Chapter 8 Finn
eight
Finn
It’s nearly noon the next day, and I’m sprawled on the sofa, feet on the coffee table and my computer on my lap, when Rosie climbs down from the loft.
She’s been writing in bed all morning after not moving from the couch all yesterday afternoon, scribbling away on the notepad we used to play gin rummy again last night.
She’s been almost constantly distracted for the last twenty-four hours, and we’ve been co-existing in the kind of companionable silence I could get used to.
Rosie takes the sofa opposite mine and tucks her feet up underneath her.
She’s wearing another of my old flannels despite the shopping bags I carried up to the bedroom for her, and though today’s shirt is just as long on her as the first, she’s missed the final few buttons again, creating a thigh-high split that reveals more than the soft fabric hides.
Should I be bothered that she’s helping herself to clothes from my closet? Maybe. Am I? Not even close.
“Hey,” she says.
I flick her a glance over the top of my computer screen. “Hey.”
“Watcha doing?”
“Sorting out your security team.”
“That sounds like something I should know about, don’t you think?”
“I do think that. Yes.”
She sits up straight, clasps her hands on her knees, and hits me with a serious frown. “What’s the situation?”
I sit up, put my feet on the floor, and set the laptop on the coffee table. “I’m using my friend’s executive security firm because I trust him,” I begin, and she immediately interjects.
“How do you know this friend?”
I’m equally pleased that she’s taking this seriously and uncomfortable that her line of questioning could move us into territory I don’t want to explore.
“His brother was a military buddy of mine,” I explain. “My best friend, in fact. Drew, the brother that runs this firm, is a good guy. I trust him or I wouldn’t involve him in this.”
Thankfully, my brief rationalization is enough for Rosie. “And what does Drew recommend?”
“He’s already got a remote surveillance team up and running. They’re monitoring your social media accounts and associated online activity as well as searching for your attacker’s location. It might take time, but they won’t stop until they find him.”
Rosie’s nod is contemplative as she absorbs this new information. “That sounds reasonable.”
“His other task is putting together a ground team to be with you in Los Angeles. Drew is sending through options via email. If any of the candidates pass my quality check, I’ll share them with you for review.”
Rosie lifts one perfect brow, a few shades darker than her blonde hair. “If any pass your quality check?”
“I’m not taking chances. If I’m going to do a job, then I’m going to do it right.”
Her quirked eyebrow is amused, but she tilts her head apologetically. “I didn’t mean to tease you, Finn. I appreciate how seriously you’re taking all this.”
I shrug off the compliment. “And what about your next steps? I noticed you still haven’t switched on your phone.”
We both glance at the small black device on the table between us.
“I don’t want to see his name,” she admits. “I don’t want to deal with the missed calls and unanswered texts. I don’t want to face him right now, even if it’s only via a screen.” Rosie curls her hands up inside the baggy sleeves of my flannel. “I know that makes me a coward but—”
“It means you know your limits,” I say. “Trauma isn’t weakness, Rosie, and you don’t owe him anything. Not a phone call or a text message or an explanation until or unless you’re ready to give it to him, and only then because it’s something you need to do for you.”
“Thanks, Finn.” She crosses her arms and lifts her chin a little. “I hope I’ll have it in me to confront him one day.”
Rosie’s mouth is grim, her blue eyes determined, and just when I think I can’t hate the asshole more than I already do, I imagine how I’d do things differently if we were in the same room again, and blood rushes in my ears.
“Hey,” Rosie says, like an idea just occurred to her. “Can I borrow your computer?”
“Sure.”
Her eyes brighten, and she’s already reaching for the machine as I close the browser and spin the screen to face her. Her fingers fly over the track pad and then the keys, and when she offers no more information, I decide she’s entitled to some privacy.
I stand and click my tongue to get Dakota’s attention. “Come on, girl. Time for some fresh air.”
The tap-tap-tap of Rosie’s typing abruptly halts, replaced by the click-clack of Dakota’s nails on the floorboards.
“You’re not going far?” Rosie asks.
“Just off the porch. And not for long.”
Her slender shoulders fall, and her exhale is almost a sigh. “Okay. Thanks.”
Staying true to my word, I heft Dakota down the porch stairs and stroll along behind her as she sniffs her way around the perimeter of the bungalow.
I take some time to think more about the applicants Drew suggested for Rosie’s new security team.
Of the four so far, none are good enough.
They’re either too young or too old. Too inexperienced or too cocky.
Even revisiting their profiles now in my head, I can’t convince myself to give any a second look.
And it’s not because I don’t want to, but because Rosie’s too vulnerable for me to risk rushing this.
Nowhere is safer for her right now than here with me, and I won’t let her out of my sight until that’s no longer true.
The afternoon is warm, even for mid-April, and the air is still and silent.
I stay within earshot of the cabin, but I’m outside long enough that Rosie eventually comes looking for me.
I hear the squeak of the front door, her feet landing on the soft dirt behind me, and then the gentle sigh of her deep exhale as she stops at my side and stares out over the river.
“It’s so pretty here,” she murmurs.
“Yeah. It is.”
“The water’s so calm and clear.”
“We’re lucky,” I agree. “This part of the river system is clean and deep. My dad even built the dock long enough for diving. We loved it as kids.”
Rosie hums and falls quiet for a moment. I watch her from the corner of my eye.
“I just fired my publicist,” she announces with her focus on the horizon and a jump of emotion in her voice.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye to try and get a read on what that emotion might be. Excitement. Nerves. Fear. Confidence. All of the above.
“I also fired my talent agent, my legal representation, and my security team.” She huffs out a grim chuckle. “Lauren too.”
I grunt with approval.
“I made a list of anyone Chip personally hired and sent emails cutting off every single one of them. If I’m going to make a fresh start, I need to be brave about it, right?”
I risk another quick look at the woman beside me and my mouth tips up at the way she stands taller. All five foot nothing of her. “Right.”
“I emailed my accountant and revoked Chip’s access to my money,” she adds and this time there’s no misreading the fierceness in her tone.
“And I canceled the lease on the house in Los Angeles. I’ve got thirty days to work out what to do with my stuff, and he’s got thirty days to find a new place to live. ”
I smirk and imagine the look on the jerk’s face when he finds out Rosie is taking back her life.
“You approve?” Rosie asks with a curious smile.
I cross my arms over my chest and try not to grin as I glance at the water. “Not my place to have an opinion.”
“You approve,” she decides, and a flush of pleasure brightens her high cheekbones. “I can’t tell you what this feels like, Finn. I cut every string tying me to him so I can start all over again on my own and it feels… It feels…”
“Good?” I suggest.
“Better than good. Better than great. It feels…”
She looks down at the dark phone clutched in one hand, then back up at the river.
“It feels like this!”
Rosie runs on bare feet, red flannel fluttering around her thighs, down to the dock, right to its edge, and flings her phone into the water.
Dakota trots after her, and I shake my head with amusement as I follow at an easy pace.
“I’m happy for you, Rosie,” I say, then cut off with a frown as she starts to unbutton her—my—shirt. “What are you doing?”
“I feel free, Finn. For the first time since I was a kid, I’m free!”
Another button passes through her fingers, and another, until the shirt opens all the way, and she lets the fabric fall to her feet. She’s wearing the red lace panties I accidentally on purpose spotted in her shopping bags.
“Jesus fucking—” I shove a hand through my hair and drop my eyes, but not before she turns around and I notice the sexy little dimples at the base of Rosie’s back. “Put your clothes back on.”
“No.”
I swipe the shirt from the dock and thrust it at her, the whole time hiding how much I love seeing this side of her.
The nudity’s nice, sure, and you can damn well bet I’ll be thinking about it again later tonight, but her confidence and exuberance and the way her laugh bubbles up like she’s been fighting it for too long are what make her so beautiful right now.
“No more nakedness,” I remind her. “You promised.”
She glances over her shoulder at the shirt, then pointedly ignores it. “I guess I lied.”
Dakota barks and wriggles back, tail wagging madly as Rosie drags her underwear down her legs, steps out of it, and faces the water. I should look away. Turn around. Stare at anything but Rosie’s bare form but I can’t. I fucking can’t.
Her body is smooth and pale and perfect.
Slender with gentle curves—the soft flesh of her thighs, the contour of her hips, the tempting crease just below her ass.
The heavy swell of her breasts and tight pink nipples gone hard in the open air.
Skin so smooth I can’t help but imagine my hands, my lips, my tongue gliding over every inch of it.