CHAPTER THREE
. . .
Finn sat on the edge of his sofa, his head cradled in his hands, as he listened to Layla moving around in his bedroom, the thud of drawers opening and closing as she searched for something to wear. His imagination ran wild as he pictured the towel dropping from her body. Not that there was much left to imagine. No, he’d drank in the sight of her curves as she’d stood before him, a brave tilt to her chin when she realized she’d been caught with her hand in the chip can, so to speak.
Damn, the image of those large breasts, stiff nipples standing in stark relief against the pink islands of her areoles, was seared into his brain. It had his body hardening all over again. He could still feel the weight of her gaze on him, that intoxicating mix of vulnerability and defiance as she tried to cover herself.
He bit back a groan, desire coiling hot and heavy in his gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this badly. It was more than simple lust, though. More than base physical attraction. The hunger he felt for her was off the charts. And so damn unexpected.
She was a stranger, but now she was everywhere. In his space, his home.
Under his skin.
Finn swore softly, savagely, fisting a hand in his hair. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t some horny teenager ruled by his hormones. He was a grown-ass man, battle-hardened and world-weary. He’d seen and done things that would make most people piss themselves in fear.
And yet, one look from Layla Bryant’s big brown eyes and he was ready to fall to his knees. It was insanity. Madness.
Sheer, unadulterated want.
A need that went deeper than mere lust.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a pull for a woman, hell, if he ever had. That instantaneous zap of awareness, that punch-drunk swirl of lust and fascination and soul-deep recognition.
As if some part of him, long dormant, had taken one look at her and growled, “Mine.”
Finn rubbed the back of his neck. He was losing it. This was not the time to chase after mysterious women with smart mouths who were clearly in trouble. He had his own shit to deal with, a past to outrun, a future to rebuild brick by heavy brick.
The last thing he needed was a distraction. Even one as pretty and tempting as the wayward naked bride in his bedroom.
He rose to his feet, the soft pad of her footsteps alerting him to her presence. Goldilocks was ready to face the bear. Or the wolf, in his case.
She should have looked ridiculous in a pair of his sweats and an oversized t-shirt. While large on her, the t-shirt clung to the curves of her breasts. Unbound breasts. His mind flashed to the corset he’d seen on the bathroom floor. Her breasts would have been pushed up high, the flesh overflowing the garment. He could easily picture her wearing that – and nothing else. Now, her breasts were straining against the fabric of his shirt, her nipples hard. His mouth watered, thinking of tasting them.
She looked impossibly young and achingly vulnerable. She looked adorable and sexy as hell.
She looked like…
His.
Again, the word rushed through his mind like a promise, a warning.
Finn cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Feeling better?”
Layla offered him a small, tentative smile that did funny things to his insides. “Much. Thank you for the clothes. And for…” she gestured vaguely at her neatly bandaged foot. “You know. Playing doctor.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked. His voice pitched low and rumbly in the charged space between them.
“Yes, yes, I am.” She nodded her head.
“Okay. Well, sit your pretty little butt down, and I’ll dish up the chili.” He stood there a moment, assessing her. “But, you’re going to tell me exactly what sent you running scared into the woods today. And don’t even think about bullshitting me.” He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I can smell a lie a mile away, sweetheart. You’ve got trouble written all over you, and I want to know what I’m dealing with.”
For a moment, he thought Layla might argue. That stubborn light flared in her eyes, her chin taking on a mutinous tilt. But then, as quickly as it appeared, the fight drained out of her, and her shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Fine,” she sighed, following him into the kitchen. “But don’t skimp on the serving size. I’m a full-grown woman with a full-grown appetite.”
Finn’s gaze was hot and hungry this time as it ran over her. “I can clearly see that, baby.”
He waited until she was settled, watching as she stretched out her injured foot with a pained grimace. His hands itched to soothe, to comfort, but he balled them into fists and turned towards the cabinets to retrieve two large bowls instead. Boundaries. Distance. He could do this.
“Milk?” he asked, opening the fridge. He could feel the weight of Layla’s gaze on him. Tracking his movements. Trying to puzzle him out. Good luck with that. Most days, Finn barely understood himself.
“Yes, please.” She sat at the table, hands folded in front of her, looking prim and proper. Well, she would have looked that way if not for the mass of dark curls falling around her face and half-way down her back. Or her freaking curves. He had to adjust his stance. He had been half-hard since seeing her silhouette behind his glass shower doors.
He placed two tall glasses of milk on the table, along with spoons and napkins. Next, he grabbed two sleeves of crackers before dishing up the chili and joining her. “So,” he began, “you gonna tell me what had you rabbiting off into the wilderness like the hounds of hell were on your heels? Or do I have to drag it out of you?”
Silence. Then, a delicate snort. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words?”
“Anyone ever tell you that deflection only works on stupid people?” He slanted her a look, gratified to find her fighting a smile.
“Touché.”
She fiddled with her napkin, worrying the paper between her slender fingers. Finn waited her out. He was good at waiting.
She finally spoke, her voice soft and faraway. “I couldn’t marry him. Couldn’t tie myself to someone I didn’t love, didn’t choose. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. I didn’t love him. I’m not sure I even liked him all that much. He was just... there. Safe. Dependable.”
“Boring?” Finn supplied, a knowing glint in his eye.
“I was going to say stable, but yeah,” Layla admitted with a rueful twist of her lips. “Randy was the kind of guy you settled for because you’d given up on ever finding ‘the one.’” She shook her head, a sad little laugh escaping on a sigh. “God, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? Like something a character in a bad romance novel would say.”
“Maybe those romance writers are onto something.” Finn shrugged, an eloquent lift of one muscular shoulder. “And this realization just hit you, what? An hour before you were supposed to walk down the aisle?”
“More like thirty minutes. It wasn’t that I got cold feet. It was like...like my whole body filled with ice.”
Finn huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he took a bite of chili. “Cutting it a bit close there, don’t you think?”
Layla sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and self-recrimination. “Story of my life. I’ve always been a bit of a... late bloomer, I guess you could say. Slow to figure out what I want.”
“And what do you want, Layla Bryant?” The question emerged without conscious thought, loaded with layers of meaning Finn hadn’t intended.
Layla was staring at him, her expression inscrutable. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The action made his biceps bunch, straining the fabric of his shirt. Layla tried not to stare. She really did. That had to be inappropriate, didn’t it? Ogling a complete stranger on what should have been her wedding day?
“I...” She trailed off, worrying at her bottom lip with small, even teeth. “Honestly? I’m still trying to figure that out. Getting engaged to Randy was the easy way out. It made my mother happy and let me conform, for once, to what society expected of me. But in the end I just couldn’t do it. I knew I wanted more than what was waiting for me at the end of that aisle. I knew I wanted more than tea parties, golf outings, and pretending to be someone I’m not, just to make others happy. I’ve kind of done that in all other aspects of my life. But with the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with? Marrying a man who would never see me. Never know me, not really.”
Finn watched as she shook her head, sending those dark curls shimmering.
“I can’t do that. I’m not going to do that.” Her tone was resolute.
It hurt to say the words, to give voice to the messy, tangled knot of feelings in her chest. But it was a clean pain, a lancing of the wound.
She laughed, a brittle, watery sound. “So, I did the only thing I could do. I ran. Picked up my skirts and fled like you said—like the hounds of hell were on my heels. And I just...kept running. Until I ended up here.”
With you.
“Anyway,” she continued, clearing her throat. “I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t resign myself to a life of making bland hospital corners, having boring missionary sex, and naming our kids things like Blake or Blair. So...I ran.”
Finn’s mouth kicked up at the corner, a flash of even white teeth. “And of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you ran into mine.”
“Casablanca,” Layla identified automatically. “You like the classics.”
His mouth curved a little on one side “Yeah, I do.”
Layla was charmed despite herself. Who was this man, with his hidden depths, hungry eyes, and gentle hands? She wanted to know more. Needed to learn more.
The words hung unspoken between them, heavy with implication. With promise and possibility, with a rightness that stole the breath from Layla’s lungs.
“Well,” Finn said, slow and thoughtful. “I guess we’ve both got our demons to wrestle.”
Demons. Yes, that was one word for it. For the shadows that clung to them both, the hurts and the heartaches. The wounds that hadn’t quite healed.
Her words had hit Finn like a punch to the gut. Thinking of her with another man was not something he wanted to picture. No, his basic instincts had already warned him that this woman was meant to be more than a stranger he’d given harbor to in a storm. She was meant to be in his life.
His. He slowly acknowledged the thought. She was his. Meant to be his with all her curves and sass. Meant to bring the light back into his dark world. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.
“Well, I may not have all the answers, but I do know one thing. Running away may have been impulsive...but it was also brave as hell. It takes guts to go after what you want, even if you’re not sure what that is yet.”
Layla blinked at him, clearly taken aback at his words. Then her face brightened with pleased wonder. “You think I’m brave?”
“I think you’re a lot of things, Goldilocks. Brave. Strong. Smart.” His gave a wicked smile. “A pain in my ass.”
She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, and something in Finn’s chest squeezed tight. Damn, she was stunning when she laughed.
“You know,” she mused, tilting her head to the side. In another woman, it would have looked coy, flirtations, but on Layla, it was merely inquisitiveness. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a grumpy mountain man with boundary issues.”
Finn snorted. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want all these compliments to go to my head.”
“I’ll be sure to keep your ego in check.” Layla took a few bites of chili, her eyes fluttering shut as she chewed. “Oh my God. I take it back. You’re amazing, and I might have to marry you for this chili alone.”
“You’re a culinary cheap date. Noted.”
Finn dug into his own food, content to eat in companionable silence broken only by Layla’s occasional hums of approval. He could get used to this, he realized. Could grow accustomed to sharing meals and trading barbs with her, to making her laugh that uninhibited laugh.
It was a dangerous thought, rife with impossible wants. He shoved it down deep, locking it away.
She’d be gone soon. Back to her real life, her glossy world, and he... He would carry on, just as he always did. Alone.
The word settled like a stone in his stomach, cold and heavy. He pushed away his half-empty bowl, suddenly lacking an appetite.
Across the table, Layla frowned at him, concern creasing her brow. “You okay? You got quiet all of a sudden.”
Finn forced a smile. “Fine. Just tired.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. He was tired - bone-deep exhausted in a way that had little to do with physical fatigue.
“Right. Of course.” Layla set down her spoon, guilt flashing across her face. “God, I’m sorry. I barged in here and completely disrupted your night. Your life.”
She had no idea how true that was, Finn thought, pushing to his feet and reaching for her empty bowl. “I’m used to running on odd hours. Hazard of the job.”
Her eyebrows winged up. “The job?”
Damn. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He picked up their dishes and carried them to the sink.
Layla sat and watched as he cleaned the kitchen with military precision. She knew it was time to leave. But, boy, she didn’t want to. “If you could drive me into town, I’ll be out of your way.”
Finn turned back to her. “You’re not going anywhere tonight.” At her startled look, he gentled his tone. “The storm is expected to get worse tonight. Trees usually come down when it’s this bad, and sometimes the road can wash out. Looks like you’re stuck here for a bit longer.”
“But-” Layla’s pulse kicked up, a dart of excitement mingling with the ever-present thrum of attraction. A reprieve. More time with this fascinating, maddening man.
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take the bed tonight? I’ll grab a pillow and crash on the couch.”
Layla frowned, already shaking her head. “What? No. No way. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Finn.”
“You’re not kicking me anywhere. I’m volunteering.”
“But-”
“Layla.” Her name emerged harder than he intended, laced with exasperation and something headier, more potent. “Shut up and say thank you.”
She just stared at him for a beat. Then, her lips quirked, a slow smile blooming across her face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Finn turned away to hide his smile, busying himself with rinsing their dishes. “Go on and get some rest. Holler if you need anything.”
He listened to the scrape of her chair and the padding of her feet as she moved to comply. She paused in the entryway to the living room, and Finn tensed, half expecting her to change her mind and insist on taking the couch.
But she just turned and looked at him, her expression soft with something he couldn’t name. “Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m...I’m really glad I ended up here. With you. I don’t know how to thank you. For taking me in, tending to me. I had no right to impose.”
“You’re not an imposition.” His gruff voice brooked no argument. Stormy eyes met hers. “I’m glad you found me.”
Layla’s heart turned over at the raw sincerity in his words. “But you don’t even know me. I could be anyone. Some crazy bride with a trail of crazier bridesmaids on her heels.”
“Are you?” A dark brow arched. “Crazy?”
“No. Maybe.” She released a gusty sigh. “Wouldn’t I have to be a little crazy to run away from my own wedding? From a life that looks perfect on paper?”
“Maybe. Or maybe you finally grew a backbone and decided to go after what you wanted.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “Did you just call me spineless?”
Finn’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “You said it, not me.”
She laughed, visibly relaxing for the first time since she’d seen the cabin on her mad flight. The smile that lingered lit up her whole face, turning her from merely pretty to beautiful.
Oh, he was in over his head. Way, way over his head with this woman.
“Alright, Finn Brody, since you’re so wise, riddle me this—what does a runaway bride do now that she’s run away?”
“Whatever the hell you want to.”
“Oh, if only it were that easy.”
“Sometimes, Layla, it really is that easy.”
“Is that what you did? Why you’re living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere?”
Finn went still, his expression shuttering. For a moment, Layla feared she’d overstepped, pushed too hard.
“Something like that,” he answered quietly. “I had to get away, clear my head after…” he trailed off. “After some things I saw. Some things I did.”
He shook his head as if shaking away the memories. Then he was focusing back on Layla with an intensity that made her shiver.
“Point is, I understand the need to run. To find somewhere safe to lick your wounds and figure out your next move.”
Their eyes met and held for a moment. Finn felt it like a physical thing, a live wire sparking along his nerve endings. Every instinct, every cell in his body screamed at him to pick her up and carry her to his bed.
And stay there with her.
“Goodnight, Finn,” she said softly.
“Goodnight, Goldi.”
Then she was gone, disappearing down the darkened hallway. Finn stared after her, suddenly acutely aware of the silence.
Fuck. He was in so much trouble.
What the hell was he doing? Taking in a stranger, offering up his home like some kind of backwoods bed and breakfast for runaway brides? He must be losing his mind.
He finished up in the kitchen on autopilot, his mind whirling in useless circles. What was he doing? Letting her stay, making her dinner, practically tucking her into his bed...
It was insanity. Sheer, unadulterated lunacy.
And yet...he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single moment. Not the unexpected visitor, not the stilted conversation, not the unfamiliar warmth unfurling in his chest.
Layla was...different. Unique. She saw him, looked right through his bullshit and his bluster to the man beneath. It was terrifying. Exhilarating.
He wanted to know her, this brave woman who’d run headlong into the unknown. Wanted to unravel her secrets, soothe her hurts, make her smile that blinding smile.
He wanted...
Too much. He wanted too damn much.
Finn inhaled sharply through his nose. He needed to get a grip. Needed to focus on the practicalities, the next steps.
Should he let her stay? Or take her back down the mountain? Yes, despite what he’d told her, he had no doubt he could get her safely into town if he wanted to.
Why didn’t he want to? Why wasn’t he yearning for the solace and peace that had brought him to the mountain?
Hell, he didn’t know what to do. His instincts were in shambles. He knew the right thing to do was to load her into his truck and take her back to the family that was missing her. Back to her fiancée. His gut clenched thinking of delivering her into the arms of another man. Even if that man had more claim to her then Finn did.
The overprotective instincts kicked in, smothering out the logic.
He would not take her back, not until she was ready.
He knew she wouldn’t stay forever. Just a few days. Layla didn’t belong here, in his dark, solitary world. She belonged in the light, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and love.
Decision made, Finn gathered up a spare pillow and blanket from the hall closet and made his way to the couch. He stretched out on the cushions, shifting restlessly in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
Down the hall, he could hear the faint creak of bedsprings as Layla settled in for the night. The urge to go to her, to crawl in beside her and wrap her up in his arms, was a living thing inside him.
He crushed it mercilessly. Sleep. He needed sleep.
Morning would come soon enough...and with it, maybe goodbye.