Jumped (13 page)

“Say, didn't you just win a Tony?” Jack asked.

Amanda beamed and said, “He sure did! Last month. Best actor in a play.”

Beth looked at her friend and noticed how Amanda looked at Grady. All glowy. Beth wanted to look at someone that way. Had she ever looked at Finn that way? Yes. Yes, she had. She looked at her ex now. His chin was down, and he was surveying the diners from under sulky brows. Mr. Grumpy was still jealous. No glow there at all.

“What is your goal
for your business?” Jack asked. He was sitting across from Beth on one of the ultracomfy chairs. They had moved themselves and their after-dinner coffees away from the main table so they could talk without boring the group, although Beth suspected Finn would want to hear this conversation. Amanda had lit the tiki torches and citronella candles that surrounded the patio, to ward off both impending darkness and the few mosquitoes.

“I don't know. This started as a favor to some friends. I didn't plan to start a business.”

Mingo, who had been relaxing under the dinner table with Ben the Portuguese water dog, waiting for someone—anyone—to drop food his way, trotted over to her. She patted her lap and, never one to turn down an invitation, he jumped up and lay down.

“Hey there, fella,” Jack said. “Who's this? May I pet him?”

“Sure. This is Mingo. He badly wishes you had a pork chop.”

“Hey there, Mingo,” Jack said as he scratched the dog's head where it joined his neck. Mingo groaned in approval. “Aren't you handsome?”

There's the pot calling the kettle black
.

“Where'd you get him?”

“At the shelter in Florida.”

“So he's a lagniappe.”

“Your what hurts?”

Jack laughed, and Beth felt a few endorphins fly around in her brain, doing aerial acrobatics with the tequila. He was a looker, no doubt about it. She liked that he had to reach across the space between them to pet Mingo. Yes, he could do that all night if he wanted.

“A lagniappe. Where I'm from, it means an unexpected gift or pleasant surprise.”

“In that case, yes, Mingo was a lagniappe.”

Then Beth had a lagniappe of an idea. Why not link her current business and her dream? He would tell her if it was viable or vomitous. Only he'd use nicer words. She took a breath and met Jack's friendly eyes. “I think I know what my business goal is. I want to make enough money to start a horse rescue.”
Please don't laugh.
He didn't.

“Is that like a shelter where you got Mingo, but for horses?”

“Yes. That's what I'd like to go for.”

“Do you have any idea what that would cost?”

“No. A lot. It would take a big chunk of land, then buildings and fencing, then money to keep the place running. A staff, hay, veterinary care. That's off the top of my head. I've never believed it was possible, but if I won the lottery, this is what I'd do.”

“I like people who dream big. It's the only way magic happens.”

Beth grinned. “You think it's possible?”

“Darlin', anything's possible.” He grinned—and what a potent weapon it was—sipped his coffee, and Beth's endorphins formed a flash mob.

Participating in one conversation
while trying to eavesdrop on your ex-wife's conversation with a handsome ex-ballplayer was difficult. Finn kept glancing over at Jack and Bethany. They smiled far too much for his taste. Oh, now Jack was leaning closer to Bethany so he could pet Mingo. Surely Bethany would see through that ruse.

Bite him, Mingo!

Now they were laughing. Ha ha ha, isn't that Jack just the funniest thing?

Finn sighed. Of all nights,
of course
he had to be practically immobile with a huge, treelike cast on his leg when Jack the Lady Killer came over. Of course he had to be a hobbling convalescent and watch while the impressively ambulatory ex-ball player made a play for his ex.

Maybe it was time to let Jack know in no uncertain terms that Bethany was off limits. He was adept at verbal pissing matches. And if it came to it, he was adept at fistfights, although he had learned to curb his temper over the years. Still, some men, especially drunken ones, backed off only after an eye was blackened or a nose was broken. Yes, he could take Jack on if he had to.

Except the broken leg would hinder him. He doubted Jack would stand there and let himself be punched in the face. Except Bethany would think he was an over-testosteroned ass. And the biggest “except”?
She's not off limits.

So he sat there and forced himself to listen hard to Amanda, Grady, and Harris—which was not difficult, as they were amusing, interesting, and he genuinely liked them—but his chest felt like a belt was tightening around it. And the belt's name was Jack Cormier.

8

A
t ten thirty,
Finn did something dastardly. He swiped Bethany's cell from the table, tucked it into a pocket, and crutched down the driveway to the cottage. There, he changed into a T-shirt and awkwardly, clumsily, and slowly removed his shorts so he wore only his boxers, then sat on the wooden steps of the front porch in the cool night to wait.

Crickets serenaded him. A coyote howled, then another. How could Bethany still be talking to that guy? She made some shirts, how tough could they be to market? Were they discovering how much they had in common? Thank God Bethany didn't like baseball. Was Jack asking her out? Were they kissing? He furrowed his fingers through his hair. He stewed for ten minutes, imagining the worst. Then he went inside and climbed into bed because enough was enough. She wasn't his anymore. And she either didn't care about her phone, or she didn't think to look in the cottage for it, at least not tonight.
Give it up, Finny old boy.

Around midnight, Bethany
came into the cabin with Mingo padding after her and closed the door as gently as she could.

“Mmm,” Finn said from his bed. Mingo went straight for him, a brown cylindrical rocket.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“That's fine.” He slept with his broken leg propped on a few pillows. He pet Mingo, who was beside himself with happiness, wagging his stubby breakfast-sausage tail as though the earth's rotation relied on it.

“Do you need anything?” she asked as she turned on a lamp next to the sofa and came to his bedside. He was rumpled. Finn could pull off rumpled like Kardashians pulled off wedding rings. Beth's mouth went a tad dry.

He shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Have you seen my phone?” She went into the bathroom.

“Uh . . . let me look,” he said.

She emerged and was surprised to find him in the kitchen, scanning the counter.

“You didn't have to get up!” she said. “I wondered if you happened to see it. I'm not sure where I left it and thought it might be here.” She crossed to the coffee table in front of the couch and looked under an architecture magazine Grady had gotten for Finn.

Finn hobbled over. His expression was . . . unwelcoming. “You have a fruitful discussion with Jack?”

To anyone else, Finn's question would have seemed benign. But Beth heard the edge. She lifted a cushion on the sofa and peered under it as she spoke.

“For the love of God, Finn. Yes. He was great. Thanks for asking.” She made sure to sound happy. Wow, but he could be annoying.

“Business? That's all you two talked about?”

She rolled her eyes. “My business? Yes, for the most part. I also talked to Harris, Amanda, and Grady. What are you getting at?” She looked under another cushion, then at Finn.

He gave her a look.
You know what I mean.
“He must be a cheerful guy.”

“Why?”

“You two sure laughed a lot.”

“Do you know your leg will heal faster if you stop being an ass? Go back to bed.”

“Do you trust him? You think he knows what he's talking about?”

“Jack? Yes.” She picked up each of the five magazines on the coffee table. No phone. “Grady wouldn't have put me in touch with him if he wasn't good at what he does. Did you question Grady about the orthopedist he sent you to?”

She needed to stand her ground, so she made a point to stand tall, facing him. Her pulse wasn't exactly racing, but it wasn't slow, either. She was letting Finn get to her. She had to Teflon up.

Finn asked, “He's a good-looking guy, don't you think?”

Oh, he wouldn't dare. “Yeah,” she said. “
Very
good-looking.” She crossed to an armchair, speaking as she looked under its cushion. “Smokin' hot. Broad shoulders.” She looked under the other chair's cushion. “Beautiful eyes. Great ass. You bet he was good-looking. A complete and total hottie.”
Take that.

“Did he hit on you?”

She faced him. “I think a better use of your time and energy would be to help me find my phone.”

His eyes were dark-denim blue. “Did he hit on you?”

“Oh my God, would you stop! What if he did? What business is it of yours? We're not married anymore, remember?” Beth wiggled her left ring finger at him. Then she got on all fours and looked under the chair next to him.

Finn's mouth was a hard seam that turned down at the ends. He looked like a rank stallion. He filled the space above her with his wide shoulders and anger.

She huffed out a breath. “No. It was business.” Before she spoke her next words, she rose and stood directly in front of him. “But if he had, I would've said yes and I would've liked it.”

If Finn wanted to be this way, fine. She would give it right back to him. She glared.
Come on, Finn. You wanna dance? Let's dance.

She was trying to guess what his next caveman accusation would be. Would he go overtly sexual? A classic character assassination? The dumb jock route, because Jack didn't
work
for his business, but got lucky in sports?

Finn wedged the crutches beneath his arms and grabbed Beth's biceps. She gasped. She hadn't expected this. A brigade of tingles zoomed up her body from somewhere near her ovaries. Her pulse sprinted. Finn's stare was unnerving, full of hunger and fury as he searched her face. She wasn't sure what the hell he was going to say.

He was shaking. After a second he pulled her to him, slanted his lips to hers, and kissed her. More liked possessed her. He cupped the back of her neck with one hand and pressed her mouth to his. In a half heartbeat, she remembered exactly what his lips felt and tasted like. It was surreal, vivid, and
hot
. They were soft, but his kiss wasn't gentle. His jealousy was so intense, it was almost a thing, like a flavor on his tongue.

At first, surprise prevented her from doing anything. Her lips were parted already, and he took full advantage. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and she let it happen.

This is stupid, Beth. This has
regret
written all over it. You'll be sorry. Pull away. Pull away now! You can stop it now and . . . and . . .

But his tongue had gone to work and he'd put his other arm around her waist and drawn her against his body. She had the presence of mind to avoid touching his cast, but other than that her brain was goo. Only the part that specialized in breeding was firing. Oh yeah,
that
part of her brain, the
go forth and multiply
lobe, was at DEFCON 1. She kissed him back. It was sexy, slick, outrageous, improbable . . . and freakin' awesome.

Five years disappeared, and the heat his kiss generated could've warmed the entire cottage. For the entire winter. In Aspen.

He broke off the kiss and looked down at her. His brow was all liney.

She said, “If you say ‘I'm sorry,' I'll break your other leg.”

The remorse she saw in his face evaporated as he grinned. “How about if I say I'm sorry for being an ass?”

“That's acceptable.”

He hugged her, hard. It was almost too hard, but she didn't mind being pressed against his solid warmth.

She heard
him
moan, then whisper, “Bethany.” He touched her hair lightly with his lips. She stood there, in his arms, smelling his familiar scent of soap, some macho brand of deodorant and . . . Finn. His chest was warm and hard—and another part of him was hard as well.
No shocker there
. Obviously their respective reproductive organs were chatting up a storm, because didn't she go and feel all balmy in her Netherlands. She felt him shudder.

He relaxed his arms. Plunged his hand through his wavy hair.

Now she was trembling.
Crap crap crap.

“I'm not sorry I did that,” he said. “I've been wanting to kiss you since the wedding. But I didn't like seeing you with Cormier tonight, and, yeah, I got stupid. I know you're not my wife anymore, but sometimes it still feels like you are.”

She reached up to stroke his cheek, but he caught her hand and gently lowered it. He adjusted his crutches and started toward his bed.

“It's okay. I didn't mind.”

He sat on the side of his bed and regarded her from across the room. “I shouldn't have done it, for my own sake. I can see myself falling back into old habits. This can't happen again.”

For whatever reason—perhaps her uterus had started to call the shots—this bugged her. A bolt of frustration struck her sternum.
Damn you, Finn!
She shot up from the couch and pounded across the pine planks. In her yellow Sunshine Humane Society tee and orange Florida Gators running shorts that she'd put on after Jack left. She wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts bounced. Too bad. Let him salivate. She was pissed.

“You can't do that, Finn.” She stood in front of him. “You can't kiss me like that, practically crack my ribs, then waltz over here like nothing happened. I hate when you do that. You swoop in, kiss me, say your piece, then swoop out again. It's not over just because you're done talking.”

He shook his head and raised his arms toward her, palms up in a helpless gesture. “No. We can't do this. We'll start something we both know we're not going to finish. Didn't we hurt each other enough five years ago?”

She looked him up and down, breathing fast and shallow. She was angry, she was turned on, she was . . . not exactly sure what she was about to do. But she was about to do something.

“Mingo! Off!” The little dog stirred, then jumped off the bed. He stood, threw Beth a long-suffering look, then promenaded to the sofa, jumped up, and curled up.

As soon as her dog was safe from whatever was about to happen, Beth lunged at Finn. His eyes widened in alarm and he grabbed her arms and held her away from him.

“Hey! Honey, I want you.
Believe me
. But we need to be—”

She swallowed, then framed his face between her palms and kissed him as hard as he had kissed her. He loosened his death grip on her upper arms and moaned, kissing her back. Then he turned his head, breaking the kiss.

“Bethany, you've always had trouble being told no.”

“Shut up, McNabb.” She went in for another round, but he held her off.

He laughed and said, “Wait.” His face got all serious.

She didn't like this. She wanted to kiss him and see where it led. She wanted it to lead to nudity and broken-leg sex, whatever that was. She wanted to find out. She was fired up and horny and Finn would just have to deal with her.

“Shhh,” she said, and made a second attempt.

“Honey, hold on. I . . . Oh, hell.”

He twisted around to reach behind him. This made his T-shirt ride up and uncover a superb grouping of rippling abs.
I'll be all over you fellas soon enough
.

Finn had something in his hand. Something like a phone. Her phone.

Her phone!

She felt her lips part, and not for anything sexy. He looked at her, contrition contorting his face.

“You knew where my phone was? And you didn't tell me?”

“Honey,” he said gently, “I took it.”

“By accident? Because you're on Percocet?” Surely it was by accident.

“I hoped you'd come here tonight. I wanted to see you.”

“To see if I had Jack Cormier's lipstick on my collar? To check for hickeys? This is low even for you.”

He grimaced at that. “I told you. I was jealous. Then I have this fuckin' cast on. I know it was stupid. Look, I did it. I'm sorry.”

“You were that jealous?”

“Yes. Dumb. I know. Dumb.”

Beth stood there holding her phone as she let this sink in. Her annoyance was replaced by a simmery tingle. He wanted her. He wanted her
a lot
. She stood between his legs and took his face again, one hand still holding the phone. She wanted to bop him on the head to make a point. Her nose was an inch from his lovely, crooked-from-being-broken nose. “Don't take my phone hostage again, Finn,” she said with soft menace.