Neck & Neck (32 page)

Natalie maneuvered herself to sitting, her efforts not as graceful as she would have liked, because she wanted to ensure the sheet was wrapped around all her parts that needed to be covered, on account of she was sure she’d be feeling more naked than ever after he said what he had to say. Although she mimicked his pose, leaning back against the headboard, one look at his face made her gaze ricochet away again, landing on the empty ice bucket on the other side of the room. She almost smiled when she realized where her attention had fallen. It was the perfect image for how she was feeling at the moment. Empty and icy and unnecessary.

“Talk?” she echoed, trying to inject a lightness into her voice that even she could tell fell flat. “About what?”

“About what happened last night,” he answered immediately.

“We don’t have to talk about that,” she assured him. “You made everything crystal clear last night before we even started.”

“Yeah, I did,” he agreed. “And yet you seem to have misinterpreted everything.”

“No, it wasn’t that I misinterpreted,” she said. “It was that I was mistaken.”

He eyed her curiously. “Mistaken? About what?”

“About . . .” She punctuated the single word with a weary sigh and looked down at her hands, tangled anxiously in the sheets. “About too many things to go into,” she finally finished. “It’s okay, Finn, really. I understand.”

He said nothing for a moment, then, in a voice that was soft and solicitous and completely different from the frosty tone he’d had before, he asked, “Do you? Because I’m not sure I do.”

That made her look up at him again, and for the briefest of moments, there was something in his face and in the hollows of his eyes that completely belied the cool aloofness he’d displayed until now. Something haunted and yearning and fearful, something completely at odds with the self-assured, disciplined, no-nonsense man he presented to the world. Something she hadn’t seen in him before now. Something she wanted very much to bring out.

But the moment passed, and the shutters slammed shut, and all that was left was stark detachment. He was back to being the man she’d met in the lobby of the Brown Hotel that first day, the one who worked for Russell Mulholland and took his job—and pretty much everything else—very seriously. The one who was suspicious and wary and un-trusting of everyone. He wasn’t the man who had held her so tenderly the night before. Or the one who had revealed snippets of himself and his past in his room the other night. Or the one who had called her house cozy and made it feel that way.

That was the man she’d made love with last night. The man sitting beside her this morning was the other one. He was the one who’d had sex with her. And he was the one Finn wanted—maybe even needed—to be.

“You know, I don’t get you, Finn,” she said, once more speaking her thoughts aloud, unable to keep them to herself. “It’s like there’s this switch inside you that you can flick on and off to be whatever suits your needs.”

He did respond to that, though only by arrowing his dark brows downward and narrowing his eyes. Part of Natalie thought he looked angry. Another part of her thought he looked hurt.

Ridiculous, she told herself. Men who spent their days being wary and suspicious weren’t capable of feeling hurt.

“Flick the switch on,” she continued, “and you’re head of security for Russell Mulholland, a man who thinks everyone in the world is a threat. Flick the switch down, and you’re an honest-to-God human being who talks about the mistakes he’s made in life and what he’d like to do with the rest of it.” She turned more fully to face him. “Last night—”

“Last night,” he interrupted, “you and I both wanted something and, conveniently, were both in a position to provide. That’s all last night was. An itch. A scratch. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” she assured him. “In fact, I think maybe I remember better than you do. You think all we were to each other last night was convenient?”

He nodded once. Warily. Of course. “Among other things.”

Oh, she couldn’t wait to hear the rest of this. She hadn’t thought he could make her feel any worse. But, wow, he was on a roll. Not able to hide her resentment, she snapped, “Well, gee, Finn, don’t stop there. Tell me what else we were to each other last night besides convenient.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “No way are you going to pull me into a conversation like this.”

“Hey, you’re already in it, pal. And you’re the one who said we needed to talk.”

“Not like this,” he countered. “Not where you’re going to deliberately misconstrue everything I say and then feel insulted by what you think I’m saying.”

“Oh, right. I guess there are a million interpretations of the words
convenient
,
itch
, and
scratch
, aren’t there? And I suppose most women would find it unbelievably flattering to be considered any of those things.”

“Hey, I called myself convenient to you, too. I said I was a scratch for your itch.”

“Then I shouldn’t be insulted,” she deduced, “because you diminished not just me, but both of us, is that it?”

“See?” he said, oozing exasperation now. “You’re deliberately misunderstanding what I’m trying to say.”

“Then say it in a way that will make me understand.”

He blew out another one of those aggravated breaths. Then, very carefully, he began, “I think it’s fair to say that ever since you and I met that day in the hotel lobby, we’ve rubbed sparks off each other.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair, Natalie thought. So she dipped her head forward in acknowledgment once.

“I think you’re sexy as hell, and I’m reasonably certain you find me attractive, too.”

Agreed, she thought. But she pulled a Finn on him and didn’t say a word to either agree or disagree.

So he continued, “We managed to keep our distance until last night, when for whatever reason, and I don’t know what reason that is,” he hurried on before she could ask him, “maybe it was our shared desire to get as far away from Waterman as possible, or maybe it was just that Venus and Mars were all right last night. But for
some
reason, last night, we both gave in and let nature take its course.” He met her gaze levelly. “And nature took us to some pretty amazing places.”

True enough, she conceded again. But where he didn’t seem to know the reason for that, she did. It had happened because she’d seen enough of him to know she liked him. Respected him. Trusted him. Wanted him. She’d assumed he felt the same way about her. Clearly, she shouldn’t have assumed anything. But she still couldn’t believe he honestly thought there had been nothing more to their joining than primitive animal attraction.

Before she could say that, however, he was talking again. “Look, Natalie, you and I met less than a week ago. I hardly know anything about you. Hell, for all I know, the only reason you slept with me last night was to use me in an effort to get closer to Russell.”

She gaped at that, both incredulous and outraged. He was talking like they’d met in the bar the night before and hopped into the sack after sharing a drink without even exchanging names. He knew tons about her. He knew where she lived. What kind of car she drove. He knew she had a cat named Zippy and where she kept her phone book. He knew she liked hockey and that she’d gone to Wellesley. That she owned an event-planning business and had made her debut. The list could go on and on. He knew way more about her than she knew about him, and he still didn’t care for her the way she did him. But obviously he’d either not been paying attention, had already forgotten, or just plain didn’t care about the bits of her life she’d shared with him.

And even if he didn’t remember any of those things, he should sure as hell have realized by now that she wouldn’t use him the way he’d just suggested. He should have known her well enough to like, respect, and trust her, too.

Wow. Guess he was right. Guess they didn’t know each other, after all.

More in an effort to burn off some of her own anger than to further what was fast moving from a tense conversation to an angry fight, she said, “And, hell, for all I know, the only reason you slept with me last night was because you want to keep me from telling the world about Russell Mulholland’s dirty little secret.”
Whatever it is,
she added halfheartedly to herself.

She had intended to further make the point that she didn’t know or care whether Russell had a secret, and that even if he did, Finn could trust her, the way she trusted him. But the look that came over his face when she said what she did—one of disbelief, terror, and outright rage—halted her. As did the lightning-fast way he reached across the bed and grabbed her by both upper arms, hauling her against himself until they were literally eye to eye. She grappled with the sheet before it could fall to her waist, but his fingers bit tighter into her arms until she gasped and let it go. “Finn, you’re hurting me,” she whispered, fear welling in her belly.

He immediately loosened his grip enough that she could pull the sheet up over her breasts again, but he didn’t let go of her. He did seem to notice her need to keep herself covered, however, and something akin to apology flickered in his eyes at the realization.

Nevertheless, his voice was part growl, part threat, when he demanded, “Who told you about Mac—” But he halted before saying anything more, looking sorry he’d said even that much. Instead, he said, “What makes you think Russell has a dirty little secret, Natalie?”

Gee, she hadn’t thought that, not really. Not until Finn reacted the way he did. Evidently, she’d been right to be suspicious of the selective results her Google search on Russell’s name had generated. But it wasn’t Russell’s name that popped into her head at Finn’s question. His first one. He hadn’t cut himself off with a shortened version of Russell’s name. He’d cut himself off with a shortened version of Mac Somebody.

No, she realized then. Not Mac. He hadn’t cut off the last part of a name. He’d cut off the last sound. The
s
sound.

Max. He’d been talking about Russell’s son.

“Max?” she asked, puzzled. “Max is the one with a secret? But he’s just a kid.”

She hadn’t thought it possible, but Finn went even more livid at that. “I never said a word about Max.”

“You said Mac. There’s no Mac in Russell’s life.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve made it my business to find out as much as I can about your employer,” she reminded him. “There’s no Mac in his employ as far as I can tell. But there’s Max. His son.” She paused for another one of those point-making moments, then added, “His son, whom you are also employed to protect.”

Finn set Natalie carefully down, placing her back on the opposite side of the bed, as far from himself as he could. But his gaze never once left hers. His cheeks were stained with evidence of his still simmering anger, and his chest rose and fell in slow, measured motion, as if he were trying very, very,
very
hard to keep his temper under control.

So there was a Mulholland secret to protect, Natalie thought. It just wasn’t Russell Mulholland’s. It was his son’s. His son who, at fourteen, was at an age where a secret was best kept in the family. Where, if the rest of the world found out and began to hound him about it, could affect his young, not fully developed self in a way that might not be nearly as devastating or as hard to fend off as it would be to an adult. Finn’s anger now was in response to what he perceived as a threat to a fourteen-year-old boy. It had nothing to do with Natalie. And somehow, that just made her love him—or something—all the more.

“Finn,” she said, her voice softer, calmer, and in no way angry now. “I don’t know anything about Max other than that he’s Russell’s son. Even if I did find out about him whatever it is you and Russell are protecting, you have to realize that I would never,
ever
betray it to anyone else.”

“Why do I have to realize that?” he asked, his voice flat and empty now.

Well, she would have liked to think it was because he trusted her. But hadn’t she already realized that was impossible for him?

“Do you honestly think I’m only here with you like this now because I want to get closer to Russell?” she asked, returning to the place where they’d gotten sidetracked.

He said nothing, only met her gaze levelly, his jaw set tight.

“Do you?” she asked again.

“I don’t know, Natalie,” he finally said. “That’s just the point.”

She nodded, a quick, jerky action, her anger returning again. Anger that Finn couldn’t see what was right in front of his face. Anger that he could think the worst of her. Anger that he didn’t even want to try to explore whatever was happening between them. Because no matter what he said, and no matter what he denied, there was something happening between them. And if he’d just give it even the tiniest chance, it might be something wonderful for both of them.

But he couldn’t do that, she reminded herself. Doing that would mean putting his trust in someone. And trust was the one thing Finn had in very short supply.

“I see,” she said, keeping her voice calm and soft when inside she felt anything but. “Well, there’s one thing I
do
know about you. I know you’re a rat, Finn Guthrie. Because only a rat would have sex with a woman without even knowing the reason why. Only a rat would experience what you and I experienced last night and wake up in the morning still not trusting the other person.” She chuckled mirth lessly at that. “But then, what does that make me, since I made love with a man I trusted completely and woke up still trusting him? And now I discover he’s someone I never should have trusted at all.”

She didn’t wait for an answer to that. Instead, she jerked the sheet off of Finn, ignoring both his nudity and his seeming lack of concern for it, and proceeded to collect her clothing from the numerous places it had dropped onto the floor. He didn’t say a word as she went about her task, but she didn’t know if that was because he didn’t know what to say or because he thought the conversation had come to the end it should have naturally reached. It didn’t matter, though. The only thing that mattered was that Finn Guthrie was a man who couldn’t trust anyone and who never would trust anyone.