Cara O'Shea's Return (13 page)

****

Finn brushed a hand along the bed beside him and found the space empty. Rolling to his back, he opened his eyes to the faint lightening of dawn. He wasn’t surprised to discover Cara gone. Despite several mind blowing bouts of lovemaking throughout the night, she hadn’t been able to rest when he finally left her alone. She disappeared sometime after he collapsed into sleep.

Her conversation with Tom continued to weigh on her mind. She looked like hell warmed over when she walked through the door late yesterday afternoon, and though he hadn’t meant to take advantage of her vulnerability, he didn’t regret he had. He was male enough, arrogant enough, to use whatever means were at his disposal to get what he wanted. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone as badly as Cara O’Shea.

Flipping back the sheet, he pulled on his rumpled jeans and went in search of coffee and Cara. Ten minutes later, two mugs of coffee in hand, he found her in the unfinished studio.

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, his gaze was drawn across the darkened expanse of the room to the small island of light cast by a single, ancient floor lamp. She stood with her back to him, her curvy, yet slender form bathed in the soft glow as she studied the canvas in front of her.

His admiring gaze ran down the fall of dark red curls flowing unfettered down her back. The hem of a man’s chambray shirt stopped at mid-thigh, leaving her long, well-toned legs bare beneath the light blue material. Who had donated the shirt? Had it belonged to the one man she’d been with in the past?

Her artless confession of having been with a man only once before answered the question of her seeming innocence, but didn’t explain it. Cara wasn’t the type of woman men would ignore. From her unreceptive behavior toward him, up until last night, it was safe to assume she’d been the one doing the ignoring. How, and more importantly, why would a woman as passionate as Cara proved to be, avoid the normal male-female relationships one would expect of a woman of her age and looks?

She leaned forward in the weak light to narrow her eyes at the canvas, exposing several more inches of gut wrenching leg. He squashed the kernel of jealousy forming in his gut for the shirt’s owner. After all, Finn was the one enjoying the view now.

“I’d suggest opening a shutter to let in some light, but I wouldn’t want to have to fight off every male in town when they get a look at you in that outfit.”

She spun around, startled, and her smile was shy as he walked to her.

Padding to her on silent, bare feet, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then handed her a mug. “I thought I’d find you here.”

He turned to study the canvas. Though the painting wasn’t completed, she accomplished a lot in the time since she left him sleeping in her bed. There was a compelling sadness in the scene she’d created, that was reflected in her solemn face.

“I didn’t want to disturb you. I was...” She shrugged, a nervous gesture. “Restless.”

Finn nodded toward the easel. “So, this is an example of a genuine O’Shea, is it?”

She dropped her paintbrush in a jar of cleaning solution. “I paint what I feel.”

She had depicted Tom, leaning forward on a park bench beneath a big maple, his elbows resting on his knees, while his head hung in dejection.

“And what were you feeling here?” He motioned to the canvas with the mug in his hand. “Hopeless?”

She shot him a sideways glance. Her eyes were haunted. They skittered back to the canvas. She didn’t reply.

“It’s rough on a man’s ego when a woman slips from his arms and suffers from hopelessness.”

Her gaze jerked back to him. “Oh, Finn. No.” She shook her head, resting a hand on his bare chest. “No, last night was wonderful.”

“I was kidding, Cara.” He smiled. “You’re so intense. I was trying to lighten the mood.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “As for last night, we were pretty damned incredible together, and I don’t need you to admit it to know you thought so too.” He glanced around the empty room, and then slid a hip onto the counter to sit. “Who’s your decorator? You need some chairs around here.”

She set her mug on the counter beside him, and picked up a rag to wipe her paint stained fingers. “I plan to get some as soon as my contractor gets his butt moving and finishes my studio.”

He squinted over his coffee mug in mock insult, and she smiled. “Will you show it to Tom when it’s done?”

She tossed the rag on the counter, and wrapped her fingers around her mug. “I have no idea what I’m going to do. With the painting or anything else. You’re pretty perceptive for a jock. Hopeless was exactly what I was feeling when I picked up the brush this morning. The conversation with my father kept running through my head like a haunting.” She sighed. “I’m more confused now than I was before talking to him.”

“I can imagine. I would think infidelity would leave a person with a wide range of strong emotions. Look how pissed off I was when you accused me of doing the same thing.”

Her chin rose. “I apologized for that.”

“Yes, you did.” He winked. “And very sweetly, I might add.”

She snorted. “I was not sweet. I was really mad at you, and you weren’t very nice when I was trying to apologize.”

He smiled at her grumbling tone. “No, I wasn’t. That’s my point. I was furious over just the idea. You’ve had to deal with the reality of it for years.”

She stared at the painting. “I haven’t been dealing with it,” she murmured. “I haven’t for years. I should have faced my father a long time ago, instead of running off to New York and burying myself in school and my art, but I couldn’t.”

“You’re dealing with it now.”

Her laugh was harsh. “Like I said, I’m more confused than ever.”

He sat his mug aside and hopped off the counter, enfolding her in his arms. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, O’Shea. You’ll figure it out.”

She tilted her head back to gaze into his face. “Have you always been such an optimist?”

He smiled devilishly as he bumped his hips against hers. “After last night, do you even have to ask?”

Laughing, she reached around him, her mug clattering on the surface of the counter. She filtered her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down, pressing her mouth to his. Unlike the night before, they didn’t make it to her bed.

“Okay, spill it.”

Flipping down the lid, Meggy settled herself on Cara’s closed toilet and crossed her arms. Cara shot Shan a pleading stare where she leaned against the open bathroom door. Her sister rolled her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

Cara rolled her eyes, supremely glad Finn needed to catch an early morning flight to shoot a commercial in Los Angeles.

“For crying out loud.” Wrapped in a towel, wet hair dripping in her eyes, she dragged a second towel from the rack on the wall and climbed from the shower. She shouldered her way passed Shan into her bedroom. “Do you two mind if I get dressed before you grill me?”

“You know we aren’t going anywhere until you tell us.” Meggy swept into the room with Shan on her heels. “You might as well start talking.”

Cara bent at the waist to wrap up her hair in the towel. She straightened in time to see Shan’s eyes widen when they landed on the disheveled bed. She gawked wordlessly at the two pillows, both showing signs of having had a head resting there recently.

Meggy didn’t suffer from a loss of words. She shrieked. “Oh! My! God! You had sex with Finn the Fine?”

Cara groaned, snatching her frilly yellow robe from a hook on the door. Dropping her towel, she shoved her arms in the sleeves and yanked the belt closed. The slow heat staining her cheeks ruined the mulish glare she turned on her friend, and did nothing to shut her up.

“Well, it’s about damn time.”

“What do you mean, it’s about time?” Shan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “She just met him last week at the rehearsal dinner.” She turned puzzled green eyes on Cara. “You just met him at the rehearsal dinner, right?”

Meggy didn’t give Cara a chance to respond. “Oh, please. Are you blind? Your sister has had the hots for Palmerton’s resident stud for a little longer than two weeks.” She slapped her hands to her hips and rolled her eyes at Cara’s fulminating glare. “That cat’s totally out of the bag already, since you had
sex
with him. Holy shit, I still can’t believe you had
sex
with him!”

“Will you stop saying that!” Cara stormed passed them, hurrying out the door for the kitchen.

“What cat?” Shan followed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Cara tucked an errant strand of hair into the towel.

“Your sister has been in love with Michael Finnegan since the sixth grade,” Meggy announced gleefully, entering the kitchen to pull the orange juice from the fridge. She opened the top and swigged straight from the carton.

“What are you, a guy? Give me that!” Cara yanked the carton from Meggy’s hand. “That’s disgusting.”

Meggy smirked and shrugged.

“Sixth grade?” Shan demanded.

“Your sister got an eyeful of Finn and Alice Butler in a heavy duty clutch behind the gymnasium after a game one night.” Meggy grinned at Shan. “She took one look at him in his football uniform and fell in looove.” She ignored Cara’s glare. “Sooo, how was he?”

Cara shut her eyes.

“Sixth grade?” Shan repeated, her voice rising.

“God, he’s gorgeous.” Meggy wiggled her brows. “I’ll bet he’s even better naked. He is, isn’t he?”

Cara slapped the carton of juice down and leaned both palms against the edge of the counter. She dropped her head back on her shoulders “Okay! Okay! I’ve had a thing for him since the sixth grade, and he was amazing and…” She blew out a breath and glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t even
begin
to tell you how good he looks naked.”

“I knew it!” Meggy punched a fist in the air.

Cara coughed a short laugh, turned, and then slumped against the counter. “I am so screwed.”

“What?” Shan shook her head. “Why are you screwed?”

“What do you mean?” Meggy twisted her lips comically.

Cara met Meggy’s gaze, and years of memories were there between them. This morning Cara awakened beside Finn’s big, beautiful body and knew the feelings she carried in her heart for the man all these years had only been a trial run for the real thing.

“I’m in love with him,” she said starkly.

“Of course you are.” Meggy snorted. “You’ve been in love with him for years.”

“No.” Cara shook her head. “I haven’t. I thought I was, even up until last night, but I was wrong. That was just a crush.”

“That was one
big
frigging crush.”

Cara laughed, then groaned and rubbed her forehead.

“Yesterday, today.” Shan dropped onto a kitchen chair. “What difference does it make? You’re in love with him now. I don’t see the problem.”

Cara stared at her sister. “Michael Finnegan? Super Bowl winning, pro-football star? Hunk extraordinaire?” The verbal list depressed the hell out of her. “I am
so
out of his league. The man’s going to break my heart.”

“You don’t know that.”

Meggy snorted. “Cara O’Shea, world famous artist? Make-a-guy’s-tongue-drag-on-the-ground body?” She rapped out. “Suck it up, Cara. Besides, I was here last night, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. I’d say he’s in as much trouble as you are when it comes to the L word.”

Heat climbed up Cara’s chest and to her cheeks. “Lust starts with an L.”

Meggy cooed silkily. “And isn’t it a fabulous thing?”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she returned Meggy’s grin. It was too late to do anything about her emotions now. Last night she jumped in with both feet, and the landing was so thrilling she knew she’d repeat the leap if given the chance. She made her bed, literally, she’d just have to lie in it and take whatever came next.

Come to think of it, considering the pleasures she experienced in that bed, she couldn’t wait to discover what came next. She barely suppressed a shiver.

“So.” Meggy leaned her hips against the counter, a sly smile curving her lips. “Did you take any pictures?”

Meggy ducked when Cara swung out an arm to smack her upside her head. Laughing, she took a glass from the cabinet, and poured some juice.

“What are you two doing here so early, anyway? Besides trying to catch Finn in his birthday suit.”

Shan grinned at Meggy. “I spoke to Mrs. Hawkins yesterday. She’s ready to sell us The Palmer House.”

Cara turned from popping several pieces of bread into the toaster. “And?”

“We’re in, if you’re in.” Shan’s expression turned stubborn as she held Cara’s gaze. “A three-way partnership.”

Cara pointed at the toaster. “You both know I’m about to burn my breakfast, right?”

Meggy snickered. “Oh, you aren’t allowed in the kitchen, unless it’s to wash dishes.” She grinned at Cara’s smirk. “The kitchen is my domain, and Shan’s, when she has the time. She’ll be handling the personnel and dining room, as well as the business side of things. All
you
have to do is write that big fat check we talked about.”

The toast popped up, browned perfectly. Cara grinned at the excellent omen. “I guess I’ll get my checkbook.”

Work would be impossible once all the construction began in earnest, so Cara locked herself away with her brushes, giving free reign to the conflicting emotions her father’s revelations produced. Three days later, she had four canvases crated to ship to Evan, including the one of her father.

Unforeseen Consequences
she titled it.

When she spoke with Evan this morning, she told him about the meeting with her father, filling him in on what she learned about Tom’s history with Hannah. His voice heavy with concern, Evan asked if she was okay, if she needed him to come to Palmerton and take her out for a night on the town. She declined, insisting she was fine. He hadn’t sounded convinced.

She expected to hear from him again once he received the shipment and he studied the canvases she just signed over to the courier. Evan was much too perceptive of her emotions, especially when he viewed her work. His ability to read a canvas was a little spooky, but that was what made him so good at what he did, and she’d learned to live with it.