Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Finn
“What do you think?” he asks, stepping back and surveying his handiwork.
My lips twitch, but I nod. “Not bad for your first try.”
“Which means it’s shit.”
I reach for the stuffed pony, its long mane the perfect practice material for Rhodes’s first attempt at developing his Braiding Skills.
Which are…developing, I suppose.
“We all have to start somewhere,” I deadpan.
And predictably get a mock glare.
“Here,” I say, undoing the band at the bottom. He’s really good at putting ponytail holders in so it takes a minute to release it from the synthetic hair, and longer still to comb out the tangles. “Let’s start again with something easier.”
“There’s something easier?”
My lips twitch. “Well, maybe not easier.”
Standing, I move around behind him, reaching forward and sectioning out the hair. If I do this from his angle, maybe it’ll stick a little better. “So we have our three pieces, remember?”
He turns his head, eyes coming to mine for a long moment.
“Yes,” he says quietly.
I lean in closer, try to ignore the spicy scent of him that makes me want to shift even nearer, to press my nose to his neck and inhale deeply. “Now”—I clear my throat—“we take these two outside sections and split each of those into three different pieces.”
“And that’s where you lose me,” he jokes. “I’m not an octopus. I don’t have eight hands.”
I giggle.
Then almost gasp when he turns his head.
Because his mouth is right there.
“I really like it when you laugh,” he says softly.
My lungs convulse. “I, uh—”
He settles his hands over mine. “So this part is in three,” he murmurs. “Now what?”
Now what indeed?
Kiss me.
I release a slow, silent breath.
“Now we braid this chunk,” I say.
“Right.”
But he doesn’t remove his hands from the top of mine…and so I start slowly braiding the pieces, trying not to feel like this is some weird version of Ghost and that infamous pottery scene.
My breasts brush his back and I have to swallow a gasp. Hard muscles. Broad strength. Slightly roughened palms brushing over my skin.
I shiver and his eyes come to mine again.
“Now what?” he murmurs, and I realize we’ve reached the bottom of the braid.
“We tie it off,” I push out.
We do it together, looping the ponytail holder around and around.
“This piece next?” he asks.
I nod, my chin rubbing lightly on his shoulder.
I’m the one with my arms around him, my front pressed to his back, but it feels as though he’s surrounding me. His scent is in my nose and his strength is all around me and—
He’s all around me.
“Rhodes,” I whisper.
We tie off the next braid.
I exhale and watch as it raises goose bumps on his nape. His fingers tighten on mine and I press closer wanting—
So much.
This is a bad idea.
Right?
I’m leaving, and we have Chloe to think about. And, for all intents and purposes, he’s my employer.
So yeah, this is dumb.
Except…
Yes, those are all valid reasons.
But that’s not what’s holding me back now.
Do the thing you’re most scared of.
Because I am scared. Of what I’m feeling and what it might mean and how it may go wrong and—
“Now what, Stitch?” he murmurs.
“I, uh—” I start to pull back, but his fingers tighten slightly and I can’t keep trying to insert distance between us. Not when it feels so damned good to be close to him.
His thumb traces lightly over the back of my hand, and I shiver again.
And suddenly, I’m no longer behind him.
I’m in front of him, his big body pressed against my spine. Those warm, rough hands rubbing up and down my arms. “I can turn up the heat if you’re cold.”
I’m so far from cold I’m surprised I haven’t burst into flames.
“I-I…” I take a breath, release it slowly. “I’m not cold.”
His hands pause for a moment. “No?”
I shake my head.
He shifts a little closer, the bristles of his beard brushing along my jaw, and I tremble, thinking about what it might be like to have that stubble dragging along other parts of me.
“What’s next, baby?” he prompts.
Heat in my belly.
Dampness between my thighs.
My body melting beneath his.
And I decide I really, really don’t give a fuck about this braid, about all the reasons this is a bad idea, all the ways it can go wrong.
I just want to kiss him, to touch him, to have him.
“Finn,” he murmurs.
“Now…we just braid the pieces,” I murmur back.
We do it together, our fingers tangling, the braid slowly coming together, strand by strand by strand.
“What do you think?” I ask quietly when we’ve finished.
“I think…” He turns me in the circle of his arms, his eyes coming to mine. “I think that we make a good team. And”—he presses his lips to my forehead—“I think you are so fucking beautiful it takes my breath away.”
My cheeks go hot. “I—”
“Beautiful.” Another kiss to my forehead, to my cheek, my jaw.
“Rhodes,” I whisper.
Or maybe it’s a plea.
He shifts and then our lips are the barest hairsbreadth apart.
I lean in—
“Daddy!” Chloe shouts from upstairs. “I’m ready for my books!”
We jerk apart.
He touches my cheek. “Hold that thought.”
“I can go read—”
His lips press to the tip of my nose. “Hold that thought.”
“O-okay.”
His eyes come to mine and his mouth kicks up. “Beautiful.”
A sigh before he cups my cheek.
Then he’s pulling away, going upstairs, and I listen to Chloe’s excited voice start negotiating how many books he’s going to read her.
“Hold that thought,” I whisper, touching the spot where he kissed me.
Beautiful.