Red-Hot Honeymoon: The Honeymoon Arrangement / Marriage in Name Only? / The Honeymoon That Wasn't. Debbi Rawlins
brief touch on her shoulder had her jumping and she whirled around. Finn. She put her hand on her heart and managed a smile.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you—you were miles away.’ He held a beer bottle loosely in his hand; his other was in the pocket of his jeans. He had a couple of masculine leather and bead bracelets on one wrist and a high-tech watch on the other.
‘Hi.’ Callie waved him to an empty chair at her table and looked past him into the restaurant. ‘Where’s Rowan?’
‘She met someone she knew at the bar.’ Finn yanked the chair out and sat down, stretching his longs legs out in front of him. ‘You okay?’
‘Shouldn’t I be asking that of you?’ Callie replied. She leaned forward and asked softly, gently, ‘What happened with your fiancée?’
Pain flickered in and out of his eyes. ‘You are the nosiest woman I’ve ever met,’ he complained, after taking a long pull of his beer.
‘I am—but that doesn’t mean I’m not deeply sorry that it happened. Besides, men usually love talking about themselves,’ Callie replied.
‘Not this one,’ Finn replied.
Okay. Back off now, Hollis. Give him some space. ‘Can Rowan help you sort out the mess of cancelling the wedding?’
‘Luckily, she can. I was just going through the final non-arrangements with her; people are sympathetic but they still need to be paid. Understandable, since pretty much everything that needed to be ordered has already been ordered.’
‘I bet Rowan refused to be paid,’ Callie said on a small smile. ‘She has a heart as big as the sun.’
Finn nodded. ‘She did, but she will be—just like everyone else. It’s not her fault that things went pear-shaped.’
Pear-shaped? Callie lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Pretty tame word for being jilted. ‘So, what happened?’ she probed again. Yeah, she was nosy—but this man needed to talk … he needed a friend. Who wouldn’t, in his situation? She might be nosy but she could also be a damn good listener.
Finn shook his head. ‘I know that you use your eyes as weapons of interrogation, but I’m not going to go there with you.’
Fair enough, Callie thought. He had a right to his secrets. She just hoped that he had someone to talk to—to work this through with.
Finn rolled his head in an effort to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He tapped his index finger against his thigh. ‘I can tell you that my biggest hassle is that I landed a pretty sweet gig—writing articles about the best honeymoon destinations in Southern Africa. Liz and I were going to spend three weeks travelling … a few days at each destination. My publisher is not going to be happy that I’m doing it solo.’
Callie leaned forward and made a performance of batting her eyelashes. ‘Take me—I’ll be your substitute wife.’
Finn managed a small grin. ‘I’m violently allergic to the word “wife”—even a pretend one.’
‘Well, at least you’d be miserable in comfort.’
‘If I end up keeping the assignment—which I very well might not.’ Finn ran his hands over his short hair and blew out his breath. ‘So, tell me why you’re sitting here in the dark instead of causing chaos in the bar?’
Callie could clearly see that he’d closed the door on any further discussion about his non-wedding. She looked down into her drink and wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not in the mood to be …’
‘Hit on all night?’
‘That too. And someone walked in about fifteen minutes ago who I kind of said I might call. We made plans to have supper, then I had to fly to Milan on short notice—’
‘Fashion-buying emergency?’
Callie lifted her nose at him in response to his gentle sarcasm. ‘Something like that. And I lost his number, and I’m …’
‘Not that interested any more?’
She bit her lip. ‘Yeah. Not that interested.’ She looked out across the ocean to the silver moon that hung low in the sky. She saw the craters, picked out the shape of the rabbit, and sighed.
When she dropped her head her eyes met Finn’s and impulsively she reached out and tangled her fingers in his. She ignored the flash of heat, the rocketing attraction. It wasn’t the time or the place.
‘I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m so sorry for whatever happened that’s put such sadness in your eyes.’
Finn licked his lips before staring at the ocean. ‘Well, it’s not rocket science. I was supposed to be getting married in less than two weeks.’
Callie shook her head, knowing that whatever it was that had mashed up his heart it was more than just losing his ex. ‘I think that getting over her will be a lot easier than getting over whatever else has happened.’
Finn’s eyes widened and she was surprised when he managed a low, harsh chuckle. He picked at the label on his bottle, not meeting her eyes. ‘We changed our minds, decided that marriage wasn’t what we wanted—that’s all that happened.’
No, it wasn’t. But Callie wasn’t going to argue with him. ‘Well, I am so, so sorry—because it’s hurt you badly.’
And for some strange reason the thought of you being hurt makes me feel physically ill.
Finn stood up abruptly and Callie turned to see Rowan approaching them. Finn surprised her when he bent down and kissed her cheek, taking a moment to whisper in her ear.
‘Callie, you are part witch and part angel and all sexy. I’m leaving before I say or do anything stupid around you.’
Callie inhaled his aftershave and couldn’t help rubbing her cheek against his stubble. ‘Like …?’
‘Like suggesting that you come home with me.’
His comment wasn’t unexpected, and she knew men well enough to know that he was looking for a distraction—a way to step out of the nightmare he was currently experiencing.
Ah, dammit! She wanted to say yes, but she wasn’t going to be any man’s panacea for pain—even one as sexy as this. If they slept together she wanted it to be because he wanted her beyond all reason and not just to dull the pain, to forget, to step outside his life.
She had to be sensible and she forced the words out. ‘Sorry, Finn, that’s really not a good idea.’
Finn raked his hand through his hair. ‘I know …’He held her eyes and shrugged. ‘I really do know. Rowan, hi—I was just leaving …’
A HALF HOUR LATER Finn tossed down the keys to his house and stared at the coffee-coloured tiles beneath his feet for a moment. Blowing air into his cheeks, he walked through the hall and down the passage to the kitchen, yanked open the double-door fridge and pulled out a beer.
Looking over to the open-plan couch area, he saw the pillow and sheet he’d left on the oatmeal-coloured couch. He’d spent the last few nights on that couch, not sleeping. He couldn’t sleep in the bedroom—and not only because he no longer had a mattress on the bed.
Finn rubbed his forehead with the base of the cold bottle, hoping to dispel the permanent headache that had lodged in his brain since last week. Tuesday.
Along with the headache, the same horror film ran on the big screen in his mind …
God, there had been so much blood. As long as he lived he’d remember that bright red puddle on the sheets, Liz grunting beside him, as white as a sheet. He remembered