Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CATLIN

Rolling over in bed, I grab my phone off the nightstand as I stretch to wake up. The screen’s brightness contrasts with the bedroom’s darkness so much that it causes me to blink. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open to read the messages.

FINN

Happy Birthday, Cat.

Sorry if this wakes you, I wanted to be first.

I look closer at his message and realize he sent it a couple of hours ago.

You were definitely the first.

Good. I like the idea of being first with you.

I like the thought of it, too.

Sitting up to turn on the bedside lamp, I flip it on and am surprised to find a small powder-blue gift box with a white bow. Tentatively lifting it from the nightstand, I see the tag poking from beneath the ribbon.

To: Cat

From: Finn

Clicking the screen on my phone, I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring. “Good morn?—”

“Did you seriously sneak in here last night, Finn?”

I should be absolutely terrified by the fact that a man snuck into my bedroom completely undetected while I slept, but I’m not. It’s only been a few days, yet Finn has repeatedly shown me he respects my boundaries. Well, mostly. Breaking and entering —or is it stalking— is a pretty big boundary. But true to his word, he hasn’t tried to so much as place a peck on my cheek since the other night.

“I told you, I like being first,” he flirts. “Did you open it?”

“Not yet.” I pull at the ribbon to release the bow so I can slide it from the box. Lifting the lid, I find a gold necklace with a small, delicate outline of a kitten dangling from the chain. The tone of my voice mirrors my smile when I confess, “It’s beautiful, Finn.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you, piscín.”

How in the world does he keep causing me to blush with nothing more than a few words?

“Wear it tonight for me,” he instructs. “I want to see it wrapped around that gorgeous neck of yours.”

“I can’t tonight. I have plans.”

“I know,” he confidently responds, and I suddenly feel he knows more about my plans with his sisters-in-law than I do. “I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy your day.”

“Finn,” I call his name, hoping to catch him before he hangs up.

“Yeah, piscín?”

“Do not sneak in here when I’m sleeping.”

“No promises because you’re fucking beautiful when you sleep.” I can almost hear the smirk spreading across his face as he hangs up.

FINN

I’m out front.

I will more than happily come inside to get you, but I don’t want to fuck up your whole birthday by pissing off your uncle.

Shaking my head at his persistence, I reply to his message.

I told you I have plans.

You still do with Quinn, Layla, and Jorge.

They just changed a little, and I’m your ride.

Uncle Sean has some meetings with the diocese tonight, so he shouldn’t be around. Even so, I’m not willing to risk Finn traipsing through the courtyard to the convent. The chance of getting caught is more than enough with him parked out front in one of those outlandishly large SUVs with tinted windows.

Grabbing my shoes, I head through the church and push open the heavy wooden door to see Finn leaning against a motorcycle. He’s wearing dark denim jeans and a well-fitted black T-shirt that showcases his very defined physique. As I walk down the church stairs, he lifts a helmet from the back of the bike. Extending it toward me, he croons, “You look beauti?—”

Interrupting him, I blurt, “Where is your car?”

“At this time of day, this is better for traffic.” He taps his hand on the seat he’s resting against.

“I’m wearing a dress. And… I’m not getting on that, Finn.” I vehemently shake my head as my palms begin to sweat. Motorcycles have always made me nervous. Being on one, surrounded by the insane drivers filling the city streets, is absolutely terrifying.

“It’s perfectly safe,” he insists. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I believe him. My heart thumps, and I swallow hard as I agree against my better judgment. “Okay...”

A broad smile spreads across his face as he steps away from the bike. He stares into my eyes as he reaches out his hand and tenderly tucks my hair behind my ears. My heart races faster, but it isn’t nerves about the motorcycle anymore when he closes the distance between us. He gathers my hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck and twists it down my back.

“It’ll keep it out of your face,” he informs me as he lifts the helmet over my head. It squeezes snugly and is much heavier than expected. The weight is only exemplified—and it pulls me off-balance—when he tips my head back to fasten the strap beneath my chin. Holding the strap, he pulls me toward him and kisses the helmet covering my lips. Even with inches of plastic and padding between us, my stomach flutters.

Finn puts on his helmet and climbs onto the bike before extending his hand to me. Holding onto him for balance, I hesitate for a moment before lifting my leg over the bike and climbing onto the seat behind him until I’m inches from his back. He pulls my hand around his body, and I instinctually wrap my other around him. Grabbing my wrists, he taps my hands against his abs and shouts through the helmet, “You hold on tight and lean when I do, understood?”

He turns over the ignition on the motorcycle, which vibrates beneath me. My arms tighten around him, squeezing so hard as I fist his shirt that it must hurt. “I’ve got you,” he shouts over the rumble of the engine. Lifting the kickstand, he pulls slowly onto the street. We crawl with traffic for several blocks before coming to a stop at an intersection.

Finn reaches back with one hand and lightly taps my knee. His hand drags up the bare skin of my thigh to the hemline of my dress, tucked firmly underneath me, as he praises, “You’re doing so good.” Even with the hot summer air and the bike radiating heat beneath me, goosebumps prickle over my skin.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and I nod against him when my answer is muffled by my helmet. “Then, hold tight, piscín.”

He revs the engine, and the vibrations pleasingly rattle through my thighs and up my body. I squeeze my legs firmly against his to calm the tingling sensation as I grip his shirt harder. The light turns green, and I squeal as he peels through the intersection and onto the empty road before us. He continues to pick up speed, and I squeeze against him even harder. “Finn!” I nervously wince when we abruptly merge and whiz past a taxi. He weaves through the busy New York traffic with precision without slowing, and I watch as the city dwindles.

Where are we going?

With fewer cars on the road, Finn maneuvers the bike with only his right hand. He gives a gentle squeeze on my right hand to loosen my hold on the tight ball of cotton in my fist. As I tighten my left hand’s grip, he pulls my right up to his chest and splays my fingers. His heart pounds against my palm just as hard as mine is against his back, and it takes a second for me to register that his is racing for a different reason. Lacing his fingers with mine, he holds my hand against him as we ride.

And suddenly, I don’t care where we’re going.