Page 7 of Unintentionally Yours

Sheer, unadulterated want.

A need that went deeper than mere lust.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a pull for a woman, hell, if he ever had. That instantaneous zap of awareness, that punch-drunk swirl of lust and fascination and soul-deep recognition.

As if some part of him, long dormant, had taken one look at her and growled, “Mine.”

Finn rubbed the back of his neck. He was losing it. This was not the time to chase after mysterious women with smart mouths who were clearly in trouble. He had his own shit to deal with, a past to outrun, a future to rebuild brick by heavy brick.

The last thing he needed was a distraction. Even one as pretty and tempting as the wayward naked bride in his bedroom.

He rose to his feet, the soft pad of her footsteps alerting him to her presence. Goldilocks was ready to face the bear. Or the wolf, in his case.

She should have looked ridiculous in a pair of his sweats and an oversized t-shirt. While large on her, the t-shirt clung to the curves of her breasts. Unbound breasts. His mind flashed to the corset he’d seen on the bathroom floor. Her breasts would have been pushed up high, the flesh overflowing the garment. He could easily picture her wearing that – and nothing else. Now, her breasts were straining against the fabric of his shirt, her nipples hard. His mouth watered, thinking of tasting them.

She looked impossibly young and achingly vulnerable. She looked adorable and sexy as hell.

She looked like…

His.

Again, the word rushed through his mind like a promise, a warning.

Finn cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Feeling better?”

Layla offered him a small, tentative smile that did funny things to his insides. “Much. Thank you for the clothes. And for…” she gestured vaguely at her neatly bandaged foot. “You know. Playing doctor.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked. His voice pitched low and rumbly in the charged space between them.

“Yes, yes, I am.” She nodded her head.

“Okay. Well, sit your pretty little butt down, and I’ll dish up the chili.” He stood there a moment, assessing her. “But, you’re going to tell me exactly what sent you running scared into the woods today. And don’t even think about bullshitting me.” He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I can smell a lie a mile away, sweetheart. You’ve got trouble written all over you, and I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

For a moment, he thought Layla might argue. That stubborn light flared in her eyes, her chin taking on a mutinous tilt. But then, as quickly as it appeared, the fight drained out of her, and her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Fine,” she sighed, following him into the kitchen. “But don’t skimp on the serving size. I’m a full-grown woman with a full-grown appetite.”

Finn’s gaze was hot and hungry this time as it ran over her. “I can clearly see that, baby.”

He waited until she was settled, watching as she stretched out her injured foot with a pained grimace. His hands itched to soothe, to comfort, but he balled them into fists and turned towards the cabinets to retrieve two large bowls instead. Boundaries. Distance. He could do this.

“Milk?” he asked, opening the fridge. He could feel the weight of Layla’s gaze on him. Tracking his movements. Trying to puzzle him out. Good luck with that. Most days, Finn barely understood himself.

“Yes, please.” She sat at the table, hands folded in front of her, looking prim and proper. Well, she would have looked that way if not for the mass of dark curls falling around her face and half-way down her back. Or her freaking curves. He had to adjust his stance. He had been half-hard since seeing her silhouette behind his glass shower doors.

He placed two tall glasses of milk on the table, along with spoons and napkins. Next, he grabbed two sleeves of crackers before dishing up the chili and joining her. “So,” he began, “you gonna tell me what had you rabbiting off into the wilderness like the hounds of hell were on your heels? Or do I have to drag it out of you?”

Silence. Then, a delicate snort. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words?”

“Anyone ever tell you that deflection only works on stupid people?” He slanted her a look, gratified to find her fighting a smile.

“Touché.”

She fiddled with her napkin, worrying the paper between her slender fingers. Finn waited her out. He was good at waiting.

She finally spoke, her voice soft and faraway. “I couldn’t marry him. Couldn’t tie myself to someone I didn’t love, didn’t choose. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. I didn’t love him. I’m not sure I even liked him all that much. He was just... there. Safe. Dependable.”

“Boring?” Finn supplied, a knowing glint in his eye.

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