Page 18 of Unintentionally Yours

Nothing ever happened by chance.

The wind howled through the eaves, the mournful keen setting Finn’s teeth on edge. He paced the length of the living room, agitation thrumming through his veins. The couch was empty, blankets tumbled carelessly aside, and he knew without having to check that Layla’s door would be shut, the woman herself curled up in his bed.

Alone while the storm echoed his own inner turmoil.

Finn cursed under his breath. He should have gone to her hours ago. Hell, she should never have allowed her to walk away. He should have kept her in his arms.

But he hadn’t. Stubbornness and pride had rooted him to his spot, old fears and insecurities whispering that she wouldn’t want his closeness longer than that moment. That she’d see the raging beast he tried so hard to bury and run just like everyone else.

Thunder boomed, drowning out the howl of the wind for a second. Finn stilled as lightning forked bright against the darkness of the night.

He moved, moving down the dark hallway. The pristine whites of the sheets tangled at the end of the bed seemed to mock him as he stood in the shadowed doorway.

His bed. Meant to be shared, as natural as breathing.

And now…

Layla was here, just out of his reach.

Unless he took the next step.

Took her.

She lay huddled in his blankets, her body curled within itself, knowing the storm was raging even in her sleep. Finn saw how she clutched his quilt like a lifeline, knuckles white with the force of her grip. Saw the tension carved into the soft lines of her jaw, the pained crease between her brows. She shifted in a subtle flinch, muffled whimpers escaping her parted lips as lightning split the sky again.

Something in Finn went taut, protective instincts surging hot and fierce. The sight of her fear, her distress, was like a kick to the chest, stealing his breath. He couldn’t bear it, not for one more second. Couldn’t let the storm torment her anymore.

Moving on silent feet, he crossed the room and sank down on the edge of the mattress. Her hair was a tumbled riot on the pillow, dark strands stark against the creamy skin of her cheek. Finn ached to touch, to smooth away the furrows marring her brow with the calloused pads of his fingers.

So, he did. With feather-light strokes, he traced the delicate arch of her cheekbone, the long fan of her lashes where they flushed against the soft curve of her cheek. Just drank in the sight of her, this beautiful woman who had tumbled so wholly, unexpectedly, into his world.

Desire, stark and smoldering, chased away the lingering chill of the storm. He traced the lush curve of her mouth, the line of her throat where it disappeared beneath the sheets. Imagined covering that expanse of creamy skin with burning kisses, drawing sweet cries from her swollen lips.

Finn couldn’t resist any longer. He reached out, brushing a stray curl off her brow with a tenderness that made his calloused fingers seem too rough for the task. Layla’s lashes fluttered at the gentle caress, eyes drifting open in sleepy confusion.

“Layla,” he said, her name caressing his tongue like a benediction. “I’m glad you found my cabin.”

She blinked up at him, those storm-tossed eyes widening in surprise. Finn hated the uncertainty that flickered through their depths, the thread of doubt.

“You are?” The fragile hope in her tone undid him all over again.

Finn bent closer, drawing her to him until his breath fanned over her parted lips. “More than I probably should be,” he confessed, the words gravelly and deep. “It’s just...I’m drawn to you, Layla. In a way, I’ve never...”

He faltered, wanting and confusion tangling up his tongue. Arousal pounded through his veins.

“Shit.” Finn was frustrated at his inability to articulate the searing tangle of feeling gripping him. To make her understand that she wasn’t some passing fancy or baser want. That whatever was happening between them was something he had never experienced before. “I’m no good at this.”

His chest caved under the weight of bitter self-recrimination. Of course, he was ruining this. Some battered part of him still expected rejection. He was so used to driving people away, to being alone...

But Layla only smiled, a soft curl of her lips like the first rays of dawn cresting over the mountains. Slowly, purposefully, she reached up to lace her fingers through his.

“That makes two of us,” she said, voice warm as summer rain even shaded with her own hurt. “I feel it too, Finn. This thing between us, whatever it is.”

And then his mouth was on hers, hot and urgent and everything she’d been dreaming of.

Layla gasped into his kiss, and Finn licked into her mouth, his tongue stroking against hers. She was pliant and yielding in a way he’d never allowed himself to hope for. Her lips were pillowed silk, parting for him in sweet, coaxing invitation. He delved past their velvet heat eagerly, teeth rasping her lush pout as his tongue stroked into the honeyed recesses of her mouth.

She tasted like sin and sanctuary. Finn got drunk on it, on her, reeling from the giddy potency of everything he’d hungered for laid out in lush abundance.

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