Love and Rumors: A Summer Sisters Beach Reads Contemporary Romance (The Summer Sisters Book 1) (6 page)

Finn stared straight ahead, ignoring the offer. Austin was not the kind of paparazzo he would collaborate with. For one, you had to trust the photographer not to sell you out when you were creating a story together. He’d rather take the time to create a paparazzo out of Nature Nut than shake hands with this guy.

“I have many happy celebrity clients. I can provide references if need be.”

“Then why aren’t you working for them right now?” Finn said, turning to stare down the large man.

“This guy bothering you, Mr. Alexander?” the bartender asked, his beefy arms folded across his puffed out chest.

“Just leaving.”

Finn slipped a twenty into the tip jar after Austin hurried out, letting the bar’s screen door slap in his wake. Finn held his breath, staring at the closed door, wondering what to do. What step to take next. It was a scriptless choose-your-own-adventure, and he was at a crossroads, unable to read ahead and figure out which path he ultimately wanted.

He should return to Hollywood.

Instead, he made himself comfortable and ordered another rye and Coke.

“No scotch on the rocks?” the bartender joked, referring to Finn’s famous character in the action series
Man versus War
.

Finn gave him a polite smile and a silent
no
. He guessed Daniel Craig, Pierce Brosnan, and Sean Connery had to put up with a lot of martinis—shaken, not stirred—so he could put up with a few scotches on the rocks.

Scanning the bar, he searched for a rowdy group of young men who could swoop him into their festivities, building things up until he’d caused enough trouble to get sold to the celebrity magazines and websites. The bar was filling up, happy hour starting, red maple leaves stamped on faces. But no rowdy men full of testosterone.

He yawned and fought the temptation to go back to his kitschy cottage. He supposed the one good thing about being a bad boy was that trouble usually came knocking. Fame, fortune, and good looks equaled anything he wanted. All he had to do was wait. Wait for it to come through the bar’s screen door.

And right now some narrow hips were swaying toward him, and his body perked up. Strange. He usually preferred a fuller figure. Why was this beanpole grabbing his attention?

Beanpole.

His eyes crept up the familiar outfit.

The photographer.

She was back.

He spun back to the bar, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he rubbed his cheek absently. Hours later, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her slender palm. He lifted his cold glass to the handprint and turned farther from the door. The condensation seeped through his five o’clock shadow, the coolness a comfort.

Why hadn’t his stubble been irresistible to her? He knew his blue eyes shone straight out from his face when he was unshaved. He was primal. Real. As irresistible as a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies outside a pothouse.

Damn sexy. And yet she’d rejected him as if he was a high school loser and she was the prom queen.

He
was supposed to be the prom king, making her weak at the knees.
She
was supposed to be just some girl who was happy he’d looked her way. But instead, she’d balked when he’d acted like a pushy alpha who was hungry for one thing and expected to get it.

But there’d been something about the way Nature Nut had reacted that stirred his blood in a way Finn’s ex-girlfriend never had. Was it the challenge? The fire within her? The lack of vapidness? This photographer was nothing like Jessica. At first Jess’s plastic perfect appearance had thrilled him.
She
wanted
him
. But as time wore on, her fake breasts and piles of makeup had started to repulse him. Yet everyone else found her beautiful.

Maybe that’s why he was so turned on by his nature nut. It was her realness. She was the opposite of Hollywood, and every emotion played across her face like a Hot List actor earning her Oscar.

Wait…

His
nature nut?

He rubbed his jaw. Canada was getting to him.

Oh, hell. She settled beside him, making him sympathize with the way Miss Muffet felt when the spider sat down beside her.

“I’m not going to slap you,” she announced, after ordering a draft beer.

“Okay.” His voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat. He needed to regain control. Though he wanted rub against her long, bare legs like a homeless kitten, he knew he had to play a role. Be cool. Intriguing. Debonair.

But she hadn’t liked Mr. Hotshot earlier, and chances were she’d hate any role he put on—anything that was less than real.

Finn gripped the bar and rubbed his jaw again. He was screwed.

“I came to apologize,” she said, her voice flat.

He spun on his stool to face her. She looked lost, defeated, rejected. Not at all like the fiery woman who had escaped him earlier. He wanted to pull her into a hug to feel her small body against his and make her smile. Make those worries not quite hidden in her eyes flit away like a cloud of butterflies.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he said, trying to keep the slur out of his words. Damn. Why did he have so many drinks?

He placed a hand on the bar and leaned toward her. “I’m not the man you’ve seen in the tabloids. I’m not the man you met hours ago.” He turned away. He was already blowing this chance. He was slurring. Obviously there was something wrong with him. Seriously wrong.

“Don’t play me,” she said, staring at him with serious blue eyes. “I know you don’t have a twin brother.”

He scratched his head warily, buying for time as he worked to hide the emotions associated with him having a twin brother. The public didn’t know about his twin, Julian, and they certainly didn’t know about that fateful night when, just a block from home, Finn had lost the man he’d shared a womb with for nine months and a bedroom for sixteen and a half years. “Sorry?”

“Don’t lie to me and don’t play the role of caring gentleman. I can see it coming and I don’t like it. I’d prefer you be straight-up honest. Be who you really are.”

“Oh.” He pushed his sweaty glass away, contemplating her words. That should be easy. Except he didn’t know who he was. He knew who he used to be and who he was becoming, thanks to Derek’s hard work. But who he was at this exact point in time…that was difficult to pin down.

“So, I’m sorry.” She pushed away from the bar, her beer in hand. A pang of loneliness hit Finn harder than a Jean-Claude Van Damme punch to the gut.

“No.” He grabbed her arm a little too tightly. “I’m sorry. Please. Stay.” He gestured to the stool she’d slipped off. “Finish your beer. I promise I won’t manhandle you.”

She cautiously slid back onto it.

He grinned and leaned toward her as though sharing a secret. “Unless you ask me to.”

The way she turned, looking shocked and prim, made him laugh. He liked this woman. All uptight and responsible and
real.
He wanted the beauty of her. He wanted real life with her, right here, right now.

Wow. He really needed a vacation if that’s the way he was thinking.

Finn shook his head at himself and leaned on the bar. “So, what do you want in life?” May as well start with the core of who this woman was, and work his way out. He wanted to know everything.

Not because he was interested, but because he needed to discover her point of weakness. That’s all. A character study, so he’d know how to get her to work with him. A means to an end. A business proposition. Nothing tangled and complicated, or real and deep, such as love or infatuation.

She looked taken aback and kept sneaking glances at him. Judging. Assessing.

Finally, when he thought she’d never reply, she spun on her stool, facing him full on. “I want life and everyone in it to back the hell off so I can make my art. Full-time. That’s what I want.”

Finn smiled as her body language continued to challenge him. His smile faded when the impact of her words scraped at him like barbed wire. What she wanted felt a little close to home.

He’d wished for the same thing when he’d left film school. After hours of looking up his own ass in acting class, he’d wanted to let loose, make art and be someone. In the end, about to starve, and facing the prospect of returning home a big loser, he’d gone with what paid—action flicks. He liked action flicks, don’t get him wrong. But he wasn’t creating anything more than light entertainment that would be forgotten a few hours later. He wasn’t changing lives or making a statement other than watch out, gas explodes when you’re on the big screen and bad guys pop out of nowhere.

But what was causing those worry lines around Nature Nut’s eyes? Who needed to back off? When she turned away, her face a mask of agony, he realized he’d waited too long to acknowledge her confession.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m just in a mood,” she said.

“I’m staying at the White Pine Cottages and Estates. Nice place. The Sunflower Cottage. Little sunflower cutouts on it.”

“Are you hinting—again—that you’d like to show me your bed?”

Finn choked on his drink. What was it about this girl that kept turning him around?

“I was just thinking, with you a photographer and all…” He paused to clear his throat, and to choose his next words wisely.

She froze as if a polar ice cap had been dumped on her, encasing her. She didn’t move, even to breathe, as she waited for him to finish his sentence.

He gently poked her in the arm and lowered his voice. “I thought you could, you know, take some private photos of me.”

“I don’t do
that
kind of work.” Her voice was cold, her eyes unblinking.

“It’s good money.”

“Who said I needed money or was a photographer?”

“You okay?” He waved a hand in front of her face. Her cheeks were red, her eyes flashing, but behind it all he saw panic. “I’ve seen you around, snapping photos, and I thought maybe you could, you know, help a guy out.” He was talking too fast, sounded nervous.

“I don’t want to photograph you in the nude, okay?” She stood, cheeks flushed.

People turned, gasping and laughing. He was certain at least half of them were wishing they’d caught that outburst on film.

Finn snagged Hailey by the arm as she drew it back as though contemplating throwing her beer in his face. “I wasn’t implying that. Geez. Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant publicity stuff.” He released her, turning back to the bar, eyes averted. “Do you photograph nature? There’s cool wildlife around here.”

She was still standing there, ready to attack, although her beer arm was beginning to slacken.

“Like those haunting birds and that turtle with the yellow spots?” He watched her out of the corner of his eyes. Waiting. She was recalculating. “They’re probably less difficult than working with a movie star.”

“Black shell?”

“Yeah.” He dared meet her eyes. The pissed-off look had been replaced with curiosity. “Kind of funky undercarriage. Orangey. With black.”

She leaned forward, one hand on the bar, her eyes bright and focused. “Where did you see it?”

Seriously? This woman got off on reptiles. He’d have to remember that.

“In the marsh back there.” He waved a hand vaguely.

“They’re endangered. I’ve been trying to spot one for years. My sister needs to prove they’re in the area.” The photographer gave him a peeved look. “They’ve just finished nesting so don’t go stomping around wherever. You’ll squash their eggs.”

He held up his hands. “I stay on the rocks when I’m in the marsh and on shore I follow the paths.”

“Good.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he felt the need to prove he wasn’t some city-slicker movie star who would stomp on endangered eggs.

“Strange birds you’ve got, though.” Finn gave a shiver. “What are those ones that look like an anorexic black-and-white duck?”

She choked on a laugh as she took her stool again. “That would probably be the loon.” She made a quivering, high-pitched call. “Like that?”

Okay, that sound really shouldn’t turn him on, but it did.

“Yeah, like a scared, high-pitched owl crossed with something insane.”

Smiling at his description, she pulled out a one-dollar coin and held it up. “The loonie. Named for the loon shown on the front.” She turned to the bartender and called, “Jamie? You got an elastic?”

He shot one to her and she snatched it out of the air, and began wrangling her curls into some sort of bun as she gave him a look. “Honestly, Jamie, you’d think you were my brother the way you treat me. Trying to hit me with an elastic.”

The bartender propped himself on the bar. “And that’s a problem how?” He had one of those knowing smiles that made Finn think the man might be competition if he hadn’t just received a “brother” comment.

Jamie moved to the other end of the bar after getting a playful slap from Nature Nut and Finn studied the coin in his hand, pretending not to watch as she exposed a sweeping, pale neck. She was gorgeous. He turned the coin over and handed it back. “That’s the bird. What’s the story on the toonie? Aren’t there polar bears on it?”

“Well, it’s the two-dollar coin,” she said, as if that explained things.

He scratched his head, thinking. Yeah. “That makes no sense.”

“Who said it has to make sense?” She shot him a grin.

He let out a half laugh. Behind him, he could sense a few locals, waiting for him to turn their way so they could smile and say hi, get in on the jokes. Not now. Didn’t they see he was picking up a lady? The two of them were finally having a conversation that didn’t involve violence on her part. He was getting somewhere.

“Show me some of your photos,” he suggested.

She pulled out her phone, then, with cheeks flaming, tucked it into her bag and, instead, slid a glossy postcard his way.

“What kind of photos do you do?” he asked carefully, not looking at the card, trying to figure out why she wouldn’t show him her phone. Nude selfies for a boyfriend? He didn’t like that idea. Not one bit.

“That kind.” She nudged the card.

“Any portraits?” He kept his eyes on hers, but she refused to look at him.

She shrugged. “Only when I’m hard up for cash.”

He scratched his cheek, studying her card. “This is an unusual shot.” The contrast of light and dark, the way she’d used the deer’s fur as texture. It could easily be just another photo of a deer, but she’d somehow made the buck feel real, alive, and as though he might turn his head, step out of the card and give Finn a shove with his antlers. That, he knew, took talent. Patience. Knowing your equipment. The light. The timing.