Chapter 2
FINN
She’s back.
Thank God. Or thank the gods, as her kind like to say.
The sight of Isla Brown still has me entranced even though I’ve had all my life to get over my infatuation. I’ve known since I was sixteen that nothing can ever happen between Isla and me.
Not after one shitshow of a night.
“I can’t be expected to pay attention when someone is actively distracting me.” Isla turns warm brown eyes on me after realizing Owen disappeared.
People might scoff, hearing me describe anything about Isla as warm. With her blunt way of speaking, most everyone considers her to be robotic. Cold.
But she’s just honest.
And that honesty heats me up. Like everything else about her.
“Is that what I was doing?”
Vague questions always catch her attention. She wants to sand off their uneven corners. Organize them with clear-cut answers.
“Yes. Although I doubt it was intentional.”
But it was. Isla’s focus often lands on Owen, and I have an idea why.
He saved her life. Perfectly normal for Isla to develop hero worship for the guy.
Maybe I should stop trying to distract her when Owen is around.
But I can’t help the painful tug of jealousy in my chest whenever Isla stares at my friend, her focus trained solely on him.
“Your hair is shorter than the last time I saw you. Two years ago,” I repeat the time frame. Giving her another rough edge to catch on.
Isla bites into her plump lower lip as her eyes spark, every ounce of her attention adhering to me.
Her hand curls in an unrelenting grip around the strap of the bag hanging from her shoulder.
She wants to tell me I’m wrong. But both things I said are accurate.
Her ebony hair sits in a pixie cut that shows off all the curves and angles of her face.
Which isn’t how it looked two years ago.
“Fine,” she relents. “When did you see me that I didn’t see you?”
I consider teasing her more, but then I’d risk her getting frustrated and leaving. Isla doesn’t stay in conversations she doesn’t want to.
“I visited a friend in Portland two years ago. We were leaving a brewery, and I saw you walking on the other side of the street.”
Isla’s brow furrows, creating a V-shaped wrinkle above her nose that I want to trace. “Why didn’t you say hello to me?”
Why?
The truth is, I was too stunned. Which I shouldn’t have been.
When I’d booked my flight to Portland, I had known that Isla was in the same city, studying at a university there and writing up her dissertation. I’d thought about trying to get her phone number. Asking her to meet up.
But I’d denied myself. Something that’s much easier to do when the temptress is not standing directly in front of me, wearing a sundress. She had on a dress that day too. A long green one that swirled around her legs as she walked purposefully down the sidewalk.
And by the time I recovered from the random sighting, Isla had already turned a corner.
I couldn’t let her go. I chased after her, sprinting across the street, dodging cars and pedestrians as my friend shouted behind me. As I turned the same corner, I saw the skirt of her dress disappear into the backseat of a car. Before I could reach the spot, the car pulled away.
Taking her out of my life again.
“What would you have done if I had?”
Her brows dip further. “Said hello back.”
Of course. So simple. Why do her candid statements wreck me? All I can think about is pulling her into my arms and kissing her neck while she tries answering my questions with the same neutral tone. Until she can’t keep steady because of her gasping.
“Next time, say hello,” Isla instructs me before turning her back. Leaving me.
I should let her go. That’s what I tell myself every time.
And every time, I fail to heed the warning.
“How does the dam work?”
Isla pauses mid-step and then slowly rotates to face me, eyes wide. “What do you want to know?”
I’ve got her back. “Everything. I didn’t pay attention on that field trip we took sophomore year.”
Isla steps fully into my space now, bafflement parting her lips. “How could you not? That was the most informative day of the entire year!”
Of course she would get passionate about the Folk Haven Dam. One more thing I love about her.
I shrug. “I was distracted.”
Some of the shock clears from her face as she nods in understanding.
“By the beauty of it? I missed the first five minutes of the tour because I was staring at the structure in its entirety. But I found the guide before we got on the bus and asked her to repeat what I’d missed. You should have done that.”
The guide would’ve needed to repeat the entire speech because Isla was wearing a white button-up shirt and a plaid skirt that day.
My horny teenage mind couldn’t stop playing out schoolgirl fantasies.
Didn’t help that she raised her hand every five minutes, asking some intelligent question that got my blood up.
“You could tell me about it now.” Please stay and talk to me. “Start from the beginning. How did they even make the dam?”
Her mouth pops open, cheeks flushed, gaze sparking with excitement, her entire form thrumming as she readies to give me a lecture on dams.
But then she pauses.
Don’t stop. Focus on me.
Isla shakes her head, as if hearing my thoughts. “I want to, but I can’t.”
So close. “Why not?”
“I need to enact a plan.”
“And that plan is?”
“Secret.” She smiles with an air of triumph. Proud of her ability to keep a piece of knowledge to herself.
Which only makes me want to tease it out of her more.
“Can I help with your secret plan?”
Isla examines me, as if I’m a potentially handy tool, and I can imagine her working through scenarios in her head. Ways to use me. Does she have any idea how badly I want to be used?
Leave her alone. You’ve done enough to mess up her life.
As the guilt begins to bite at my gut, her words distract me. “You can remark on how attractive I look in my bathing suit.”
Damn this woman. How can she be so honest yet always surprising?
“You want me to objectify you?”
Isla frowns, and even that expression has me mesmerized. “Only when you have my permission. Which you currently do.”
She’s serious. Of course she’s serious. Isla almost always is.
“You have permission to objectify me too.” I make the offer just to see if I can get her to blush.
I should’ve known better.
“Is there someone in attendance you’d like me to speak to about the attractiveness of your body in a bathing suit?” Isla scans the party, somehow thinking there’s anyone here I’m more interested in than her.
“Before I can admit that, I need to know what you’ll say.” The light teasing in my tone hides how much I want to hear what she has to say.
Isla turns back to me, and I shiver as her gaze travels the length of my body.
There’s that blush. A small reddening along her cheekbones. “I would say that the blue of your suit pairs with the blue of your eyes.”
I glance down at my swim trunks, not able to hide my grin. “You think so? What else?”
Isla steps back, intently studying me, and I try to flex my muscles without noticeably putting effort in.
“I would point out your farmer’s tan.”
“You—my what?” I glance at my arms and realize there is a line across each bicep, denoting where my T-shirt normally sits. My chest is also a few shades paler than my forearms. “How is that attractive?” Unless it isn’t and Isla’s just being baldly honest about my good and bad characteristics.
“It means you are outside a lot but wearing a shirt, which means you are likely working. Probably something that involves manual labor, which is a fact supported by the muscles in your arms, chest, and”—Isla strolls around behind me—“back.” She returns to face me.
“And because you have less sun exposure here”—her hands indicate my middle—“you are less likely to develop skin cancer in close proximity to your vital organs. Which reminds me.” She digs through a floppy bag hanging off her shoulder, coming out with a colorful tube.
“Have you properly applied sunscreen? This one is reef safe. I’m aware we don’t have reefs in Lake Galen, but the aquatic life could be affected by chemicals. ”
My mind struggles to keep up while also permanently recording everything she said about my body to memory.
“Finn?” Isla says my name, and all I want is for her to do it again.
“Hmm?”
“Do you need sunscreen?”
“Sure.”
She nods. “I do too.” Then, with no fanfare at all, Isla sets her drink on the dock, drops her bag beside it, and strips off her sundress, leaving her in a polka-dot two-piece fit for a pinup model.
“That suit is perfect on you,” I blurt before realizing my mouth is moving.
“Good. Just like that. Maybe louder next time.”
At Isla’s comments, I remember that she asked for compliments.
Then, she starts to apply sunscreen to herself, and the precise movements should not turn me on as much as they do. But that’s what this woman does to me.
“I am not flexible enough to evenly apply it on my back. Will you help me?” Isla extends the sunscreen, and she might as well be offering me a gold bar with the way my hands reach to eagerly snatch the thing.
When Isla turns around, I almost swallow my tongue. But, God, the way the suit cups her ass should be illegal.
You’ve seen her in a swimsuit before. Get yourself together.
Growing up, I spent plenty of time swimming at this house with the MacNamaras. Isla often joined, with her being a close neighbor. I drooled over her then too. But now, she has a woman’s body. Fuller and softer.
And the normally standoffish woman is asking me to touch her.
I won’t mess it up.
Affecting as much detachment as I can muster, I coat my palms with the white lotion and start on her shoulders. Warm under my touch, Isla’s muscles relax with each pass of my hands.
I’m doing her a favor as a friend, I remind myself as I work to cover lower. Keeping her safe in the hot sun.
That’s the thought that helps me finish the task with determination rather than lust. Keeping Isla safe. I never want her hurt again.
When I get the lowest exposed point, just above the high waist of her suit, my fingers feel the way her smooth skin turns rough in one area. The edge of a scar.
A stark reminder of why I am the last person who deserves to touch Isla.
“Do you need help?” Her voice makes me want to close my eyes, so I can listen to only her.
“Yes.” In so many ways.
Isla turns abruptly, grabbing the sunscreen and circling around to my back. There’s the unattractive squirting sound the bottle makes and the slick noise of her rubbing her hands together.
Then, she’s touching me.
If only I had a railing or table to grip and brace myself. I’m worried my knees might give out.
Isla covers every inch from my shoulders to my hips, rubbing vigorously, pressing the protection into my skin. And of course, she’s thorough, sneaking her fingers under the edge of my waistband to coat the parts of me that might be exposed if the material shifts around.
Go further, I silently beg.
Instead, I cup my hands over my groin to hide my body’s reaction to her touch.
“That should last for the next few hours, but it is always smart to reapply multiple times a day,” Isla announces, as if reading off the bottle. “I’m going to swim.”
Before I can turn to thank her, she’s already tossed the bottle onto her bag and executed a perfect dive off the dock. When her head pops out of the water, she’s a good fifty feet away. The distance seems impossible with how quickly she reappeared.
But the woman is a selkie, so I’m not surprised.