Rekindled Dreams (6 page)

He glanced at her finger and slowly raised it to his lips. “Didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Fascinated, she watched her hand move closer to his mouth and waited, anticipating the intimate contact. Warm lips grazed her finger and heat shot down her hand, tingling along the length of her arm. For a moment, her eyes closed in pleasure.
Why does he affect me like this?
She wanted to launch herself into his arms and discover how his kisses felt on her lips…her chin…her neck.

This reaction is nuts.
She pulled away her hand and stood, moving toward the door. “Uh, I really should get back to…” Her body was on fire, thoughts scrambled, and she couldn’t think past the arousal pumping through her body. What had she been doing before this?

“Vena.”

One word, and her resolve melted. She peeked over her shoulder as he stood, muscles bunching and releasing in all the right places. “Mmm?”

“We have to talk. Let’s go into the kitchen and do some catching up.”

“Oh-okay.” She set off down the hall, hoping to calm her racing heart rate before he joined her.

****

Finn followed Vena down the hallway and stopped at the kitchen sink to scrub the dirt from his hands. What a complex person. The contrast of sassy confidence one minute and little girl innocence the next intrigued him. Years had passed since he’d had this many partial hard-ons. When he first touched her, he’d seen longing in her eyes, like having a man hold her hand was an unusual occurrence. She’d enjoyed the feeling, he’d swear to that fact. But then she’d pulled away like a scared fawn.

Hadn’t the men in her life held her hand or soothed away her pain? When he’d proposed this pretend engagement, he’d been so focused on his needs he hadn’t even asked if she had a man in her life. If she did, he would feel guilty. But what he’d seen in her eyes was wariness. Maybe the guy was a jerk who didn’t touch gently. He vowed to find out the truth.

Moving to the refrigerator, he pulled open the door and grabbed a can. “I’m having a soda. Do you want one? Or there’s coffee, water, tea? The Shamrocks’ hospitality is at your disposal.”

“Soda is fine, thanks.”

As he dropped ice into glasses and poured their soft drinks, he thought about how to start their discussion. His expertise related to details, data, and business matters. He wasn’t exactly skilled at delving into an old friend’s personal life. “You mentioned owning a condo. Do you live alone?”

“I tried the roomma
te thing when I first moved to Southern California. But I value my privacy too much to adjust to someone else’s schedule.”

Irritation stabbed his chest. “Not promising for a future partner.” His tone was teasing, but he wondered at that automatic response. He set the glasses on the table and pulled out a chair.

“No, no.” She laughed. “What I meant was, I didn’t like facing strange men in my kitchen before breakfast.”

This could be interesting. He leaned back in his chair, fingers running over his stubbly chin. “That can be interpreted two ways. Tell me more.”

“Believe me, the strangers weren’t there by my invitation. I had a couple of female roommates who carried on, shall we say, multiple short-term relationships.” A blush colored her cheeks. “Not that I’m insinuating those relationships were anything like what you proposed yesterday.”

The image of sitting across a table from Vena after a night of passion flashed through his mind. Her hair would be more tousled than usual, her pink lips swollen from his kisses, a sated look in her hazel eyes… He scooted back in the chair.

“No.” He croaked out an answer and then cleared his throat. “Of course not. The reason I asked was, I mean… Let me start over. Yesterday when I first suggested this arrangement, I didn’t ask if you’re involved with anyone in California.” Sudden dread at learning the answer filled him. “If so, I can understand—”

Her gaze was steady as she whispered, “At the moment, I’m not involved.”

“Well, good.” The response relieved his agitation, but didn’t explain her jumpiness. “I don’t mean good you’re not seeing anyone…but good, you’re not restricted on acting out the part to its fullest.”

“To its fullest?” Vena’s eyes widened. “Meaning what exactly?”

“Well, as engaged people…” What did he mean? “We’ll be working close together, and being seen by people as a couple, and…” For a man who made his living winning political support with his arguments, he was failing at explaining how their relationship would work.

A smile played at her lips and she nodded. “That much you explained yesterday. What do you mean about acting to the fullest?”

“Act naturally, you know, be believable as a couple.”

“I understand. What else?” She moved the glass in its circle of condensation.

“Yesterday on our walk to the coffee shop, you jumped when I put my arm around your shoulders. This morning you jerked when I barely touched your hand or moved in close.” He glanced at her face to gauge her reaction, but couldn’t see her eyes.

She stared at her drink and swirled the ice cubes in the bottom of the glass.

His chest tightened with agitation. “At first, I was worried you had a boyfriend and you were feeling guilty. Now that I know you don’t have one…” He paused and sipped his drink. “I have to ask, have you had a mean one? A guy who wasn’t gentle or careful of your feelings…or of you?”

“What?” Her head shot up, surprise rounding her eyes.

Was that guilt he saw in her expression? He shrugged and spread his hands in front of his body. “I’m not judging. It happens.”

“Not to me, Finn. I am very careful with the men I allow into my life. You’re adjusting to this new wrinkle in our friendship, but I’m struggling a bit.” She chewed at the side of her lower lip. “Maybe you need to list all your expectations.”

At the sight of her teeth working against her lip, his curiosity piqued. How would her pink lips taste?
Stop this
. “Hey, this arrangement is all new to me, too. I don’t know what to tell you.” He leaned forward and smiled. “Why don’t you ask me questions?”

“Good idea. Let’s see, have you been engaged before?”

“Yes.”

“You have?” Her voice quieted. “I didn’t know that.”

“How would you? We haven’t seen each other in ages.”

Eyes glowing, she leaned her forearms on the table. “This is the exact thing a fiancée would know, so I need details. When was it? What was her name? What happened?”

“Three years ago. Her name was Lily Martin. She dumped me to hook up with a rising politico.” That about summed up his view of most of the women he knew in the state capital—always on the lookout for someone who could do more for their careers.

“
Ooo, I sense bitterness.” She wiggled in her chair and leaned closer. “Did she break your heart?”

“No, just taught me to toughen my defenses. Enough of my sad stories.” He shook his head and leaned forward, clasping her hand in his. His fingertips ran along the back of her hand. “Has anyone else put a ring on this finger?”

“No one who still counts.” Her answer came out on a whispered note.

The tension loosened in his chest, and he almost laughed. He liked touching her soft skin and idly ran his fingers up and down hers. “So, you had a near miss?”

“The guy made the mistake of not considering my career input.” She clenched her hand.

Figuring out why her admission brought such relief would have to wait. He tightened his hold and inclined his head toward their linked hands. “This is what I’m talking about, Vena. You stiffen when I touch you. A fiancée wouldn’t react that way to being touched by the man she loves.”

A delicate shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m not used to being touched.”

“Does it bother you?” He frowned. Maybe he was imposing too much? “What boundaries do we want to set?”

“Boundaries?” Her gaze flitted away.

“Maybe boundary is the wrong word.” He didn’t like the feeling she’d bolt from the room if he persisted. “Tell me what pleases you. Physically.”

“What pleases me?” She cleared her throat and licked her lips.

Her repetition of everything he said was irritating. Why didn’t she understand his meanings? Unless, she was a…

“Don’t take offense, but are you still a virgin?” Immediately, his blood heated. To relieve the pressure in his groin, he yanked at the inseam of his jeans. What man didn’t hope to be first for his special woman? Now that was crazy. Their arrangement was only a two-week fake engagement.

She stiffened and pulled away her hand. “Just because I’m not used to being manhandled doesn’t mean I’m a virgin.”

Her eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn’t name. Holding up his hands, he shook his head and grinned. “Okay, so we’re straight on that one. I am taking notes, you know.” He pantomimed writing on a pad of paper. “Number one, the lady likes milk, not cream, in her coffee. Number two, the lady has experience between the sheets.”

“That’s sound trashy.” She blushed and glanced away. “Intimacy isn’t the first part of a relationship.”

He swallowed hard, fighting sexy thoughts. “How long has it been since—”

“That question won’t come up.” She clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “For dinner conversation, we’ll need only generalities. What’s your favorite type of music?”

“Rock. Nobody better than The Boss. What about you?”

“Lately I’ve been listening to movie soundtracks. A favorite single artist would probably be Emmylou Harris. Have you heard the album she and Linda Ronstadt did?”

He liked hearing the relaxed tone of her voice. “Can’t say I know that one.”

“What was the last book you read?” She cocked her head.

“The Effects of Private Sector Downsizing on Federal Projects.”

A grimace tightened her mouth. “Sounds like a real page turner.”

“Oh yeah, a government report thicker than a Grisham novel. No time for pleasure reading these days.” He gave a short laugh and ran his hand over his chin. “Or, for pleasure anything.”

“Too much information. I just finished Barbara Kingsolver’s latest, and it’s always a pleasure to read her work.” She drummed her fingers and scrunched up her nose. “What else should we know? What about current movies?”

He scratched his chin. “I can’t remember the last time I was in a movie theater. I get back to my apartment so late I’m lucky to catch the last half of whatever game’s on ESPN. Usually I’m asleep before the final score.”

“You poor thing.” She stretched out a hand across the table then pulled it back. “Why do you work such long hours?”

The soft concern in her voice lured him. A few more comments like that and he’d be craving her concern over his well-being for longer than the short term. “The nature of the profession. What about your latest movie choice?”

Propping elbows on the table, she leaned her cheek on her folded hands, eyes misted with a dreamy look. “Whenever a period drama opens, I’m first in line to buy a ticket.”

“The ones where the men wear velvet pants and stockings?” He shuddered.

“Not just those. They could be wearing homespun tunics or leggings and breechcloth, or shirts with billowing sleeves and tight pants.” A sigh escaped. “I’m a sucker for historical costumes. Occupational hazard, what can I say?”

“Occupational—oh, right.” He slapped a hand on his thigh. “I keep forgetting you work in a museum. What’s your title? I probably should know what your duties are.”

“I’m a curatorial assistant for the Los Angeles Frontier Museum. I help the curator responsible for the textile collection.”

He was out of his league here, but would probably need to learn the subject. Besides, prolonging the conversation kept her close. “By textiles…you mean old clothes?”

“That’s one way to describe them.” She rolled her neck on her shoulders. “If you had your choice of a dream vacation, where would you go?”

Seeing her working out the tension in her neck reminded him they needed to discuss the questions she’d brushed off before. “Those questions can wait. Let’s talk about boundaries.”

She frowned. “You’re back to that?”

“Because these details become obvious when we’re in a group.” He leaned forward and caught her gaze. “Which do you prefer—having a man guide you by your elbow or linking your arm with his?”

Her head tilted and she tapped a finger on her chin. “I actually haven’t thought about it.”

“Just tell me what feels more comfortable.”

“Linking arms, I guess.”

The choice that would keep their bodies closer. Good selection. “Compare that with holding hands, which do you prefer?”

“Depends on the situation.” Her hazel eyes sparkled. “In a crowd, I prefer being as close as possible. So we, I mean, I don’t get separated. But sometimes handholding is better.”

“Noted. Where is your favorite place to be kissed?”

“Finn.” She straightened, a secretive smile on her face. “Why do you need to know that?”

“I think it’s important.” This was for his own reasons, but the question seemed proper for their pretense. “You never know when little tidbits like those can validate the image.”