Red-Hot Honeymoon: The Honeymoon Arrangement / Marriage in Name Only? / The Honeymoon That Wasn't

She waved her hand in the space between them. ‘We obviously generate some heat between us, and I have no doubt that sleeping with you would be fun, but we can’t ignore the fact that until recently you were in a highly committed relationship. That relationship came to a skidding halt and pretty much went over a cliff. Fair to say that?’

Finn shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

‘So, to carry on with that analogy, I’m not going to sleep with you until I am fully convinced that you have come out of that coma and are mostly recovered. I’m not a way to dull the pain.’

Finn stared at her for a long time, his green eyes speculative. Eventually, ever so slightly, his mouth lifted at the corners. ‘This isn’t all about me and my relationship, is it? You’re also running from something—or someone.’

Maybe. Possibly. Okay, dammit, yes.

‘And that’s why you’ve been crying.’ Finn rubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand. After a long silence he lifted his muscled shoulders in a weary shrug. ‘Look, Callie, I’m probably not ever going to tell you about the mess that was my almost-marriage, but would you think I was spinning a line to get into your pants if I said that I’m not that heartbroken? That I’m sad but also relieved?’

She heard something that sounded like the ring of truth in his voice but she didn’t know him well enough to trust him. ‘Maybe you’re just telling yourself that to make it easier to cope with. People love to lie to themselves.’ She saw Finn’s mouth open to start his protest but she shook her head to stop him. ‘Look, Finn, let’s just take it slow, okay? One day at a time, as friends and companions. Let’s not force it, okay?’

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but then she saw him swallowing his words, saw his nod.

‘Yeah, okay, I suppose that’s sensible.’

Finn lifted his hand to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Callie could only look at him, her blood roaring through her veins and pooling between her legs. If he didn’t go soon she was going to forget any doubts she had and drag him to the floor.

‘That being said, I’m going to go.’

Callie licked her lips as her brain tried to restart. ‘Um … okay.’ Him going would be a very good idea.

‘You’ll let me know your decision? As soon as possible? Like tomorrow?’

Callie handed him a blank look. ‘Uh … what decision?’

Finn grinned. ‘About being my fake wife?’

Callie blushed. God, her brains were fried. ‘Sure, as soon as possible.’

She opened her mouth to add a blanket yes to whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, as long as he would kiss her like that again. At the last minute her rationality kicked in and mentally slapped her to bring her to her senses.

‘I’ll see you out.’

‘Don’t bother.’

Finn stepped towards her, dropped a quick kiss on her temple before heading inside and picking up his wallet, keys and mobile. He turned and looked at her, and the corner of his mouth kicked up.

‘Yeah, I think you and I could have some fun. And, Cal?’

‘Mmm?’

‘No more crying, okay?’

CHAPTER FOUR

FINN HEARD HIS doorbell ring and cursed as he lifted another box onto the tower of boxes he was creating in his hallway. God, Liz had a lot of stuff, he thought as he turned sideways to navigate through the thin aisle between boxes to get to the door.

It would be a brother again, holding a six-pack and a takeaway, coming to keep him company in his darkest hour. He appreciated the beer and the food, but instead of their sympathy he wished that they’d give him something useful, like help with shifting and packing boxes.

He rolled his eyes as the doorbell pealed again and reached out to yank the door open. ‘You can only come in if you’re prepared to work, you lazy—’

He blinked at the vision on his doorstep. Instead of one of his big, brawny, young stepbrothers Callie, dressed in a short sleeveless sundress, stood in front of him, her blonde hair pulled up into a tail and most of her face covered by huge dark sunglasses.

‘Oh, sorry. Wasn’t expecting you.’

Callie pushed her glasses up into her hair and smiled. ‘I can see that, since you’re shirtless and shoeless. Who were you expecting?’

‘Ah, one or more of my brothers—stepbrothers. They pop in most evenings, usually around this time.’

‘Coming to check up on you?’

‘Yeah.’

Callie placed a hand on her heart. ‘That’s so sweet.’

Finn grimaced. ‘I appreciate the sentiment but I wish they would just stop. Because I’m not talking they think that Liz is to blame and that I need comforting.’

‘Is she to blame?’

‘Mutual decision,’ he replied quickly, seeing the trap and dodging it. ‘Anyway, because not all men are Neanderthals, they’ve been worried about me because Liz and I were together for a long time. I have so many offers for beer or lunch or dinner I could scream.’

Callie didn’t say anything and he, like a rookie, just kept on talking.

‘So I drink the beers and eat the food and try to convince everyone that I’m okay.’

‘Are you?’

Callie took his right hand and held it between hers. She looked up at him from beneath those ridiculously long lashes, her expression earnest and concerned. She wasn’t just asking for form’s sake, he suddenly realised, she genuinely seemed to care. And her empathy—not pity or sympathy—melted one of the many icicles attached to his heart.

Finn thought about her question for a minute and left his hand where it was, his fingers entangled with hers. ‘Mostly. I will be a feeling a lot more relieved when you say yay or nay.’

‘Yay,’ Callie said as she dropped his hand.

Finn looked down at her, not sure that he’d heard her correctly. ‘What?’

‘Yes, I will be your fake wife.’ Callie said, her eyes dancing. ‘Thanks for asking me.’

Finn felt relief course through him and was surprised at the wave of—hell—happiness that followed. He was going to be able to complete this amazing assignment, get out of this house and step out of his life, thanks to this phenomenal woman.

‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Thanks, Callie.’

‘I should be thanking you; it’s an amazing opportunity to see some places that I haven’t seen before.’

‘And to get out of Dodge as well.’ Finn folded his arms and raised a brow. ‘Want to tell me why?’

Callie didn’t miss a beat. ‘Want to tell me what really happened to stop the wedding?’

‘Touché.’

He wasn’t going to open up and neither was she. Better that way, Finn decided, even though he was damn curious.

‘So, do you want to come inside?’

Finn thought that she was about to say no but then she straightened her spine and pushed her shoulders back, lifting those small breasts. ‘Yeah, okay. There’s a couple of things we need to chat about.’

‘That sounds ominous.’ Finn gestured her inside and noticed that she had no problem negotiating the boxes. ‘Liz’s stuff. I’m packing it up and shipping it home to her parents.’

‘Ah.’

Callie moved away from the boxes and looked at the now stark living room. All the things that had made it a home were gone—the scatter cushions, the art, the ornaments, the photo frames.

‘The furniture—hers or yours?’

Finn shrugged. ‘The couches and the furniture are mine. I’m pretty much handing over the rest of the house. She bought most of it and there’s nothing much I want to keep.’

‘Nothing?’

Finn shook his head. ‘I’m not sentimental when it comes to stuff.’

He’d used to be but wasn’t any more. Only with a gun to his head would he admit that he’d kept all the sonar scan pictures of his baby—the baby that hadn’t made it past four and a half months. Finn swallowed and steeled himself against the wave of pain. Okay, maybe he was a little sentimental about some things.

He pulled in a deep, restorative breath and along with it Callie’s sweet perfume. She smelled so sweet and fresh, and he realised that he had to smell as if he’d been working his tail off all day—which he had—so he backed away from her.

‘There’s some wine or beer in the fridge—glasses in the cupboard next to the fridge. Help yourself. I’m just going to take a quick shower, if that’s okay.’

‘Sure, take your time.’ Callie grinned at him. ‘It’ll give me time to snoop.’

‘Snoop away—you won’t find anything interesting,’ Finn told her, before belting up the stairs to the en-suite bathroom off the guest bedroom.

As per normal, he glanced at the closed door of the room on the left and sighed. He really should try to move back into the master bedroom again. But he still hadn’t replaced the mattress on their—his—bed, so what was the point? Maybe after he came back from his ‘honeymoon’ he’d try again.

Maybe. Or maybe he’d just get a whole new bed.

She liked Finn’s house, Callie decided, liked the openness and the space. And the view was one of the best she’d seen. But the lack of anything personal surprised her; Finn was a world traveller—surely he would have picked up a memento here and there? Art? Pottery? Photographs?

Nothing in the house suggested that he’d lived here on an ongoing and permanent basis with his fiancée. Which was weird—weren’t houses supposed to be shared? Granted, she wasn’t an expert on co-habiting, but shouldn’t the house be a place of compromise? Shouldn’t there be a photograph of his family … his brothers? A trophy? A flat screen TV? Books …? Something that suggested that this was his house as much as hers?

For Finn’s sake she hoped that his ex hadn’t been an ‘everything that’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine too’ type of woman. Maybe his priorities were a big screen TV and an internet connection—she’d dated more than a few men like that. Or maybe he simply wasn’t a sentimental, collect-mementos-along-the-way type of guy.

Callie turned when she heard his footsteps behind her and saw that Finn had showered and dressed in a pair of black athletic shorts and a plain red T-shirt.

He ran his hands over his wet curls and sent her a small smile. ‘Did you get some wine?’

‘I didn’t get that far.’ Callie followed him into the kitchen and stood on the other side of a granite counter as he opened a cupboard door to pull out a glass. ‘You look very fit—do you go to the gym?

Finn pulled a face. ‘No. Martial arts.’ He opened the fridge and she saw that it held nothing but a bottle of unopened wine, a mouldy block of cheese and some eggs. Someone hadn’t been cooking or had been living on take-out.

Not healthy.

‘What type of martial arts?’ she asked, resisting the urge to mention his lack of food. Even if she was going to be his ‘wife’, she wasn’t in a position to nag him about eating properly and taking care of himself. But, damn, she wanted to.

‘Pretty much everything, actually. But I concentrate on Taekwondo and jiu-jitsu, occasionally taking a side trip into Krav Maga—’

‘Notoriously difficult—out of the Israeli army.’ She saw the surprise flicker in his eyes at her even knowing about Krav Maga—but, hey, she read. A lot. ‘Are you ranked?’

‘You are the nosiest woman I’ve ever met,’ Finn complained—not for the first and, she knew, not for the last time.

‘And—I’ll say it again—you’re one of the few men who don’t like talking about themselves.’

‘So why do you keep asking?’

‘‘Cos you’re fascinating,’ Callie replied, shoving her tongue into her cheek.

‘Flirt.’

Callie dropped into a quick curtsy. ‘Thank you, sir. So, what’s your rank?’

Same question, phrased another way. His quick smile and the elaborate roll of his eyes told her that he was enjoying their banter. It would do him good to laugh, to smile.

‘I’m ranked highly.’

She sighed dramatically at his answer. ‘Trying to get information out of you is like trying to get blood out of a stone.’ Callie took her glass of wine and sipped. ‘Why don’t you buy mementos of the places you’ve been?’

He blinked at the change of subject as he twisted the top off a bottle of beer. ‘What? Like tourist tat?’

Callie sent him a patient look. ‘Come on, Finn. Like you, I travel a lot and I know what is tat and what is art. And everybody sees something along the way that calls to them. I picked up a stunning vase in Murano that I treasure, a piece of street art in Rome. What do you buy?’ She gestured to the soulless house. ‘This is your house—why isn’t there anything of you in it?’

Finn took a long sip of beer. ‘You’re going to nag me until I tell you, aren’t you?’

‘Actually, if it’s a touchy or personal subject I won’t. I know that I’m relentless, and curious, but I do respect your right not to talk. Just say pass and we’ll move on.’ Callie shook her head and caught his look of surprise. ‘This agreement we have doesn’t include sharing our secrets. Well, you’re welcome to share yours but I’m not sharing mine.’

Finn raised the bottle to his lips again and shook his head looking bewildered. That was okay, Callie thought. Bewildered she could live with. Annoyed or bored would make her think that she’d overstepped the mark.

‘So why is there nothing personal in your house?’ Callie grinned at his exasperation. ‘What? You didn’t say pass!’

‘You are going to drive me crazy—I can just tell.’ Finn closed his eyes and scratched the spot between his eyebrows. ‘When I bought the house Liz moved in. She travelled as well, but she spent six weeks away and then a month at home. Her schedule was set but I could be away for two months, home for a week and gone again. She asked me time and time again to help her decorate the house—but, hell, I’m a guy. I’d rather watch sport or … watch paint dry. So one day she dumped all my stuff and all her stuff in the middle of the lounge—right over there—in front of the TV. There was a rugby match I wanted to watch so we had to sort through it. The whole process made me realize …’

‘Pray tell?’ Callie’s lips quirked when he paused for dramatic effect.

‘… that I buy crap and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near art galleries or home décor shops. If it’s cheap and nasty, tasteless and fake, I will buy it.’

Callie’s laughed bounced off the walls, and she was still chuckling when Finn led the way to the veranda, where Callie took a seat on an antique bench that had been converted into a swing.

‘It’s really better for everyone if I just hand over my credit card. Nobody gets hurt that way.’

Finn took a seat on a cane chair and propped his feet up on the coffee table. After a minute of comfortable silence he spoke again.

‘So, you said that there were things we needed to discuss?’

‘I did.’ Callie kicked off her sandals and felt comfortable enough to tuck her feet under her bottom on the denim fabric of the swing. ‘I put in for a month’s holiday today, and I also managed to organise it so that I don’t have to fly to Paris this week. So I am, in the most virginal sense, all yours until we go.’

‘That makes it easier, because there are a couple of things we need to sort out before we go.’

‘Like?’

‘Like the lawyers for the magazine would like you to sign an indemnity form, and they’d also like you to go for a full medical—just to cover their legal asses.’

Callie wrinkled her nose. ‘What a pain.’

‘I use the same travel clinic all the time. I’ll make an appointment for you.’ Finn rested his beer bottle on his flat stomach. ‘You’ll need clothes that are suitable for five and six-star resorts—’

Callie looked down at her designer sundress and lifted her eyebrows. ‘Finn, I am a fashion buyer—I think I have the clothes covered.’

‘Glad you do,’ Finn grumbled, looking frustrated and miserable. ‘Because I sure don’t. I keep thinking that I have to get my act together and I keep putting it off. I hate clothes-shopping.’

‘You always looked okay to me.’ Better than okay—mighty fine, in fact. And his clothes were nice, too. ‘So, does your ineptitude with home decoration extend to your wardrobe?’

Finn tipped his bottle up to lips. ‘Yep. In spring and autumn Liz would drag my ass to the shops. She’d choose and I’d pay.’

Callie’s lips quirked. Shopping was something she could help him with. After taking a big sip of wine, she stood up and jerked her head, indicating that he should get up too. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Where?’

‘Up to your bedroom.’

When she saw his eyes widen and a gleam appear, she rolled her eyes and thought that she should explain—quickly.

‘Since you’re giving me an all-expenses-paid holiday, the least I can do is to help you out with your wardrobe. I’ll go through your clothes, pick out what’s suitable, and then we’ll go shopping for what you need.’

Finn looked suddenly and momentarily panicked, but she put it down to the fact that no man—especially one as masculine as Finn—wanted to spend any part of his evening discussing clothes.

‘Trust me … it’ll be painless.’

‘I don’t think that having you in my bedroom is a very good idea,’ Finn stated as he followed her through the house and up the stairs.

‘We’re taking it slow, one day at a time, and today is not that day, Banning,’ Callie told him as they hit the top floor. ‘Where’s your bedroom?”

Finn gestured wordlessly to the closed door on their right. Callie opened it and walked into a white-on-cream, endlessly pale bedroom. Placing her hands on her hips, she lifted her eyebrows as she took in the cream and white striped walls, the deep beige curtains and the neutrally shaded pillows piled high on the floor.

She felt as if she’d stepped into a dairy.

‘Wow …’ she murmured.

‘I hate this room,’ Finn muttered, standing at the door, glaring.

‘It’s not that bad … it just needs some colour,’ Callie said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. She gestured to the bed—a white wood canopied monstrosity that dominated the room. ‘You must also have hated the mattress.’

‘What?’ Finn barked.

‘The mattress—it’s gone.’

Finn shoved both hands into his hair and dropped his head, for a brief instant looking like a little boy who’d been slapped. Then his face changed and turned hard and determined.

‘You know what? Let’s not worry about checking what I have that I can take. I’ll just buy a whole new wardrobe.’

Callie started to argue, but stopped when she saw the misery underneath the fury. ‘That’s an expensive exercise,’ she said carefully, knowing that there was something fundamental that she was missing.

‘I can afford it,’ Finn said and gestured for her to leave the room.

Callie knew that it wasn’t the right time to argue with him, to try and push his buttons. He wanted her out for some deeply private reason, so she left the bedroom and headed for the stairs. She waited until they were halfway down before speaking again.

‘Still want me to help you shop for clothes?’

Finn’s tension seemed to fade as he closed the door behind him. His white teeth flashed. ‘Hell, yes. I might come back with one of those khaki vests with a hundred pockets and pants that unzip at the knees to become shorts.’

Callie shuddered at the thought, not entirely convinced he was joking. ‘You definitely need help.’

Finn’s broad hand, warm and exciting, encircled her neck as they walked down the stairs. ‘In more ways than one. So, what are we ordering for supper?’

She loved spending other people’s money, Callie thought, holding up two shirts for Finn that she really liked. And it was so much fun shopping for a guy. Finn didn’t think so, but she did. They’d only been at it for a couple of hours and he was starting to wilt—the lightweight.

There was a pile of bags in Finn’s SUV already, and with the clothes now on a low couch in this store she thought he would have everything he might need for the next couple of weeks—possibly years. She’d made him buy belts and shorts, designer tees and shirts, shoes and ties, and she’d had a blast.

‘Anything else, Callie?’

You knew you were a professional shopper when the sales clerks knew you by name, Callie thought. ‘No, I think that’s it, Annie. If you’d like to start ringing that pile up, I’ll take these to Finn so that he can try them on. We’ll meet you at the counter in a few.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Annie agreed, and Callie left her to gather up the clothes while she walked into the three-cubicle dressing room, the shirts over her arm.

The first two were empty, and she skidded to a halt as she saw Finn’s reflection in the third changing room mirror through a gap in the curtains.

She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the perfection that was his body. He was wearing nothing more than a brief pair of pants, and his body rippled with muscle as he shoved a shirt back onto a hanger. His legs were long and muscled, his tanned shoulders broad, his butt round and tight. His broad chest and rippled stomach made all the saliva in her mouth disappear.

How was she supposed to go on holiday with him, knowing how much she wanted him? This gnawing need to know what he felt like, how he made love, how he would feel as he filled her, completed her, was unusual for her, and it scared her as nothing else ever had. Yes, she needed to explore his body—but she also wanted to dig below his cool, calm and controlled surface to see what was underneath.

That wasn’t good. She always kept her distance from men who made her feel too much, who intrigued her. They were dangerous. They made her want more than sex, more than a brief affair, and nobody had made her want more like Finn did.

It didn’t matter how much she wanted him, she reminded herself. She could want and wish and pray, but the people she needed to stick around never did. Remember?

That cold dose of reality didn’t make her desire for Finn disappear. Her mind might realise that he was dangerous but her body still craved him.

She could never allow herself to risk getting to know him too well. She couldn’t get emotionally attached to him. But she wanted to know his touch, his taste, how it felt to have that powerful body giving and receiving pleasure.

Finn’s eyes met hers in the mirror and he just stared at her, half naked, his desire for her blazing from his face. She watched, fascinated, as his penis grew into an erection from nothing more than looking at her. Finn didn’t try to hide his reaction. Instead he just kept his eyes locked on hers, his hands on his hips.

‘Keeping my hands off you is going to be a problem,’ he said, his voice low and slow. He turned to face her and yanked the curtains open.

Callie licked her lips and shook her head, trying to be sensible.

‘I’m not thinking of my failed engagement or my ex. I promise that I am not thinking of anyone but you,’ Finn growled.

She heard the frustration and the truth in his voice. He wanted her—possibly as much as she did him.

How was he able to look inside her head and see what she was thinking? He seemed to be able to intuit immediately and correctly what she was thinking without her saying a word.

Nobody had ever managed to do that before.

‘Too soon,’ Callie stated, sighing as she felt her panties dampen. ‘It really is, Finn.’

An F-bomb shattered the loaded silence between them and then Finn’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Yanking her into the cubicle, he jerked the curtains shut and the shirts she held fell to the floor.

Finn took her chin in his hand and tipped her head up. ‘Have you ever stood in front of a fire and wanted to be in the heart of it? Inside the colours … the heat? Yeah, you have—because that’s how you were looking at me just now. Like I was the fire and you wanted to feel my heat. You want me …’

She wanted to deny it but she couldn’t. Of course she wanted him—she’d been fantasising about him for months. But it was just lust and attraction and the fact that she hadn’t had an orgasm in far too long.

Didn’t she deserve to feast on him just a little?