as to tell her that he wanted her to clean her plate when it arrived with a petite filet, garlic smashed potatoes with a touch of sour cream, and fresh green beans.
Cat glared up at him and swore there was no way she could put away that huge amount of food, but he kept her laughing and talking throughout a dinner that lasted twice as long as she was used to, and by the time the waitress came around to collect their plates, hers was completely clean.
“Very good,” he praised.
She gave him the evil eye. “Don’t get used to it.”
Finn chuckled. “It’s your bottom . . .” He took up the dessert menu. “Shall we indulge ourselves?”
They did – in a wonderful lemon tart that was the perfect compliment to their meals. They were barely able to waddle out to his car, where Cat joked that he was going to need to use a shoehorn to get her in.
The ride home was quieter than the ride to dinner had been, but it was a pleasant, comfortable silence. He held her hand on his thigh the entire way in a familiarity she’d never shared with any other man but Clint. Finn didn’t wait for her to ask him in but took the keys from her as soon as she’d dug them out of her purse, and let the both of them in.
Finn helped her out of her coat, hanging it neatly in the closet, then, before she could escape, he turned her and pulled her against him in one smooth move, his lips claiming hers as he bent her backwards just enough that she had no choice but to cling to him for balance.
Cat’s head was spinning, and she couldn’t even blame it on alcohol. She could lose herself in him so easily, and that was exactly what he was encouraging her to do, of course.
Finn wasn’t going to give her the chance to think about much of anything. He intended to press his advantage wherever he could, and he wanted to make love to her tonight. He needed to feel that closeness with her, and wanted her to experience it with him. He wanted to lay claim to her, in the most primitive manner as he possibly could.
She was in his arms before he could think twice about it, and within a few strides, they were in her bedroom. Cat hadn’t made a peep, not that he’d given her much of a chance, though. His mouth had been plundering hers the entire time.
The way he set her down onto that cream, rose and celery green comforter said a lot to her; she felt as if she was a piece of bone china the way he made certain that she was comfortable and that he didn’t accidentally crush or lean on any part of her. He followed her eagerly down, cradling her face with his big hands.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked huskily, his eyes roaming over her reverently.
She knew he was lying, of course. She knew it. She’d forced herself to contemplate her figure very carefully in the mirror this morning after her shower, in anticipation of the possibility of this very moment, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. She was no spring chicken, and certain portions of her anatomy no longer resided quite where they were supposed to. It was no wonder ninety nine point nine percent of Hollywood had themselves nipped and tucked. Gravity was, indeed, a bitch.
But you’d never know there was anything amiss by Finn’s behavior. His hands were everywhere, but he wasn’t a groping teenager. His touch was light and sure, over her clothing at first, as if he was gentling her for later things, letting her settle to his hand before he went any further. Finn’s mouth rarely left hers, and when it did, she could barely bring her mind around to think about anything, although she knew she should. She shouldn’t have let him do this, shouldn’t be in this room with him, shouldn’t have gone on the date with him, the list was becoming endless but there was no end in sight. He already had her half out of her mind with wanting him; all his hands and mouth had done was tease her, bring her ever nearer an edge she hadn’t seen in
Cat glared up at him and swore there was no way she could put away that huge amount of food, but he kept her laughing and talking throughout a dinner that lasted twice as long as she was used to, and by the time the waitress came around to collect their plates, hers was completely clean.
“Very good,” he praised.
She gave him the evil eye. “Don’t get used to it.”
Finn chuckled. “It’s your bottom . . .” He took up the dessert menu. “Shall we indulge ourselves?”
They did – in a wonderful lemon tart that was the perfect compliment to their meals. They were barely able to waddle out to his car, where Cat joked that he was going to need to use a shoehorn to get her in.
The ride home was quieter than the ride to dinner had been, but it was a pleasant, comfortable silence. He held her hand on his thigh the entire way in a familiarity she’d never shared with any other man but Clint. Finn didn’t wait for her to ask him in but took the keys from her as soon as she’d dug them out of her purse, and let the both of them in.
Finn helped her out of her coat, hanging it neatly in the closet, then, before she could escape, he turned her and pulled her against him in one smooth move, his lips claiming hers as he bent her backwards just enough that she had no choice but to cling to him for balance.
Cat’s head was spinning, and she couldn’t even blame it on alcohol. She could lose herself in him so easily, and that was exactly what he was encouraging her to do, of course.
Finn wasn’t going to give her the chance to think about much of anything. He intended to press his advantage wherever he could, and he wanted to make love to her tonight. He needed to feel that closeness with her, and wanted her to experience it with him. He wanted to lay claim to her, in the most primitive manner as he possibly could.
She was in his arms before he could think twice about it, and within a few strides, they were in her bedroom. Cat hadn’t made a peep, not that he’d given her much of a chance, though. His mouth had been plundering hers the entire time.
The way he set her down onto that cream, rose and celery green comforter said a lot to her; she felt as if she was a piece of bone china the way he made certain that she was comfortable and that he didn’t accidentally crush or lean on any part of her. He followed her eagerly down, cradling her face with his big hands.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked huskily, his eyes roaming over her reverently.
She knew he was lying, of course. She knew it. She’d forced herself to contemplate her figure very carefully in the mirror this morning after her shower, in anticipation of the possibility of this very moment, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. She was no spring chicken, and certain portions of her anatomy no longer resided quite where they were supposed to. It was no wonder ninety nine point nine percent of Hollywood had themselves nipped and tucked. Gravity was, indeed, a bitch.
But you’d never know there was anything amiss by Finn’s behavior. His hands were everywhere, but he wasn’t a groping teenager. His touch was light and sure, over her clothing at first, as if he was gentling her for later things, letting her settle to his hand before he went any further. Finn’s mouth rarely left hers, and when it did, she could barely bring her mind around to think about anything, although she knew she should. She shouldn’t have let him do this, shouldn’t be in this room with him, shouldn’t have gone on the date with him, the list was becoming endless but there was no end in sight. He already had her half out of her mind with wanting him; all his hands and mouth had done was tease her, bring her ever nearer an edge she hadn’t seen in
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