Page 99 of Better Luck Next Time

He hoped it wasn’t weird that he’d kept it. He hadn’t hung it there at first. Not until they’d become closer. Ultimately, though, it had called to him, as if insisting to be seen. Her light—even her vindictive fury—deservedto be seen.

Now, he realized he’d fallen a little bit in love with her that day, seeing her create and destroy. And he’d fallen in deeper every day since.

He glanced at her, worried. “Adalia…”

But something flickered in her eyes, and she walked inside the room, tugging him after her by the loops of his jeans, and closed the door.

“We’ll have to burn it later,” she said.

For a moment he was confused. Did she mean the painting or his shirt? But then she ripped off his shirt and threw it to the ground. Her shirt followed it, her bra a bright neon pink this time, and then their mouths met—no longer gentle, like they’d been earlier, but consuming each other. He pulled away to finish undressing her. Then he looked at her for a moment, marveling at her beauty, her curls wild, her eyes bright with mischief and joy, and marveling, too, at the fact that this was finally happening. That it felt the way it did. He tried to take off his own pants, but she pushed his hand away.

“I get to do that,” she insisted, her eyes burning. And she slowly undid the button and the zipper, pushing down his pants and his boxer briefs, freeing him. She gave him a wicked look as she stroked him and said, “Big catch indeed.”

Then she reached down and found the blindfold among the clothes they’d shed.

Before she could put it on, or suggest he did, he said, “No, not the first time. I want to see your eyes.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Adalia’s head rested on Finn’s naked chest, his arm wrapped possessively around her. He was still catching his breath, as was she. Her finger traced the outline of his pec, then slowly slid down his abdomen.

He grabbed her hand firmly in his and lifted it to his lips, lightly kissing her knuckles. “Give me a chance to recover.”

Laughing softly, she looked up at him. “Just exploring.”

He shifted slightly onto his side so he didn’t have to crook his neck to look into her eyes. “There’s plenty of time, Addy,” he said. “I plan to spend many hours exploring you.”

It could have been a line. By all accounts, he’d had a variety of women in his bed. Then again, she was no prude. There were a dozen or so names on her own list. But this was different for her. So much different, and unless he was a really great actor, she was pretty sure it was different for him too.

“I like the sound of that,” she said softly.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she wove her fingers into his hair. A quick, errant thought flitted through her head—any children they’d have would have curly hair. But she was getting ahead of herself,wayahead of herself, and suddenly he was pulling her closer, shifting her so she partially lay across his chest.

She lifted her head and gave him a sly smile. “I thought you needed to recover.”

“I do, but if you keep kissing me like that, I might change my mind.”

Her smile spread. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, it’s anything but.” He lifted a hand and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, then turned serious. “Addy, I need to ask you about Alan. Has he been bothering you?”

She sucked in a breath, his question stealing some of her joy. The last thing she wanted to do while she was naked and still slick with sweat from their lovemaking was think about Alan, let alone talk about him. She would need to tell Finn something if she had to go to New York—she didn’t want to lie about that—but she didn’t want to let Alan taint this moment, or her relationship with Finn.

She started to pull away, but he held her close. He looked at her with entreaty in his eyes. “Adalia. You can trust me.”

That should have been reassuring, but it only made her doubts resurface. While she knew logically she could likely trust him, her heart had been so battered it refused to open up all the way. At least not here. Not now. Not when she was already so vulnerable.

“I know,” she said, breaking free. Sitting up, she scanned the room for her clothes. “I was thinking about staying so we could cook dinner together.”

He sat up too, his eyes narrowed. It had escaped neither of them that she’d avoided answering his question. “I’d love for you to stay for dinner, but you don’t have to cook. We can get something delivered. I just want to be with you.”

“I like to cook,” she said, getting out of bed and making her way to the closet. He had multiple dress shirts lined up and sorted by color, because of course, and she grabbed a light blue long-sleeved one and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “Don’t worry, you’ll be cooking too.”

He studied her with hooded eyes as she buttoned the middle two buttons, leaving the top gaping down to below her cleavage.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” His voice sounded slightly strangled.

“Is that not okay?” she asked, giving him a coquettish look.

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