Sweet Little Lies: Heartbreaker Bay Book 1 Read online

Okaaay. Pru gestured to her open door. Mrs. Winslow let herself in, unlatched the dumbwaiter door and removed a . . . platter of brownies?

  Pru’s mouth watered as Mrs. Winslow smiled, gave a quick “thanks” and exited the apartment, heading for her own.

  “Those look amazing,” Pru said, hoping for an invite to take one.

  Or two.

  Or as many as she could stuff into her mouth.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Winslow said with a negative head shake. “These are . . . special brownies.”

  Pru blinked and then looked at Finn, who appeared to be fighting a smile. “Special brownies?” she repeated, unable to believe that Mrs. Winslow really meant what she thought she meant.

  “Yes,” the older woman said. “And you’re not of age, or I’d share.”

  “Mrs. Winslow, I’m twenty-six.”

  Mrs. Winslow smiled. “I meant over sixty-five.”

  And then she vanished into her own apartment.

  Finn gently nudged Pru into hers, which answered the unspoken question. He was coming in. Into her apartment.

  And, if her heart had any say at all, into her life.

  Chapter 15

  #Doh

  Finn dropped both duffel bags and the deli bag on Pru’s kitchen counter and then turned to her. “Okay, time to play doctor.”

  Her entire body quivered, sending “yes please” vibes to her brain. Luckily her mouth intercepted them. “Sure, if I can be the doctor.”

  His mouth curved. “I’m willing to take turns, but me first.”

  Oh boy. “Really, I’m fine. I think I just need a shower.”

  “Do you want something to drink? I could call down to the pub and—”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I wasn’t talking about alcohol,” he said. “I already know you don’t drink.”

  There weren’t many who would so easily accept such a thing without some sort of question. People wanted and expected others to drink socially when they did. Usually whenever she politely declined, the interrogation inevitably started. Not even one little drink? Or what’s up with that, are you an alcoholic?

  Pru couldn’t imagine actually being an alcoholic and facing that kind of inquisition with class and grace, but the truth was that she didn’t drink because her parents had. A lot. They’d been heavy social drinkers. She didn’t know if they’d had an actual problem or had just loved to party, but she did know it had killed them.

  And that had quenched her thirst for alcohol at an early age.

  But Finn didn’t push. “How about something warm?” he asked. “Like a hot chocolate?”

  She felt her heart squeeze in her chest for his easy acceptance. “Maybe after my shower.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the counter like he planned on waiting for her. Not knowing how to deal with that, she nodded back and headed for the bathroom. She shut and locked the door and then stared at that lock for a good sixty seconds, because did she really want to lock him out? No. She wanted him to join her, the steam drifting across their wet bodies as he picked her up, pressed her against the shower wall and buried himself deep.

  Ignoring her wobbly knees, she left the lock in place, shaking her head at herself. Apparently it’d been too long since her last social orgasm and while she handled her own business just fine, her business was clearly getting bored with herself.

  Stripping out of her clothes involved peeling her shirt from the torn skin of her elbows, not a super pleasurable experience. Same for her knees and her jeans. Naked, she took inventory. Two bloody knees, one bloody elbow and a bloody chin.

  When she was little and got hurt, her mom would hug her tight and then blow on her cuts and bruises and whisper “see, not so bad . . .”

  It’d been a long time, but there were moments like right now where she would’ve traded her entire world away for a hug like that again. She looked at her bruised, bloody self in the mirror and took a deep breath. “See, not so bad,” she whispered and got into the shower.

  She made it quick, partly because as she ran soap all over her body, she only ramped herself up, but mostly because her various road rashes burned like hell. But also because as she soaped up, she couldn’t help but think of Finn standing in her kitchen, arms casually crossed, pose casual, his mood anything but.

  Waiting for her.

  Her good parts quivered so she turned the water off, going from overheated to chilled in a single heartbeat. With her bad parts stinging and her good parts throbbing, she stepped out of the shower.

  At the knock at the door, she nearly had a stroke.

  “How bad is it?” Finn asked through the wood.

  She yanked her towel off the rack and wrapped it around herself, her hair dripping along her shoulders and down her back. “Not bad.” Her voice sounded low and husky, and damn . . . inviting. She cleared her throat. “Not bad at all.”

  “I want to see.” He tried the handle. “Let me in, Pru.”

  Her hand mutinied and unlocked the door, but didn’t go as far as to actually open it for him. She couldn’t because dammit, he was already in. In her head, her veins, all of her secret happy places, and, she suspected, her heart.

  Finn pushed the door open and stood there, eyes scanning her slowly, his body stilling as he realized she was in just a towel.

  He took what looked like a deep breath and stepped the rest of the way in, a first-aid kit in his hand. “Had this in my bag,” he said and set it on the countertop to the left of the sink. Turning to her, he put his hands to her waist and lifted her, setting her on the right side of the sink.

  Ignoring her squeak of surprise, he opened up his kit, fingered his way through, and came up with gauze and antiseptic. Turning toward her, he sprayed and then bandaged up her elbows, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. When he’d finished there, he crouched low.

  With another surprised squeak, Pru pressed her legs together and tugged at the bottom of her towel, trying to make sure it covered the goods.

  This got her an almost smile as he went about doctoring up both knees, using the spray again, keeping his eyes on his work, his big, strong, capable hands moving with quick, clinical efficiency.

  Pru occupied herself and her nerves by watching the way his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders and back, every muscle rippling as he moved. His head was bent to her, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his long, dark lashes hiding his thoughts.

  Fine with her, as she was having enough thoughts for the both of them, the number one being—if she relaxed her very tense thighs even a fraction, he’d be able to see straight up to the promised land.

  The thought made her dizzy but she told herself it was the spray giving her a head rush.

  Because actually, there was something incredibly erotic about that, her being nude beneath the towel and him being fully dressed. But she was all too aware that not only was she a wreck on the inside, she was looking the part.

  His concentration shifted from what he was doing, his gaze cutting to hers. Reaching out he brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Why are you blushing?”

  “I’m not.”

  He arched a brow.

  “I’m a mess,” she blurted out.

  He rose at that, brushing his hands from her ankles up the backs of her calves, resting just behind her knees for a beat before giving a little tug, sliding her forward on the counter toward him.

  Her legs parted of their own volition and he stepped between them, leaning in close at the same time, his body heat warming her up. His arms slid around her hips, snugging her closer as his lips gently brushed hers. Then those lips made their way along her jawline to just beneath her ear, trailing tiny kisses as he then worked his way down her throat.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “A beautiful mess.”

  She choked out a laugh.

  “You are,” he said against her shoulder now. “So beautiful you take my breath away.” Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes letting her see