In Finn's Heart, Page 3

  "I was a sniper, Hadley. Noticing the little things was the difference between evading detection, making a clean shot and guaranteeing a successful extraction or being killed, captured or failing a mission and getting lots of good men killed." He said it all so matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  "You were right about the toe but wrong about the heartburn." I hadn't been rubbing my chest out of pain. Until Finn had mentioned it, I hadn't even realized I had been doing it. It must have been a nervous tic sort of thing, no doubt brought on the black cloud of possibility hanging over my head. I made a mental note to keep an eye on my hands because it would make my parents super paranoid during Mass and Sunday lunch if they saw me touching my chest.

  He frowned. "I know what I saw after dinner."

  "And I'm telling you I don't have heartburn."

  "Did you pull a muscle?"

  I snorted indelicately. "Doing what? Drawing some lines on paper and shading in some angel wings?"

  My retort earned a grin from him. "I finished the latest installment in your series a few days ago."

  "Oh?" I didn't fish for a compliment. I had spent enough time on the conference and book signing circuits to know that I probably wouldn't like any compliments I had to seek out. The ones freely given were the ones I cherished most.

  "I got to the end and shot out of bed. I yelled loud enough that Jack smacked on the wall between our rooms and told me to keep it down," he admitted with a sheepish look. "I hate cliffhangers—but I secretly sort of love them. Especially when they're that well written," he added.

  "I struggled hard with ending that installment of the series that way," I confessed. "I actually sketched out sixteen more thumbnails, just in case I changed my mind before I did the final coloring pass. I could…I could show them to you if you would like."

  "Are you kidding? I would love to see them." His enthusiasm made my heart race in a good way.

  "You know, the last time we discussed my books, you promised to help me as an expert on insurgent warfare."

  "Did I?" His mouth quirked with the tiniest slant of amusement, and I knew he remembered that he actually hadn't promised any such thing. "Well, I'm not busy tonight."

  My belly trembled with anticipation. "Would you like to come over after you drop off Ellie and Mattie?"

  Finn captured my gaze. "Yes. Very much."

  "Great." I nervously brushed some loose curls behind my ears. We would go back my place, cozy up on the couch and…well. I wasn't sure what would happen once we were alone, but even if it was just an evening of talking over sketches and a bottle of wine, it would be very nice. Finn wasn't the kind of guy who would spend the entire night trying to impress me. We could have a real conversation, not the stilted, one-sided tortures I usually sat through on a date.

  We finally made it to the parking garage tucked away on a corner behind the restaurant and not far from the theater. We had managed to find a spot on the first level in one of the oversized vehicle slots. Finn unlocked the doors from afar, and I watched Mattie open Ellie's door and gently guide her into the rear passenger seat of the crew cab monstrosity. The model for Mattie's gentlemanly behavior, Finn opened the front passenger door for me and put a warm hand on the small of my back as I used the running board to hoist myself into my seat.

  The conversation on the ride back to Ellie's house was easy and friendly. Finn and I remained in the truck while Mattie walked his crush to her door and saw her safely inside. We both averted our eyes when the two exchanged pecks on the cheek. Mattie was still blushing when he slipped into the backseat. I glanced at Finn, silently praying he wouldn't tease Mattie, but Finn seemed to sense this wasn't the time for brotherly teasing.

  Instead he turned the conversation to Mattie's college classes, and I listened quietly as the pair bantered back and forth. Abby had gotten her brother into a pilot program one of the local colleges was offering that catered to special needs students. By the sounds of it, Mattie enjoyed what he was learning and planned to stay in for the full two years.

  When we reached the house Mattie shared with Abby, I wasn't surprised to spot Jack's truck parked in the driveway. He sometimes brought Mattie to art class so I had become familiar with his vehicle. From what Abby had told me, things were very serious between them. I expected an engagement announcement by Christmas.

  The porch light was on, and I thought I noticed a bit of movement behind the wooden blinds guarding the picture window. No doubt it was Abby anxiously awaiting Mattie's return.

  "Thank you for the ride, Finn." Mattie unbuckled his belt.

  "No problem, man." He twisted in his seat. "You coming to work tomorrow?"

  "I'm going in early with Jack. Are you coming in tomorrow?"

  I could feel Finn's heated gaze skip to my face but didn't dare meet his eyes. "Maybe," he said eventually.

  "Okay." Mattie leaned forward and gently clasped my shoulder. "I'm glad you came with us, Hadley. Good night."

  I patted his hand and smiled. "Night, Mattie."

  Jack waved from the front porch when Mattie was safely inside. Finn checked the mirrors before sliding back out onto the street. "Do you mind if I turn on the radio?"

  "Not at all," I said, glad for the background noise. He chose a country channel and that didn’t surprise me at all. Of all the Connolly brothers, Finn fit that image of a Texas good old boy best. He was rougher and louder—and more dangerous.

  Looking for something to talk about, I decided complimenting his truck was a good bet. We were in Texas, after all. "This is a really nice truck."

  He shot an amused smile my way. "You know a lot about trucks?"

  "My dad has this exact model but two years older. He drives it to work every day."

  "Your dad drives himself to work?"

  "Well, yeah," I said with a frown. "What else is he going to do? Ride a bike?"

  "He doesn't have a driver?"

  "Mom has a driver. Dad prefers to drive himself."

  "But he has bodyguards," Finn remarked. "I saw them at the emergency room that night we nearly got dinged like a couple of Coke cans by that sniper."

  The rather crude way he described our nearly being shot surprised me. I reminded myself that Finn was a battle-hardened man who had seen things I would never be able to imagine and let it slide. "He had just come in from a trip to Central America. He always travels with bodyguards when he's out of Houston."

  "You should have guards around the clock."

  I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or touched by that one. "I had guards until I was in college. I got rid of them a few years ago and haven't looked back."

  "It's not safe."

  "I'm perfectly fine. Other than that bizarre shooting at the arts center, I've never had trouble of any kind. I backpacked around India and Asia for weeks without a problem." Not the kind he was thinking, at least. My hand lifted toward my chest, but I remembered what he had said and dropped it quickly.

  The thought of my scars made me think of his. I sneaked a glance at his legs as we drove toward my penthouse. Though I wouldn't call it lucky, I gathered that losing the left leg in that awful IED explosion in Afghanistan had been slightly better than losing the right. At least he could still drive with the same natural rhythm.

  "You can ask any questions you'd like." His gruff voice startled me.

  "Sorry," I hastily apologized. "I didn't mean to stare."

  "It doesn't bother me." He met my gaze long enough to convince me that it didn't. "If there's something you want to know, ask."

  "Were you the only one injured in the blast?" I had only the vaguest idea of the details surrounding his career-ending injury. I couldn't exactly ask Bee a lot of questions without rousing her suspicions about my interest in her boyfriend's brother.

  "No." He let that single word hang in the air for a long time. "I was hitching a ride back from a mission with a supply convoy. The lead truck—two trucks in front of mine—rolled right over the first damned IED. T
he explosion almost tossed me out of the vehicle I was in and killed everyone in the first truck. A remotely detonated device was set off once we all started piling out to take cover and secure the wounded. A goddamned door blasted off the hinges of the vehicle took me out at the knee."

  My stomach lurched at the imagery his words evoked. I could imagine the heavy slab of superheated metal flying at him and slamming into his leg. I swallowed hard but didn't speak. I sensed he wasn't done with his brutal tale.

  "The two men next to me were both killed instantly, but one behind me was gurgling and choking." His voice had deepened and grown raspier. "I crawled toward him and found a shank of metal sticking out of the poor bastard's throat." He made a gesture toward his neck. "Doc made it to him fast, but that wasn't a wound even he could fix. The kid was young." He glanced at me. "Younger than you are now. I saw the panic in his eyes. It wasn't…it wasn't the first time I had watched a man die. It sure as hell was the first time I thought I might be going with him."

  Finn let his tale fade as he merged onto 59 but picked it back up once we were cruising along the freeway. "We started taking heavy fire after that. I managed to snap out of it long enough to tie off my belt above the wound and then it was kill or be killed. Talk about asses and elbows," he growled low. "But's that war for you."

  I didn't know what the hell asses and elbows meant but figured it was his way of describing a hot mess of a fight. "You were able to shoot while you were bleeding like that?"

  "You'd be amazed what you can accomplish when you've got that much adrenaline pouring into your bloodstream," he said matter-of-factly. "You forget about the pain because you want to live. Survival is a hell of a motivator."

  "I know," I murmured quietly.

  He laughed at that, the sound unnecessarily harsh. "Do you?"

  Annoyed by his arrogant question, I grasped his hand and tugged it toward my chest. He tried to yank his hand back when his fingers grazed the front of my dress. "What are you—?"

  "Stop." I spoke firmly and held tight. Pulling down the high neck of my dress with my free hand, I pushed his fingers against the scarred skin on my chest. I felt him flinch.

  Realization dawned, and his head quickly turned toward me. Curious now, his fingers moved gently over my marked skin, following the long, thick line formed by so many incisions there. He pressed down to feel the wire securing my breastbone. His hand moved from my chest to the back of my neck. He cupped my nape so gently and ran his thumb in slow, warm circles on my skin. "Oh, sugar, what the hell did they do to you?"

  The sympathy and understanding of what I had been through sparked off an intense need within me. Had any other man ever really understood what I had survived in the last twenty-three years? No. That answer came swiftly. But Finn? Oh, Finn knew all about pain.

  "I was born with a really bad set of heart defects. I had surgery four times by the time I was in high school plus a whole bunch of smaller procedures."

  His thumb continued to massage my neck so tenderly. "Are you okay now?"

  "I…" How did I answer that? If I said no, would this be it? One tease of a date and then nothing more? It wouldn't be the first time a guy had bailed after seeing my scars or hearing about my medical history. Deciding it was best to find out exactly what sort of man he was, I confessed, "I had a not so great visit at the cardiology clinic this morning."

  The hand resting against the back of my neck gently swept along my shoulders in the most soothing way. "How bad is it?"

  "Not, like, dying bad, but bad enough that I'll probably end up right back in an operating room in a few months."

  His thumb brushed my jaw. "I'm so sorry, Hadley. That's rough."

  The sweet way he caressed my neck and jaw left me trembling inside. I inhaled a shuddery breath and prayed my heart wouldn't start sprinting wildly. Finn glanced at me as we barreled down the highway. Our gazes locked, and a look stretched between us. It was a moment unlike any other I had ever shared with a man. He didn't have to say a single word. He looked at me like that and it was easy enough to read his handsome face. He wasn't going to fill the space with empty words and platitudes. No, he did something even better.

  His hand drifted down my neck, along my shoulder and followed the line of my arm until it settled on my own. He interlaced our fingers and gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. His rough, strong fingers shared their warmth with mine and something else too. This battle-tested warrior gave me some of the strength that had seen him through skirmishes and firefights I couldn't even imagine.

  When he slowly dragged his thumb up and down the back of my hand, I smiled. Maybe I had something new to fight for now.

  Chapter Three

  Finn stood silently next to Hadley as the elevator swiftly climbed to the top floor of the downtown high-rise. He fought the urge to take her small hand in his again. In the truck, when she had revealed her heart problem and all she had survived, he had been gripped by the sensation of knowing her.

  There had been the barest hint of fear in her voice as she had talked about another surgery. After the pain she had already known, he could only imagine how daunting it was to wait for another brutal surgery that would require separating her sternum and wiring it back together. The need to comfort her had been so strong, but he couldn't think of the right thing to say. Thankfully, he knew words weren't the only way to show concern.

  Standing next to her now, he quietly breathed in her perfume and admired her profile. Long, thin earrings dangled from her ear. The diamonds glittered against her honey-colored skin and tempted him to stroke her skin. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her black hair and pluck free the knots of fabric holding together the open back of her dress. Maybe bend down and nibble on that spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. Would she shudder? Would she sigh? If he was lucky, she would do both and maybe invite him to keep going.

  Control, he silently reminded himself.

  The elevator bounced just a bit as it slowed to a stop. The doors opened into a foyer and a single door. He liked that the elevator didn't simply open right into her living room like they did at some penthouses. At least this gave her an additional level of security.

  He hadn't been the least bit surprised to find out she lived in the most exclusive building in the city or that she owned the penthouse or a private elevator access. She might seem laid-back and down to earth, but Hadley came from extreme wealth. A one-bedroom walkup would never suffice.

  But this? Finn experienced a moment of shock when he followed her into the penthouse. It was like walking into one of those shiny covers of the decorating magazines he saw while waiting in line at the grocery store. Everything was modern and sleek, from the gleaming wood floors to the smoky gray color on the walls. White drapes with a faint silvery pattern on them guarded the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a beautiful view of the city. The furniture in the living area was mostly white except for one bright purple chair and a handful of yellow patterned throw pillows.

  There were two balconies that he could see from the living area, one just in front of him and another right off the dining are to his left. Sizing up the portion of the penthouse he could see and guessing at what he couldn't, he estimated the place at three thousand square feet—minimum. The house he shared with Jack and their father and sometimes Kelly was about half that.

  "It's a bit of a mess," Hadley said anxiously and swept up an armful of soda cans and a bag of chips. "Coby had some of her musician friends from Sweden staying in Bee's old room for the last couple of days. They cleared out this morning to head off to a music festival in Austin, but we're running a bit behind on housekeeping."

  "I live in a houseful of men. This," he gestured to the crumbs on the coffee table, "is nothing."

  She smiled gratefully for his understanding and carted her armful to the kitchen. After sorting out the recycling and washing the sticky residue from the soda cans off her hands, she kicked off her high heels and pushed them against the wall and out of the way. "Wou
ld you like something to drink? I'm pretty sure those Swedes cleaned us out of beer and vodka, but I've got a few bottles of nice wine that I hid away in the locked cabinet of the bar."

  Realizing the moment he dreaded most was upon them, he joined her in the kitchen but kept the granite island between them. His finger idly traced a black vein in the stone. "Look, there's something you need to know about me."

  "Okay."

  Meeting her inquisitive gaze, he said, "I'm an alcoholic. I'm in recovery, but I am and always will be an alcoholic."

  "I see," she murmured gently. "How long have you been sober?"

  She was taking it better than anyone else ever had. "Thirty-one months."

  "That's really fantastic, Finn." She leaned across the counter to rub his hand and squeeze his fingers. "It's quite an accomplishment. I can't imagine it's been easy."

  "It's not supposed to be," he replied, suddenly missing the warmth of her fingers atop his when she leaned back. "If it was, everyone who struggled with addiction would get clean and stay clean."

  She nodded and then turned to face the refrigerator. "So sweet tea, water or a soda? I can make some lemonade if you would prefer that."

  If the size of her upscale penthouse had surprised him, her reaction to finding out he was a recovering alcoholic damn near knocked him off his feet. Was she really that okay with it? He narrowed his eyes at her back and wondered what she wasn't saying. "You don't mind?"

  "It's just some lemons, sugar and water."

  A snort of laughter escaped his throat. "No, Hadley, I meant the alcoholic thing."

  She glanced back at him. "Finn, we've all got problems."

  He didn't know why he couldn’t let it go at that. "This is a big problem."

  Pivoting slowly, she leaned back against the refrigerator. "It is a big problem. It's huge, really, but you told me the truth about your alcoholism up front. That means a lot to me. I trust that you've got it under control. Sobriety is a journey, right?"

  The words were so familiar to him. "You know someone that goes to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings."