuff like what?” She headed to her hall closet, calling over her shoulder. She had two roller bags: one filled with warm weather clothes, one with cool. She grabbed the warm weather overnighter, jogged into her bedroom and added a suit bag. Last but not least was her laptop case that she pulled from the desk.

Just like that, she was packed. She’d done this drill before.

Travis stared at her quickly assembled gear. “He tells you you’re going to be on a plane in twenty minutes,” he said, surprised, “and you’re ready in less than two? He calls at ten o’clock at night and you tell your date to just go home?”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Travis was frowning, and she realized he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. Maybe she’d have him walk her out when the town car got there to take her to the airstrip. “Ever thought about telling him no? That you’ve got a life?”

“Why would I do that?” It was as if he were suddenly speaking Swedish. “Is this just because I can’t sleep with you now?”

Wrong button to push. He looked offended, his back straightening. “Hard as it is to believe, I’m actually able to have sex with other people. And do. Frequently.”

She blinked. “Okay, yuck.”

He scowled. “That wasn’t…damn it. My point was, I made a point to pursue you, despite other possibilities. I thought you might be interesting to start a relationship with. You’re intelligent, powerful, ambitious—obviously, to be able to get to where you are at such a young age.”

“Well, ambition and power don’t exactly happen if you keep saying no to the boss, Travis.” Now she was really glad she hadn’t slept with him.

“I guess on some level, I’m not going to want to keep coming in second to another man.”

She piled her bags by the door. “It’s not like that with Thorn.”

“No, you’re right. It’s the job.” He laughed ruefully. “But…well, now that I’m seeing it, I don’t know that I’d want to keep coming in second to that, either.”

“That’s really sexist, you know,” she said, with more weariness than anger. She glanced at her cell phone’s time display—fifteen minutes. “I’m not the only one here who’s been too busy. Were you planning on scaling back your hours to give our ‘relationship’ the time it deserved?”

“Touché,” he said. “Well, then. I guess we don’t have anything else to say.”

“Guess not.” She opened the door. “Have a nice night.”

He stared at her for a long moment. At some point, she knew he was waiting for an apology.

She stared back. As he’d noted, they didn’t call her the Hammer for a carpentry fetish.

He broke first, and she lost a notch of respect for him. Then he stalked out, and she shut the door behind him.

She sighed again. So much for sex. At least she had work, right?

Yeah, she thought sarcastically. Work was
waaaay
better than sex.

2

FINN WOKE UP IN THE HOSPITAL with a mild sense of anxiousness.

Oh, crap, not again.
He reached up, felt his aching head. There was a new, jagged scar up in his hairline…but he had hair. He had eyebrows, he thought, tracing his face. Then, abruptly, it all came back to him.

Hawaii. Surfing. The Pipeline.

“Good morning,” his best friend, Lincoln, said, sitting on a plastic chair next to the hospital bed. “And how are we feeling?”

“Peachy, although would you check my wallet? ’Cause I swear, I think I was mugged,” Finn said, laughing. He noticed immediately that Lincoln didn’t join in. “Okay, not one of my better jokes…”

“Not one of your smarter moves,” Lincoln interrupted.

Finn frowned. “This isn’t going to be one of your Big Papa Lincoln lectures, is it? Because my head hurts enough as it is.”