13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Finley

M y favorite part of staying at Midas and Jeslyn's place is the indoor lap pool. It's about five feet deep, at least thirty feet long, and just wide enough for two people to swim side-by-side. Seriously, how rich do you have to be to have an indoor pool in a New York penthouse? Yeah, my brother-in-law is that filthy rich.

Guess that explains why people would want to kidnap me and blackmail him.

Hey, at least someone wants me. A dark laugh bubbles from my lips, but is interrupted by the sound of the door. It startles me so badly I end up inhaling water and having a coughing attack. Great, real attractive.

"Are you okay?" Cyrus frowns from the doorway, and I nod.

You would think with a place this big, we wouldn't run into each other much, but we keep wanting to be in the same room at the same time. Like there's some kind of magnetic draw between us.

I stop coughing and stand up, water lapping at my shoulders.

"I can come back later," Cyrus says, but he doesn't make a move to leave.

"It's fine. The pool is plenty big." It is, but the thought of Cyrus in here with me makes it suddenly seem small. "I was just going to swim a few laps. It helps me relax."

"Same." He sets his towel on a bench along the wall, then pulls off his shirt, revealing the swirling tattoos I've been dreaming about. Shit, I want to sketch him. I tried doing it from memory the other day, but it wasn't right, so I ditched the attempt.

His physique is worth studying. There could be whole classes taught on the way his tattoos ripple when his muscles flex. He's leaner than Midas, but strong and cut, like someone chiseled him right out of marble. Oh, that's what I should do. Those swirls already look like marbling. I shouldn't sketch him, I should carve him from some kind of hard stone.

He clears his throat, and I realize I'm staring. Shit. Wanting to hide, I drop under the water. It's too warm in here. I need it at least ten degrees cooler to calm the heat inside me.

He's in the pool now, pushing toward me with slow, intentional steps. When there's only a foot between us, he stops and runs a wet hand through his golden hair. It looks longer now that it's wet and hangs just a little in his eyes.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"Honestly, not great." I drop my gaze, thinking about how frustrating the day really was and what drove me to the pool to begin with. A spilled coffee on the crowded subway. Dog poop on my shoe. And two disastrous interviews. Not a great day.

"You don't have to be worried about what you heard the other day. You're safe. I'd never let anything happen to you." His hand brushes mine as it moves through the water. Accidental?

"It's not that." Not really. "I've been applying for jobs."

He dips his head backwards into the water. "Aren't you an artist?"

"Yeah," I chuckle. "A starving one."

Wet hair drip down his stunning face, and his eyebrows curve as if to say, ‘ really? '

"Okay, yes, I'm currently living in a New York penthouse, but none of this is mine. And I'm not planning on staying here forever." I swish my hands through the water. "Trust me when I say living with Jess and Midas is like living with animals in heat. I've lived here before, and I'll do it for now—mostly just so I can get lots of cute baby snuggles—but I don't plan on staying long term."

I adjust the top of my swimsuit, pulling it up a little. His eyes clock the movement.

"But you want to stay in the area?" He swims slowly backwards, toward the other end of the pool. For some reason, I follow.

"If I can get a job and sell enough of my art to afford it."

"Can I see your art sometime?"

"Um, I guess." The thought of him seeing my work makes me feel a little jittery. The last piece I showed anyone but Sora was my final project, and it didn't exactly go well. Then again, my professor was sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back at the time.

We stop talking and fall into a rhythm, swimming from one end of the pool to the other. Neither of us seems to be going all out, just casually swimming laps. Each time one of us reaches the end of the pool, we pause, waiting for the other, waiting to see if the other will say anything. When neither of us do, we swim another lap.

It goes on like that for a while until Cyrus asks, "Why did you choose Prague? It's a beautiful city, but there are lots of other art schools around the world. Why there?"

I hate this question. It makes me feel like a fool. "My ex wanted to go there."

"What happened?"

I sink under the water, taking a moment to gather my thoughts before answering. When I break the surface, he's looking at me, expectant. There's no judgment in his gaze, just curiosity. He looks more relaxed and open than I've ever seen him, and that makes me want to tell him my deepest truth.

"I wasn't enough."

His lips thin into a straight line and his eyes take on a deep intensity as he cuts through the water, closing the gap that separates us. Directly in front of me, he holds my gaze, but he doesn't say anything. I can't tell if he's just waiting for me to go on or if he's silently agreeing.

"It doesn't matter. We broke up almost a year ago. I stayed in Prague even after graduating because I didn't want everyone to think he'd chased me off. But over time, most of my friends… well, everyone just sort of left, and Jess said she was pregnant, and—"

Cyrus puts one finger to my mouth. "Shhh." His calloused skin drags along my bottom lip. "Why do you think you weren't enough?"

"Because I wasn't. He cheated on me."

A guttural noise comes from Cyrus, something like a growl that makes my insides clench. I didn't know a person could make a noise like that. I feel it from my chest down to my toes.

"It's not just that." I put a step of distance between us. "Tim was never really present, even when we were together. He was always looking for something better, different, more exciting. I could never hold his attention."

Cyrus's jaw flexes. "This is the guy who used to stare at your friend's chest?"

I nod, looking down at my feet under the water.

"I thought we addressed this the other day." Cyrus crowds close to me again. "He's the one who wasn't good enough, Finley." He backs me against the edge of the pool, arms bracketing either side of me. "You deserve someone who's crazy about you, who respects you, who wants to be with you so badly it's painful to be apart."

His eyes do that thing Midas's do sometimes where it looks like little flames are dancing in the center. Must be a genetic trait.

Concerned creases form on his smooth face, and I want to ease them away. So I draw my fingers along his temple and down to the edge of his mouth.

He stands very still, his eyes never leaving mine. I trace the line of his jaw before he takes hold of my hand and places a soft kiss in the center of my palm. I feel that kiss in every cell of my body.

"I wish I could make you see yourself the way I see you," he whispers.

"You barely know me."

"I know enough to see that you're passionate." He kisses the tip of my fingers. "Intelligent." His lips touch the inside of my wrist. "Creative. And Loyal. And so goddamn beautiful it makes me weak."

"I'm also forgetful, inattentive, needy, and have a mouth like a fucking sailor. Not exactly winning characteristics."

He gives me a sensual smile and drops his gaze to my lips. "I happen to like your mouth."

My belly swoops, and my insides hum with anticipation. His thumb grazes across my mouth and every thought in my head vanishes along with my breath.

"Prove it," I challenge.

His throat bobs, and he closes his eyes. "I can't. Not yet."

"Right. I'm not old enough." I push his shoulders, creating a few feet of space between us. My chest heaves, anger closing in on the bubbly feeling I was experiencing a minute ago. "You can say I'm incredible all you want, but if you don't act on it, then—"

"I can't!" He's almost yelling as he pulls even farther away. "Don't you get that?"

"Oh, I get it." He might be attracted to me, but he doesn't want an actual relationship. Hey, at least he's not leading me on when there's no future. But he's an asshole for making up some lame excuse like my age, rather than owning up to his own fear about commitment. No matter how much I might dream about being the woman who makes him want drop his walls, it's just not true. "Believe me I get it."

"No, you don't."

"Just admit it, Cyrus. I'm not good en—"

He charges through the water and catches me, one arm banding around my back as his hand covers my mouth. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

I swallow, hyperaware of his hard body pressed against mine, the water lapping against our skin, his breath fanning my face.

"You are everything. Everything. Do you understand?"

I give my head the tiniest shake. It's all I can manage with the way he's gripping my face. A tear spills unnoticed down my damp cheek.

"Fuck it," he growls, and then his lips slam into mine. I fight. Confused. Disbelieving. Angry at him for making me hope. He grasps the back of my head, keeping my lips pressed to his. I scratch my nails down his shoulder blades and he groans. I can't stop my answering moan, letting him in, giving myself over to what I've craved for so long.

It's a kiss that explodes out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. He demands everything. Takes everything. Gives everything.

My tears are falling freely now, and I'm incapable of hiding the salty taste of them. His kisses soften, but I cling to him more fiercely than before.

"Oh, little flame," Cyrus whispers against my lips. "I never meant to hurt you." A gentle kiss. "I thought I was doing the right thing." Another. "I'm so sorry."

It's like I've been holding my breath underwater all my life, and now I've finally come up for air. He's oxygen, even as he steals the air from my lungs. No longer fire and fury, we hold each other gently, like lapping waves after a storm.

"Have dinner with me," he says .

"I thought maybe…" I bite my lip, not sure if I should say what I really want after all the push and pull we've been through. Now that I'm in his arms, I don't want to risk anything ruining this. I don't want to let go.

He nuzzles my neck and follows the sweet touch by scraping his teeth along the tender skin. "We have time. Have dinner with me. Watch a movie. I just want to hold you." He gives me a tender kiss, followed by a tortured, "Please."

Unable to resist, I agree.