Page 13 of Songbird
But I’ve never feared stepping out onto a stage. I’ve never been scared to put my truth into my music, because being vulnerable is the only way I know to connect with people. And I’m not afraid now.
Maybe I should be. Maybe I’ve ignored my instincts so long that they no longer work the way they’re supposed to, but right or wrong, Finn makes me feel safe. It was like this last year when he was my bodyguard on tour. He walked into the room and my world shifted, and I never wanted him to walk out again. It’s a relief to discover his energy is exactly as I remembered. I don’t want to think about what I might have done if I’d driven all this way only to find out Finn isn’t the man I needed him to be. Would I have returned to Chip? I don’t have the strength to give that any thought.
“You want me to undress you?” he asks flatly, and I meet his cognac stare.
Don’t get me wrong. Everything about Finn gives me butterflies. His size. His determination. His attitude. He’s hard and immovable, but that also makes him steady and dependable. Being near him makes me feel warm and alive, like falling asleep in the sunshine or writing a song without having to stretch for the melody. He feelsright.
I spin around and sweep my hair over one shoulder. “You need to undo the row of buttons down my back. They’re small and delicate, so go slow.”
Finn is still for so long that I wonder if he’s going to refuse, but then a floorboard creaks. He gets close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body, and then his warm exhalation hits the exposed nape of my neck. I close my eyes and wish away the goose bumps.
He’s surprisingly gentle and his movements are slow, but with the release of only the first few pearl buttons, the pressure around my ribs eases. I inhale deeply for the first time in hours and hold my hands to the front of the dress to keep the bodice in place as the fastenings pull free. The rise and fall of my chest are shallow and measured, patient and composed—until the firstbrush of Finn’s fingertips against my back. After that, I barely breathe at all.
I close my eyes as his touch ghosts over me and my imagination runs wild. Is hereallytracing the contours of my shoulder blades, the dip of my lower back, the curve of my hip, or do I only wish he would? The contact between us is there and gone so fast I can’t be sure I feel it, so I keep my eyes closed and pay attention, anticipating the places he might explore next.
Minutes pass, and afternoon is edging into early evening by the time my dress is completely undone. I clutch the corset tighter against my chest, a warm flush creeping up my neck and a shiver cascading to my toes as the fabric parts and bares my back completely. Finn gently tugs on the corset to loosen it the last inch. When he’s done, a single finger traces an unmistakable line along my spine, and my breath shakes.
He moves closer, enough that I feel his quiet rumble in my chest. “That’s all of them.”
His hand falls and he steps back, and although I’m disappointed at the distance he puts between us, I’m relieved to finally fill my lungs.
“Thank you,” I say over my shoulder.
Finn clears his throat. “No problem. I’ll be out on the porch—”
“Wait. We’re not done.” I turn to face him, bodice clutched to my front. “I need help with the sleeves.”
The way he nods is too patient and too accommodating, like he’s determined to suffer whatever torment I inflict, but at his side, his right hand opens and closes, fingers flexing once before he relaxes.
“All right,” he says. “What do you need?”
I glance around for the shirt he offered me earlier, swipe it from the back of the sofa, and clumsily hang it from my shoulders so it covers my breasts. Then I extend one arm andawkwardly shift the hand still holding my dress to stop it from slipping.
“Take a firm but gentle hold of the lace at my wrists,” I direct, “and kind of pull? Go slow or you might tear the fabric.”
Finn does as I ask, peeling one sleeve and then the other from my arms and letting them fall at my sides. One deep, heaving inhale later, the dress slips from my body and pools in a cloud around my feet.
With my hands clasping Finn’s shirt to my chest, and otherwise naked but for a simple cotton thong, I step out of the dress in one long stride. I almost lose my balance, but Finn’s hand shoots out to cup my elbow with a confident grip so unlike his uncertain touch.
“Oh my God,” I sigh. “It feels so good to be free.”
I’m talking about the dress, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they mean more than that.I’m free.
Finn clears his throat again, then drops his eyes as his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “You want to put that shirt on?”
Is that irritation edging his tone? I tilt my head with an insolent grin and twist a hip to give him a better look at my ass. “You don’t think you deserve a little payback for taking offyourclothes earlier?”
Finn is stoic, even when I pretend to fumble the shirt and nearly flash a boob.
“Oops.” I readjust the fabric over my shoulders, casting him a sideways glance to see ifthatbroke him. “Misjudged the juggle there.”
He crosses his arms like he’s about to tell me off, but then he just shakes his head and walks across the open-concept space to the small kitchen.
“Go ahead,” he says mildly before he sticks his head in the refrigerator. “Get dressed. I promise not to look.”
I believe him, but I still turn around as I shrug into his shirt. The hem brushes my knees, there’s loads of room around the middle, and the sleeves flop over my hands, so I roll them up. Once I’ve carefully arranged my wedding dress over the back of an armchair, I join Finn in the kitchen, sliding onto one of the two dining chairs at the little round table. Dakota lurches from the sofa, pads over, and curls herself around my feet. I wiggle my toes in thanks for the warmth.
“I’m decent,” I say. “It’s safe to come out now.”
