Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Skye

M y husband!

My eyes blink once. Twice. Then they freeze.

My stomach lurches. My heart almost stops.

The words Oh My God loop around my head like a record on repeat as Rosita introduces us.

"Se?orita . . . el papá . . . "

He steps in. "Phineas Jackson."

The heart-melting, husky voice is the same, but the name is different. Phineas Jackson? No wonder I couldn't track him down.

His sapphire eyes lock with mine. The blood drains from my head. My knees grow weak. Finally, after a gulp of air, I pull myself together. "Nice to meet you, Mr. J-jackson.

"Please call me Finn. I'd prefer that."

"Finn," I repeat breathily. How I love saying his name! Finn... my Finn.

He extends his paint-flecked hand. I hesitate to shake it, not because I'm worried the paint will get on mine, but because I'm frozen with shock.

"Ms. Callahan, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

I have!

He glances down at his hand. "Don't worry. The paint is dry."

That deft, long-fingered hand that could stroke my flesh as masterfully as a canvas. That elegant paint-stained hand that caressed every part of my body and brought me endless pleasure.

Finally, I lift my hand and he takes it in his. Countless kisses, but I've never shaken his hand before.

His hand is warm, the grip firm, exuding strength and confidence. Only he holds my hand in his longer than expected. His gaze stays on me and I stare at his dazzling face.

He's now thirty-six. A few fine lines fan from his eyes, but somehow they only add to his allure. Giving him depth and dimension. He's also a little fuller, in a good way. More buff. His shoulders broader, the tattooed muscles of his biceps bulging, his forearms veined and contoured. He's sexier than I remember. A masterpiece of virility.

"Can I take your bags?" asks Rosita, her animated voice making a small dent in my stupor.

"Yes, thank you," I mutter as she bends down for them. Given how heavy they are, I'm surprised she lifts them with ease.

" Gracias, Rosita," says Finn. "Please bring them to the guest cottage."

"Sí, Se?or." Without another word, the housekeeper whisks my bags away, disappearing out of sight.

"I'd like to chat with you a bit, Ms. Callahan."

"You can call me Sk—." I catch myself in time. "Scarlet."

A sweet smile flickers on his lips. "That name suits you."

With my long reddish brown hair, hazel eyes, and reconstructed face, I look entirely different than my former self. Even my voice is different. There's not a glimmer of recognition in his glistening eyes.

"Thanks," I murmur as he ushers me inside. The long fingers of his hand splay across the small of my back, sending a rush of tingles to my core. His familiar woodsy scent adds to my lightness of being. As I walk, I don't feel my feet touch the floor. The effect he has on me is almost identical to what I felt many years ago... the first time we met.

It was love at first sight.