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Everyone’s heard the rumors.
He gives me a sideways glance. “What about work?”
“Your parents’ expectations that you take over the company, that you perform, that you live up to the family name.” I wave my hand to encompass everything. “I didn’t have that pressure growing up, but I saw it in my brothers.”
That earns me an indelicate snort.
“What?” I ask.
“You didn’t have pressure growing up? The way I see it, you had the most pressure. You were the one everyone leaned on when they needed help. I’m guessing you were the one who woke up early to help the family and then stayed up late to help the family some more.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Yeah, the difference is I get paid for my work.”
I slide a little, my heels slippery over loose gravel. Finn holds me steady until we find better ground. “You know what this is? Deflection. You don’t want to talk about your family, so you’re bringing up my family.”
He laughs, though it’s a little taut. This isn’t the charming, happy-go-lucky Finn Hughes that most of the world sees. This is someone carrying the weight of the world. “Fine. Yes, it’s work. Yes, it’s family. Yes, it’s my parents’ expectations. Happy?”
“Yes,” I say, which doesn’t make any sense. I’m not happy that he’s hurting, but… “At least it’s what you’re really thinking. What you’re really feeling.”
He stops walking and turns to look at me. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning…” I can be outspoken sometimes. It’s not a quality that men enjoy in women, or so my mother tells me. Which normally I don’t give a fuck about. But Finn… the truth is, I want him to like me. Does that make me weak? Or does it simply make me human?
“Don’t pull your punches now, Morelli,” he says, faintly mocking.
I think of Wagner fighting against the odds in that warehouse. The cheers had been deafening, but I hadn’t heard a thing once Finn kissed me. “This fake relationship? It’s how you deal with the world. All those smiles and jokes and sports cars.”
He puts a hand to his chest. “Leave the cars out of this.”
“There’s so much more to you than that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.”
He laughs in that soundless way he has. “That’s wishful thinking, Morelli. I’m exactly as shallow as I seem. Not like you. You’re so deep I could lose myself in you.”
Why are you in a rush? I want to ask him. Why does every kiss feel like the last one? But that would expose me as much as him. That would reveal how desperately I want him to kiss me again. He sees it anyway. Even without me saying the words, he sees it.
He backs me up against a railing, and it doesn’t feel altogether sturdy and typically hard. It’s not a tame kiss. It’s a filthy one. As filthy as that warehouse we were in. When Finn pulls back, he’s breathing hard, only an inch away.
“I could lose myself in you,” he says again, sounding uncharacteristically angry. “But I can’t keep my hands off you. Is that fake?”
It doesn’t feel fake at all. He tastes so good. He’s kissing me too hard, almost, as if he knows that I can take it. And why couldn’t I? I’m not a fragile girl. I’m a grown woman. I’ve seen what the world has to offer and lived to tell about it. The way he kisses me now is not particularly careful. The way he touches me isn’t careful, either. It’s not the way he would have kissed me, polite and cautious, if he’d taken me to that restaurant.
This is wild like the fight, and I realize he’s feeling an adrenaline rush, too. I thought he was used to those places. I thought it wouldn’t have an effect on him, but his eyes sparkle with challenge. His eyes are also dark with other things he wants to do to me. He kisses down the side of my neck and returns to my mouth, like he can’t bear to stay away. His hands move up under my dress. I have a fleeting moment of fear. If anyone sees me like this with my dress hitching up inch, by inch, by inch, then what? But who would see? No one from Bishop’s Landing would ever come here. And if they did, they would just believe the lie of our relationship.
No one is here at all. There’s no one to see us out here on this wharf, and so I let it happen. I know this is supposed to be fake. I know, I know, I know. But right now I only want to feel. And what I want to feel is Finn Hughes.
He touches me everywhere. His hands come up to the sides of my neck. They delve back beneath my dress. They skim down my hemline. He groans when he reaches my breasts. He’s as wild as those fighters in this moment. And it surprises me, exhilarates me. I feel just as much adrenaline now as I did when I realized Wagner was going to win. Finn is fighting now but I don’t know whether he’s fighting for me or fighting to hold himself back.
His hands go beneath my skirt, and I wonder if he’ll do it. If he’ll take me down to the dock and fuck me here in public in front of anyone who might walk by. It should embarrass me, it should make me recoil, it should make me push him away, insist that he stop, but I don’t. I don’t even think I would stop him if he took it that far. I think it might happen. That’s how drunk I feel on him, how lost I feel on him.
That would be an escape. No one could deny it. Public sex. Where has this come from? What has this come to? I want everything.
“Maybe we could go…” I say, breathless. It turns into a moan when he finds my nipple. When he pinches it between two fingers. My head falls back in wordless pleasure.
