Drawn to you (4 page)

I have a little wander around and cheekily help myself to some water at a cooler.

“Small world,” Brad’s voice says from my right. I turn to find him grinning from ear to ear and it’s infectious.

“I came for the great water,” I joke, holding up my cup.

His eyes drag from my face to the cup and back again. “Ah, yes, but stay away from the coffee. Between me and you, they don’t swap out the filters as often as they should.” He winks.

“I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime.” Silence falls between us, and just as I’m about to talk about the weather, Gaby calls out for me.

“See you around,” I tell him.

“I hope so.”

I’m laughing at Gaby who has been hiding her face under the covers for the entire second half of the movie. She’s also practically in my lap and I have to keep nudging her back into her own space. I jump up to switch the DVD for the sequel.

“That was so good!” she says.

I re-take my seat on the couch next to her and press play on the remote. “You hid for half of it.”

“I could still hear it though.”

A shadow falls over me and Finlay’s frame fills my vision. He flops down in between us, making us both shift at the same time so he doesn’t sit on us.

“What are we watching then?” he asks, getting comfortable. “Insidious 2,” I grate out, giving him the stink eye for interrupting and stealing my bag of Bon Bons from the coffee table. He burrows under the covers, his warm thigh resting against mine, and then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he takes my drink from my hand and helps him self to a hearty gulp before placing back in my palm and leaning his weight against my side.

Half way through the film, Gaby trundles off to bed with a “Screw that scary ass kid.” I’m left with a snoring Finlay leaning against me. I maneuver from under him and stifle a giggle when his body slides down the couch. I debate pulling my covers from him, knowing if I don’t, Gaby will hog ours and I’ll be left cold for the night. He sighs in his sleep and burrows further into
my
quilt, so I switch the movie off and let him keep it.

Oh, perfect I just get back from a run with sweaty hair, wet and hanging loose from the hair band attempting but failing to keep it in place. I’m wearing sweats and an old Muse t-shirt with a stain on it from spilt juice, and who’s sitting looking perfect in a suit and tie, tapping away at his laptop?

Mr sexy/annoying as hell Finlay, that’s who.

He gets up and knocks back whatever is in his mug, closing his computer, and smirks as he takes in my attire.

“There’s eggs still hot on the stove. Help yourself, and tell Gaby I won’t be back for dinner.” He waltzes past me, his scent hitting me in the face like invisible mist . . .
delicious scented mist.

“Do I look like your secretary?” I mumble over my shoulder, grabbing a bottle of water I’d left on the counter from earlier then guzzling it down. The warm palm hitting my ass cheek causes a screech to choke out of me and water to spurt everywhere. Warm air hits my earlobe as Finlay whispers, “No, you definitely do not look like my secretary.”

Did he really slap my butt?

“Hang on. Is that an insult or a compliment?” I call after him as he chuckles and shuts the front door behind him.

Looking down at my outfit, I scrunch my nose up. I need some new clothes and I need to kick his ass for slapping mine.

The next morning I once again find Finlay at the table with his laptop, a discarded plate with remnants of eggs and bacon, and a mug brimming with coffee. His eyes do a sweep of my attire, which is plain PJs, and that grin with the dimple that lifts his lips makes me squeeze my thighs together

“There’s eggs and bacon on the stove.”

“Is this groundhog day?” I ask, walking into the kitchen and taking out the makings for a fruit smoothie. He stands, walks across the kitchen, and settles right in front of me. If I breath out my nipples will touch him.
Crap, now my mind’s going to bad places . . . or good places . . . really good places. Sigh.

I jump when his hand swipes down my tee, just above my right boob. “No stain.”

“What?”

His eyes spark a shade brighter. “Not groundhog day.”

My cheeks heat and I have to shake my head to clear the thoughts there.

“Where did you go just now?” he asks, moving forward. I step back, backing into the fridge.

“Hey, guys,” Gaby’s voice penetrates the thickening tension.

“Smoothie!” I shout, shimmying past an amused Finlay.

“Erm, sure?” she answers, unsure if I was asking if she wants one, or just announcing that’s what I’m doing. My heart is beating fast in my chest, akin to the speed it would go if I were running a marathon.

“You look flushed. Have you been running again?” she asks with distaste in her tone, like running is an illness she might catch.

“No, she was just thinking about working out. The kind that gets you really hot and sweaty,” Finlay pipes in, and I nearly drop the knife I’m using to cut up an apple.

Gaby narrows her eyes on us both. “Did I interrupt some gross kitchen sex or something?”

My mouth drops open and Finlay walks out.
Why didn’t he tell her no?

“Seriously?” I reprimand her, to which she just shrugs and leans over, scooping up a piece of bacon from Finlay’s pan.

I’m left hot and bothered for the rest of the day.

The next week consists of more of the same intense stares between Finlay and me. There are many close encounters that leave my body humming with need, and my mind with the urge to lock him out so he can stop playing my lust-craving body like a video game, pausing before ever getting to the good parts.

Do I even want that from him? He’s annoying and cocky and hot . . . confident . . .

The times I’m not locked in some stare off or dangerous mind fantasy, I spend my time with Gaby, shopping for new clothes and school supplies. And then like he was never there, he’s gone, leaving just a note telling me I can use his room.

GABY AND I QUICKLY
settle into a routine, taking it in turns to cook, and sharing the chores. Over the past few weeks we’ve had film nights, pamper days, and I’ve spent hours laughing as she acts out receiving an Oscar. Her ambition is to become an actress. She’s had a few small parts in commercials but she’s still studying theatre and performance art at Brown so she doesn’t go to many castings.

We love living together; we even talked about her moving in with me once my place is ready so she doesn’t have to put up with Finlay appearing out of nowhere and making demands about the apartment.

The builders put my moving in day back a couple of weeks, which doesn’t bother me as Finlay’s never there anyway . . . I kind of miss our back and forth, confusing as hell interactions but It feels like Gaby’s place and mine now. Gaby admits to me that Finlay has become more protective of her since their father passed. He still treats her like a child when he’s around so it’s a relief for her that work keeps him away a lot of time.

Finlay took over their father’s business when he suddenly passed from a heart attack, and it means a lot of travelling. It is a huge responsibility for someone so young but it’s in his blood. He also has a business degree and graduated with honors. It’s the path their father always planned for him, but not at his age or under these circumstances.

I’m not quite sure on the specifics of his company. I know it has to do with construction and his company is the owner of the site our apartments are built on which is how my Dad got the great deal. Well, that’s the gist I got from overheard conversations, anyway. I never had reason to ask before, so I never did. Gaby informed me that Finlay has properties in all the major cities; he has to spend several weeks at a time in different parts of the world and hates living from a hotel room.

I’ve taken over his bedroom here. His room is cavernous, slightly bigger than Gaby’s with dark wood flooring and furniture. Black bedding lays over a super king sized bed that now smells of my apricot body lotion. My clothes cover his desk and floor as I haven’t bothered to fully unpack, and just pull clothes from the suitcase and piles, as I need them. I accuse Gaby of being messy but I’m just as bad.

School starts in two weeks, and nerves creep in with every passing day about starting again after taking a year out to deal with the trauma of my ordeal. After what happened, I couldn’t face James at university. Our old friends who knew the details of what happened didn’t know how to act around me, so they avoided me instead.

I managed to get a transfer, as my grades are good. I’m a talented artist and I was offered scholarships to most of the prestigious universities, so Brown were happy to accept me. They were also very understanding of my circumstances and offered their support to make my transition as easy as possible. Art has always been my passion. I’ve been drawing and painting as long as I can remember.

I also have a passion for music. I play piano and love to sing, which helps me. Expressing my pain through art and music is therapy for me.

I used to be in James’ band before everything happened but that also stopped and I spent more time painting than ever before. Some of my art has already made me some money; business acquaintances of Daddy’s noticed my paintings hanging in his office and asked for some of my work. I was excited to get lost in my art and to actually earn money for it. I’ve only sketched a couple of times since arriving here so, feeling serious withdrawals, I get out my pad to draw a little before I take a shower to freshen up.