The lights were dim, the dance floor packed with so many people it felt like they were hiding in plain sight. Maybe that was what allowed her to relax back into him, her ass settling into the cradle of his hips. She caught her breath at what she felt behind the fly of his jeans, how hard he was for her, and couldn’t stop her eyelids from fluttering closed, her head lolling to the side as it rested against his chest.
Finn leaned closer, running his nose along the column of her neck, and it was so easy to forget everything when he touched her so reverently. So easy to block out all the horrible memories they shared when he held her like shemeantsomething. So easy to shove aside all their history.
At least, until Finn rubbed a circle against her hip over the material of her shorts, his fingers in the general vicinity of the brand she’d had put on her ten long years ago.
“You still have my bird on you, Willowtree?” His lips pressed against her ear, his voice a quiet rumble that ricocheted through her entire body, first sending a shiver down her spine before snapping it straight.
The tattoos they’d gotten on her eighteenth birthday had been one of her last acts of rebellion. And, unfortunately, had become a daily reminder of how much she’d misjudged someone she’d thought she’d known better than anyone. A daily reminder of her failures, one she couldn’t run from.
As his words charged the space between them, she didn’t pause to think—didn’t turn around and give Finn a piece of her mind, didn’t so much as stomp on his foot. Instead, she plucked his hand from around her waist and walked off the dance floor without a backward glance, ready to get the hell out of this bar. What had started out as a night to forget everything Finn had brought to her doorstep ended up only serving as a reminder of exactly why everything about him was a bad idea. He had trouble written all over him, and if her reactions were anything to go by, she couldn’t trust herself around him, not even with their sordid history.
If Finn wouldn’t stay away from her, she’d make damn sure she stayed the hell away from him.
Late May in Mississippi was not the time to be working on renovations in a closed-in space without a functioning air conditioner, but they didn’t have much of a choice. The stale, thick air hung in the former soda fountain, the humidity nearly choking Finn. He wanted nothing more than to spend the next hour in a walk-in freezer, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“Jesus,” Drew said, swiping his arm across his forehead. “It’s hotter than two rabbits fucking in a wool sock.”
Nash barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he hauled in a few replacement planks of wood for the floors. “Y’all’ve gone soft on me. It hasn’t even hit ninety yet. Quit your bitchin’.”
Ten years in California probablyhadmade Finn go a little soft, but facts were facts. And the fact was it was hot as hell in there. “Drew’s right. When can we get some ceiling fans in here? And get that new AC installed?”
“AC is on order. As for the fans, soon as we get the ceiling done up. Y’all decide for sure if you want them covered in that old barn wood I’ve got?”
Finn nodded, thinking over what he, Drew, and Nola had discussed over the past few days. They’d spent the weekend sizing up the competition, seeing what their interiors looked like, what kind of vibe they gave off. It’d turned out the three of them were in agreement on one thing: they had no interest in going the typical honky-tonk route. Instead, they wanted something with an industrial vibe—old, reclaimed wood and corrugated steel all blended together.
The only problem they were having was figuring out how, exactly, to incorporate it all. Finn didn’t know a sconce from a hole in the wall, which meant it felt like he had his head up his ass most of the time. He could pick out what he liked for all the different pieces they’d need, but he had no idea if it’d all flow together well or look like a hodgepodge of randomness. They really should’ve budgeted for a designer, because he wasn’t so sure the three of them could pull it off without help, and this place was too important to wing it.
Friday night, they’d headed to a place in Parkersville, almost an hour away. The bar had been a bit of a dive, but then again, there hadn’t ever been much competition around the area. The people of Havenbrook had always had to go outside the county lines to get to a bar of any sort—and it was clear those bars hadn’t had to do much at all to bring in customers.
Saturday night, they’d narrowed their search, coming closer to town and closer to their more immediate competition. Finn’s first impression of Ropers had been mediocre at best. Nothing about it had stood out to him—at least, not until he’d spotted Willow across the bar, sitting at a high-top table. She’d been with her assistant from work and a girl who, based on his memories, looked a hell of a lot like Willow’s younger sister Mac. Shock at seeing Willow there had faded into that ever-present attraction as he’d stared at her, noticing the low dip of her shirt and how much of her legs had been on display in those nearly indecent shorts she’d worn.
After that, Finn had had no hope of noticing anythingbuther. He’d kept his eyes glued to her as he’d followed Drew and Nola around the place, pretending like he was paying attention to what they’d been saying about the decor, the band, the beer selection. Truth was, he’d been thinking only of Willow. His body had been wired into her presence—that hadn’t changed over the years. And even with twenty feet separating them, he’d felt the buzz in his veins.
That pleasant hum he’d always welcomed in Willow’s vicinity had turned into an unmistakable surge of jealousy when some dickhead had taken her out on the dance floor. Finn knew he’d had no right to feel it, knew it wasn’t his place. Knew it made him an asshole for it too. Even worse, though, had been when he’d told the other guy to fuck off and had taken his place behind her, allowing himself the pleasure of putting his hands on her.
It’d been a chaste touch, only his hands on her hips, but the sensation had shot straight to his cock, hardening it like steel. Willow had done a good job of pretending not to notice when Finn had stepped up behind her, but there was no denying howawareshe’d become as soon as his hands had settled on her.
Having her tight little ass pressed right up against his cock had brought him nearly to the brink of insanity. ButJesus, what a way to go. And then, because it hadn’t been enough for him, he’d had to push. Too damn hard, too damn fast, and off she’d shot like her ass had been on fire, fleeing from him as fast as she could.
And he’d done nothing but spend the past few days thinking about what an idiot he was.
“All right then,” Nash said, placing the wood planks in the corner and pulling Finn back to the present. “I’ll get those boards hauled in tomorrow and start workin’ on that so we can get some ceiling fans in place for you sissies. Until then, I reckon I’ll run over and buy some box fans so you delicate pansies don’t wilt.”
Drew just laughed as Finn gave Nash a one-finger salute. Finn’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to find a text from Nola.
Willow needs some paperwork signed. Can you swing over to town hall?
Finn glanced down at himself, bare chest covered in a sheen of sweat, patches of dirt caked on his skin. No, he wasn’t exactly town hall appropriate.
Can you check if Willow can bring it by instead?
He went to put his phone back in his pocket, but Nola’s response came right away.
Uh, no. If you want Will to be your errand girl, grow some balls and tell her yourself. Godspeed.
Willow’s number came through a second later as a contact attachment. Finn chuckled, shaking his head. His charms hadn’t been tested this much in a while, and he knew damn well they’d get a workout when it came to Willow. Knew, too, it was probably a really bad idea to call her and ask this. Still, he dialed the number Nola had sent, waiting for Willow to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice was wary, probably because his number was one she wasn’t familiar with.
