That was an interesting tidbit that made him seem just a little more like an actual human being, not a campaign cutout of a man.
“My aunt Lydia is full of them too,” she admitted. “Though we have very different ones.”
“Like what?”
“Never brush your hair on a full moon, always swim clockwise around a shipwreck. Oh, and finding two pearls in a clam means you’re going to have twins. Or someone is coming to visit. She could never keep that one straight.”
“Do you follow them?”
“Well, one time, Ididbrush my hair on a full moon. And it got so tangled that night that it took me a week to get the knots out. I haven’t done that since.”
“And no more tangles?”
“Not like that.”
“Better safe than sorry tends to be my motto,” he said, reaching for the garment bag. “I’ll go hang this up so it doesn’t get wrinkled.”
Iris finally finished her book as Finn sat watching videos of his political opponents on his laptop, until she couldn’t take it anymore and got up to go get ready for their night out.
It wasn’t until she was out of the bath and dripping wet that she realized she hadn’t grabbed a towel from the hall linen closet.
“Barnacles,” she grumbled, squeezing as much water out of her hair as possible, then using her hands to squeegee the rest of the water from her arms and chest.
Then, without stopping to check, she flew out of the bathroom, stark naked, to get a towel. And ran right into Finn.
“Whoa,” he grunted, his arms automatically going around her. At the feel of her bare skin, his whole body stiffened. And when he seemed to realize that one of his hands was firmly placed on her butt, another part of his body started tostiffentoo.
There was no stopping the strange little whimpering sound that escaped her. Though she tried to do some mental gymnastics to convince herself it was simply from the delicious steamy scenes in her book, not the man whose body was pressed to hers.
“You okay?” he asked, the huskiness in his voice making her belly flip-flop. “Did something happen?”
“Yes,” she said, finding her own voice breathless.
“What was it?”
“I forgot a towel.”
To that, Finn let out a small rumbling chuckle.
She expected him to do the politically correct thing. To turn away, to give her privacy.
Instead, one arm stayed around her—the one with his hand on her butt—as the other reached out to open the linen closet and pull out a towel.
Before his arm fell away, his hand grazed over her round cheek in a way that no one could claim was accidental.
The desire grew, spread, started to burn through her as Finn took a step back to unfold the towel.
His gaze wasn’t on his task; he was drinking her up, his eyes tracking up and down her body for a short moment before he wrapped the towel around her back. He pulled the material forward, tightening it around her chest, his knuckles grazing her breasts in the process.
Another one of those needy sounds escaped her.
Something about that seemed to undo him, to loosen the control he kept such a tight hold on.
Iris found herself pushed back against the wall.
Then his hand was sliding up her thigh under the towel. There was the slightest pause as his fingers grazed the soft skin of her inner thigh, giving her a chance to change her mind, to say no, to move away.
But she wasn’t capable of moving right then, with the need coursing through her, with the passion in his eyes—something she couldn’t help but be transfixed by.
