“Asshat.” I give his arm a slap. It’s like warm granite.

With an expansive sigh of contentment, Finn plops onto the couch, twists the top off his beer and takes a long drink. He sighs again and rests his head against the back of the couch. His lids lower like a relaxed cat’s. “Gotta admit,” he says in a near purr. “Coming home has never been this good.”

“Glad I could—” I yelp as he takes hold of my good wrist and tugs me onto the couch with him. “Easy there, Superman.”

Finn cuddles me up next to him, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Sorry. But you were standing there all twitchy and shifty like you’d been caught stealing or something.”

The laughter in his voice is unmistakable. And I elbow him, trying to ignore that his fingers have threaded through my hair, lightly stroking the strands.

“You colored your hair again,” he murmurs, playing with the tips that now have glints of teal, gold, green, and magenta playing in the black.

A shiver of pure pleasure goes through me. His body is warm and solid, and I’d like nothing better than to rest against it without care.

“It’s called an oil slick effect.” Why am I telling him this? He doesn’t care about color techniques.

But he lifts a whole section and slowly lets it sift through his fingers. “It brings out the green in your eyes.”

It feels good. Too good. And wrong. I don’t cuddle with James. I’ve never wanted to. I don’t cuddle with anyone. Ever.

What we’re doing here is dangerous. Because it would be so easy to turn my head and nuzzle the heated hollow of his throat, to lick a path up to the curve of his jaw and the soft turn of his lower lip. It would be as easy as taking a breath.

I’m living with him now. Hitting on my host is a definite faux pas. And stupid.

I edge away, causing Finn to frown slightly.

“Hey, Chess?”

I don’t like the quiet, serious tone of his voice. “Yes?”

“When are we—”

The doorbell rings. We both flinch as if snapping out of a daze, and then Finn glares at the door. “Who the hell?”

“You don’t get random visitors?” I tease, rising.

Finn sits forward on the couch. “They have to get past the doorman. My assistant Charlie has clearance, but I happen to know he’s hanging out with Rolondo and Woodson right now.”

The bell rings again.

“I’ll get it,” I tell him. “You have your beer. Dear.”

He smirks at that, but stands. “No, way. I don’t know who the hell got past security. I’m answering the door.”

We both go, bickering along the way. Which is ridiculous, but I can’t seem to let it go; I have this weird sense that Finn shouldn’t answer it.

But he does, swinging it open as if he’ll gladly pummel anyone who’s here with ill intent. That all changes when he sees the woman standing in the hall.

At his side, I halt, my skin prickling in shock. Because the woman is stunning. White-blonde, silky hair, ice blue eyes, tanned skin, and the kind of bone structure artists commit to marble. It’s my job to photograph women like her. And though I’ve never worked with this woman, I know who she is immediately. Britt Larrson. A supermodel whose face currently graces the cover of Vogue.

She and Finn stare at each other as if nothing else exists.

It drops the bottom out of me. These two are golden people. The kind of pairing that media and fans alike eat up and sigh over.

“Britt.” Finn’s voice is a rasp.

She leans toward him but stops, her gaze falling on me.

The back of my neck tightens. Finn flinches as if he’s forgotten I was there. I don’t blame him; if I liked women that way, I might have forgotten too.

“Britt. This is Chess. Chess, Britt.” It sounds like he’s chewing on nails.

She gives me the barest of nods. “Hello.”

“Chess is a photographer,” Finn says, as if explaining something.

I’m small time. And she knows it.

Britt’s features tighten a fraction. “Yes. The calendar photographer. I’ve heard. Must have been a big deal getting to shoot you and your team.”

Nice. I could say something snide. But it isn’t worth it. Finn looks as if he’d rather the floor swallow him whole. He still hasn’t moved back from the door or offered to let Britt in. She stands there awkwardly, clearly at a loss, and clearly expecting more.

“I was hoping we could talk,” she says then, another glance in my direction.

Finn straightens then as if coming out of a fog. “Ah…yeah.”

His neck is so stiff, I have to wonder if he’s actively trying not to look my way.

Enough is enough.

“I’m just headed out,” I announce, grabbing my purse and keys. Both of them thankfully sitting on the hall console. Then I remember my phone. “Let me just get my phone…”

I jog to the kitchen, my temples throbbing.

Finn and Britt haven’t moved from their spots by the door. But Finn frowns my way. “You don’t have to—” He shuts his mouth abruptly, then grimaces. “Thanks, Chess.”

The apology in his eyes irks. The hell if I’ll let him see that. I give Britt what I hope is a pleasant smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” she says with about as much sincerity.

She’s going to eat my cheese. I hate her.

I leave without looking back.

Chapter Ten

Finn

 

* * *

 

My feet seem to have grown roots. I can’t make them move. My body is one dull throb of old pain and new shock. Dimly, I take note of Chess walking out, her dark, glossy hair swaying like an agitated ribbon down her back.

Don’t go.

I want to call her back. It would be easier that way. I could shut the door on Britt’s face and tuck Chess back against my side. But that’s the coward’s way out.

Britt makes a small sound, and I snap out of my fog. My parents taught me better than this.

“Come in.” I step back to let her pass.

She leaves a trail of expensive and too flowery perfume. That scent stuck to my skin and gave me a headache when I’d fucked her.

Not something I want to think about.

I follow her into the living room, watch her as she strolls around, taking in the space. When Chess had done the same, I’d been filled with a strange need for her to be pleased, to like my place. With Britt, I just want her to spit out why the hell she is here.