The Ring on Her Finger (14 page)

“Max, I hate to ask,” Rosemary said, “but it’s my night off, and I promised a friend I’d meet her for dinner, but I’m already running late. Could you take Abby to Hannah’s house for her overnight? I have her things all packed and ready to go. I’m so sorry, but I just—”

Max lifted a hand to stop her flow of words. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be glad to take Abby to Hannah’s.” Mostly because it would keep him from taking Lucy to a place they were both better off not visiting. “Have a good time tonight,” he added. “You’ve earned it.”

And she’d earned Max’s undying gratitude, too, since her appearance had kept him from making a colossal mistake. Man, he would have done it. He would have climbed right into the Duesenberg with Lucy and savored every breathless pleasure the two of them could have enjoyed. The way she had been looking at him just before Rosemary and Abby arrived, the sizzle of heat that had been arcing between the two of them... He knew Lucy had been thinking the same thing he was. He knew it. He would have done it. And so would she. And he never would have forgiven himself when it was over.

“Go,” he told Rosemary again. “I’ve got everything under control here.”

And, amazingly, he was able to say it without laughing.

The Wild Irish Rose was Rosemary’s favorite place to be when she wasn’t with Abby. Formerly a cozy Victorian house in the Highlands, the restaurant claimed three levels of comfortably furnished space, making her feel as if she were visiting friends instead of a commercial dining establishment. Tonight, as it was every Friday night, the place was packed with stout-drinking, cigarette-puffing, pub-grubbing regulars. Laughter rang out amid the wheeling smoke, the Clancy Brothers sang to her about a jug o’ punch, bangers and mash was on the menu, and Guinness was on draft. It was as close to Ireland as Rosemary could come without leaving this country, and for that, she would love the place forever.

Tonight, however, she loved it a bit less than usual. Thanks to her late start and the Friday night traffic, she was nearly a half-hour late meeting her friend Charlotte. Now Charlotte was gone, and their dinner reservation was with someone else. So Rosemary squeezed in between two chatting couples at the bar and ordered a pint, nursing it as she tried to reach Charlotte on her phone. But the other woman wasn’t answering, just as she hadn’t answered when Rosemary had tried to reach her before, to let her know that she would be late.

Ah, well. Perhaps she had met up with a better prospect and was enjoying herself without Rosemary. More luck to her then. Of course, now Rosemary would be left on her own on a rare night off—and looking quite spiffy, if she did say so herself, dressed in a straight, sleeveless dress of the palest green cotton and flat sandals. She’d woven her long hair into a braid but had left it to swing free down the middle of her back. She’d even given herself a manicure, so eager had she been to shed her workday self in favor of a more festive, night-off image. It was just bad luck that it would be for nothing. Maybe, if she hurried, she still had time to catch a movie...

She was about to enjoy another sip of her pint when, amid the raucous din of the crowd, she thought she heard her name, very close to her ear. Although it wasn’t her first name, the summons felt intimate and affectionate just the same and sent a shudder of something earthy and exciting shimmying down her spine.

“Miss Shaugnessy.”

She spun around at the deep voice and found herself staring at a man’s chest. A broad, nicely toned chest, clad in a navy blue polo that was tucked into a pair of faintly faded jeans, its collar unbuttoned to reveal a peek of rich, dark hair beneath. Driving her gaze upward, Rosemary discovered that the face above the chest was even more rugged and better formed than the rest of him. Unfortunately, it also belonged to a man she had vowed to avoid.

“Mr. Finn,” she said, his name feeling awkward on her tongue.

She’d seen him only once in the week that had passed since he cornered her in the Coves’ kitchen—the Monday night following that fiasco, when Mr. Cove brought him home for dinner unannounced. Mr. Finn had said not a word to Rosemary about their exchange. Not that she expected him to. Either he wouldn’t feel it necessary to apologize, since he probably didn’t think he had done anything wrong, or else he wouldn’t remember it, owing to having been too inebriated. Which was fine with her. She would just as soon forget it ever happened. Though she doubted she would ever completely banish the memory of the strange sensations that wound through her that night.

Even though he had said nothing to her Monday, Nathaniel Finn had watched her whenever she and Abby were in the room. She’d felt his eyes on her constantly, and every time she glanced up had seen him gazing at her with frank consideration. Once he even smiled at her, in a way that made her think he remembered perfectly what happened in the kitchen, and that he intended to repeat the incident at his earliest convenience—with a vastly different outcome this time. Even when Rosemary frowned at him, he continued to watch her with unapologetic appreciation.

What was most troubling, though, was that as she’d watched him watching her, she felt a slow, simmering heat ignite inside her that gradually seeped into every pore. It was the same unsettling sensation she felt that night in the kitchen, something at once dangerous and intriguing, a mixture of aversion and fascination. She realized then that Nathaniel Finn was an infinitely more menacing man than she first thought. Because in spite of everything, she still found him attractive, still wanted to know more about him.

Now, here was her chance. If she decided to take it. Of course, she wouldn’t. No matter how fascinating she might find the man, he was trouble. And trouble was something she left behind in Ireland. She never wanted trouble in her life again.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said, blurting the first thing that came into her head. Well, all right, she supposed that wasn’t the first thing that came into her head. But had she blurted something about how sinfully handsome he was or how much she wanted to know what it would be like to kiss him, it might have caused a problem or two.

He shrugged. “With a name like Finn, it’s kind of hard to escape a place like this, isn’t it? I come here a lot, actually. My grandfather fell off the boat from Ireland seventy years ago, but I heard too many stories before he died about County Cork not to feel like it’s a part of me.”

He wasn’t lying about coming here. When Rosemary told him she was surprised to see him there, she’d meant standing beside her, not in the Rose proper. As a regular herself, she had seen him in the restaurant a time or two—or more—though only from a distance and never to speak to. But she couldn’t recall him ever seeing her here. Certainly he’d never acknowledged her. Still, she shouldn’t be suspicious of his appearance tonight. For some reason, though, she was. Why would he approach her this evening when he never had before?

“I, on the other hand,” he said, “am surprised to see you here. At the bar, anyway. Indulging,” he qualified, dipping his head toward what was left of her pint. “Though, I suppose everyone who’s Irish eventually finds their way to the Rose.”

She wanted to tell him she’d found her way here long before tonight and ask him why he was just now noticing that. Instead, she nodded toward the drink he held in his own hand, a short glass half-filled with something dark amber, straight up. “Is it only you who’s allowed to imbibe then, Mr. Finn?”

He shook his head and smiled. Something inside her went incendiary in response. Oh, dear. She really shouldn’t encourage him. Not unless she wanted to spontaneously combust.

“Not at all,” he said. “I just didn’t think you were the type.”

“And why shouldn’t I be the type? In fact, just what is the type?”

Instead of answering, he guided his free hand toward the delicate gold cross nestled at the base of her throat. Rosemary told herself to halt him before he could touch her, but she suddenly felt paralyzed and unable—or, perhaps unwilling—to react. When it appeared he wouldn’t go far enough to do that, she began to release a breath she had been unaware of holding. Then he was tracing the tiny gold cross with the pad of his fingertip, first down, then across. But the cross was so small and so thin that his fingertip also caressed the tender skin surrounding it, and what should have been an innocent touch shot a quiver of electricity through her that made her gasp. Nathaniel noticed her gasp, and he smiled knowingly.

Instead of pulling back his hand, as any decent man would do, he curled two of his fingers beneath the cross so that it lay against his fingertips and his knuckles lay against her skin. Her flesh went hot where it made contact with his, and her pulse rate ratcheted higher.

“It’s just that you don’t seem the type to imbibe, Miss Shaugnessy,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the cross, his bent knuckles skimming along her breastbone. “I mean, you seem like such a nice girl.”

“I am a nice girl,” she replied quickly. Too quickly, really. Her voice was rough and breathless and uncertain, and she didn’t believe herself for a moment. Nathaniel Finn probably wouldn’t, either.

Abruptly, he dropped the cross and lowered his hand to his side. Rosemary wasn’t sure, but she thought his eyes suddenly seemed darker, and his cheeks a bit ruddier than they had been when he first addressed her. The cross against her skin felt hot and alive.

“I know you are,” he said. Then more softly, so softly she wondered if he meant for her to hear him, he added, “That’s the problem.”

As she observed the changes in Nathaniel, Rosemary realized she had forgotten to breathe. Because she felt dizzy and disoriented, and why else would she feel that way if not for a lack of air? She tried to think of a polite way to excuse herself from what was fast becoming an uncomfortable situation. She was in a crowded bar surrounded by loud conversation, but she suddenly felt as if she and Nathaniel were the only people left in the world—a world where physical sensations were magnified and multiplied and made nearly impossible to bear. She needed to be somewhere else, outside, in the fresh air, where she could clear her mind of the odd unreality into which it had fallen.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Finn...” she said, letting her voice trail off, hoping he would take the hint. For some reason, she didn’t want to flat out tell him goodbye.

Although he did seem to understand the hint, he didn’t take it. “What’s your hurry? Have you had dinner?”

Yes, she told herself to say. “No,” she heard instead. “I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner, but we missed each other.”

“I have a reservation for seven-thirty.” He twisted his wrist to look at his watch. “And what do you know, it’s just that now,” He fixed her with those green, green eyes. “Why don’t you join me?”

“Oh, I couldn’t—” she began.

“Of course you could,” he objected.

“But you’ll be meeting someone and—”

“I’m not meeting anyone. I’m by myself tonight.”

She nearly gaped at that. How could this man be on his own on a Friday night? Now she was really suspicious. “Did she stand you up, or did you stand her up?”

“Who says there was a she to begin with?”

Rosemary chuckled. “So it’s like that, is it? I never would have taken you for a poof.”

He narrowed his eyes, but grinned. “No, it isn’t like that. I like women. A lot,” he added, his green, green eyes becoming hot, hot, hot. “But sometimes a man needs a little time to himself.”

“Which means I should be on my way.”

She managed to complete one full step before Nathaniel curled his fingers lightly over her upper arm.

“Don’t go,” he said.

And there was something in his voice that was so soft and so solicitous that Rosemary melted a little inside. Only this time, it wasn’t because of a quick, explosive heat. This time it was because of a gentle radiance that meandered through her body with all the indolence of a summer’s day.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I may have come here tonight to be alone, but...” He hesitated for a moment, then finished, very quietly, “But now that I’ve seen you... Suddenly, I don’t want to be alone.”

Now there was something in his voice that made Rosemary want to come apart inside. She didn’t dare meet his gaze, keeping her attention fixed on the restaurant’s front door.

“I really should go,” she said. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to—”

“It’s an excellent idea,” he corrected her before she could finish. “We both came here for dinner. Your girlfriend never showed, and I wasn’t meeting anyone to begin with. It’s worked out perfectly.”

“How do you know it was a girlfriend I was meeting?” she asked.

He shrugged again, but there was something a trifle off in the gesture. “I guess I just assumed. I’m sorry. Was I wrong? Is there someone special? Some guy who might not appreciate your joining another guy for dinner?”

Rosemary shook her head, then wished she hadn’t. An imaginary boyfriend might have gotten her out of this situation. She really shouldn’t be standing here, talking to the Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Racing Set. It could only lead to trouble. Then again, maybe deep down, she really didn’t want to get herself out of this situation. Maybe, deep down, a part of her wanted trouble. Maybe a part of her had been missing it. Maybe a part of her still was.

“There’s no guy,” she said. “I was indeed meeting a girlfriend. But I was frightfully late getting here. She must have thought I wasn’t coming and left.”

“Then join me for dinner, Miss Shaugnessy. It’ll be my treat.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll pay for mine, thank you.”

He opened his mouth to object, then stopped. A slow, happy smile curled his lips. Only then did Rosemary realize she had consented to have dinner with him, without even realizing she meant to.

“Fine,” he said. “You can pay for yours. This time.” A not-so-subtle implication that there would be a next time, she translated. And that on that occasion, he would be the one treating.

Well, not so fast,
Mr. Finn. The only reason she had agreed to this time was because she was hungry. So she would have dinner with the man. Tonight. Then she would drive herself home and get on with her life as if this evening had never happened.