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“What are you thinking about?” he asks, leaning forward.
“I was wondering whether you own a kilt.”
Finn blinks and laughs. “It’s the name, isn’t it?”
I smile, not bothering to correct him. “Is that a yes?”
“I hate to disappoint, but no.”
“Ah. No formal family plaid for special occasions?” A little of the humor in his eyes dies, and I could kick myself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He shakes his head. “No need to apologize. I wish my family had passed down something like that. I’d have liked to have a piece of them.”
I fidget with the hem of the thick white tablecloth, unsure how to salvage this. The server arrives just in time to save me from myself, and we order our meal.
“How is it that you came to work for Nic, anyway? Obviously, I know how you two know each other.”
Finn grins. “He knocked on my door the other night and asked if I’d ever been a bodyguard.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I say.
“Oh, really?”
I glance down at the broad expanse of his chest, which is testing the limits of his button-down shirt. I don’t know much about men’s fashion, but I’m pretty sure the effect of his suit has more to do with his physique than any tailor could bring to the table.
He’s watching me study his body. I flush, more stirred than I ought to be, given we’re sitting in a public restaurant.
“Do I look like a bodyguard to you?”
I can feel the warmth in my cheeks glowing.
“I could see it.”
The warmth skitters down my arms, making me shiver. I’m out of practice with flirting, with the sexy push and pull of it.
Jeff wasn’t big on flirting. At least, not with me. I tried, sometimes. He wasn’t into it. Or maybe he just wasn’t very good at it because he never once made me feel like this.
Finn’s eyes stray to the drape of my silk blouse. It’s one of my favorite purchases from my shopping excursion with Moira. The silk is cool and smooth and the fabric on my skin feels like a caress. The deep berry color complements my hair and complexion, Moira said.
Finn’s eyes come back to mine.
“Nic seems like a good guy,” says Finn.
Nic. The reminder of my job, of our boss, ought to cool me off some. But all I can think about is how I had them both alone this morning, after Nic’s father left, and that quiet sense of knowing deep in my bones something is about to happen.
Nic on my left, Finn on my right.
I take a sip of wine, buying just a moment to compose myself.
“He’s the best,” I say. “Best boss I’ve ever had.”
“Do you like your job?”
Do I? It’s a good question, and his interest seems genuine, as though he’s asking for something more than the superficial report card you’d give an acquaintance to make polite conversation. So, I take my time answering.
