It’s a mollusk. This type of shell is used for lots of jewelry—see how shiny it is?” He pointed to the swirls of blue and lavender inside the broken piece and Coco nodded. “Nice choice.”
Coco beamed. “It’s your prize.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“No, it’s your
prize
. But you have to take good care of it.”
“I will. Thank you.” His fist swallowed the shell. “I’d better go,” he said to Giselle. “So one o’clock? I’ll pick you up at Lia’s?”
Giselle nodded.
“Thanks, little grommet.” He lifted his fist with the shell inside.
Fin began trudging back up the coastline, his body rippling under the sleek black suit, his backside curving into thick, muscular thighs.
Giselle caught herself gawking, and immediately pretended she was getting something out of her camera case. As soon as Coco resumed her cartwheels, though, Giselle allowed herself a nice, long stare.
• • •
Fin pulled his bare feet through the dry sand and began his mile-long trudge back to his place.
He’d trekked all the way down here to see if he could get a glimpse of her—cursing himself the whole way, because it was a goofy, juvenile reaction to a woman he shouldn’t even be paying attention to.
He’d thought maybe his reaction last night was due to too much scotch—he really needed to stop drinking like that—but today, like last night, the sight of her was enough to rattle him.
He’d come down to tell her the details of the wine and art event—what he was going to need her to do, in case she wanted to back out. He needed to be honest. But watching her eyes this morning—that curious stare that dove through him—was enough to clam him up again.
He wondered whether it was because he was attracted to her, but dismissed that. He never worried about what women thought of him—even gorgeous ones who looked like Grace Kelly.
No, this discomfort seemed to come from some kind of assessment she was making. And, for some reason, he wanted it to go his way.
With
Giselle
.
Lia’s sister.
Whom he didn’t even know.
And couldn’t sleep with.
What the hell?
He trudged the last half mile trying to clear his mind, then propped his surfboard along the wall of his patio. He swore at himself again for not coming clean—now he’d have to hope for the best, even if his scheme repelled her.
He’d just tell her today at one.
A funeral seemed like an appropriate place anyway.
CHAPTER
Five
G iselle opened and closed the refrigerator seven or eight times while she waited for Fin to arrive.
“Do you want an apple?” she asked Coco.
“I already had a banana after surf camp,” Coco said, spreading her Polly Pocket dolls across the dining table.
Giselle closed the fridge again. She hadn’t been able to eat a thing this afternoon, but she knew she needed something in her stomach. Coco had had fun at surf camp—already perfecting her “pop-up” under the proud grin of Rabbit—and Giselle had gotten some good photos. But now her stomach was in knots: She was jittery about seeing Roy again, about facing his family, about Coco’s reaction to going anywhere with a strange man in a strange car. Plus she was flat-out nervous about seeing Fin again. Spending an afternoon with a man who made your heart pound could be thrilling under normal circumstances, but when it was set up as a favor, not an actual date, it seemed like it had disaster written all over it. She already regretted coming up with this cockamamie idea.
When the knock finally sounded, she took a deep breath and smoothed her dress.
“Hello!” she breathed out as she swung the door open.
Fin filled the doorway, wearing some kind of Armani suit—a rich, double-breasted fabric that lay in a flat, black sheen along the contours of his body. The crisp white at his collar—secured with a simple black tie—contrasted with his golden tan and made his eyes especially blue. He had one hand in the trouser pocket like some kind
Coco beamed. “It’s your prize.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“No, it’s your
prize
. But you have to take good care of it.”
“I will. Thank you.” His fist swallowed the shell. “I’d better go,” he said to Giselle. “So one o’clock? I’ll pick you up at Lia’s?”
Giselle nodded.
“Thanks, little grommet.” He lifted his fist with the shell inside.
Fin began trudging back up the coastline, his body rippling under the sleek black suit, his backside curving into thick, muscular thighs.
Giselle caught herself gawking, and immediately pretended she was getting something out of her camera case. As soon as Coco resumed her cartwheels, though, Giselle allowed herself a nice, long stare.
• • •
Fin pulled his bare feet through the dry sand and began his mile-long trudge back to his place.
He’d trekked all the way down here to see if he could get a glimpse of her—cursing himself the whole way, because it was a goofy, juvenile reaction to a woman he shouldn’t even be paying attention to.
He’d thought maybe his reaction last night was due to too much scotch—he really needed to stop drinking like that—but today, like last night, the sight of her was enough to rattle him.
He’d come down to tell her the details of the wine and art event—what he was going to need her to do, in case she wanted to back out. He needed to be honest. But watching her eyes this morning—that curious stare that dove through him—was enough to clam him up again.
He wondered whether it was because he was attracted to her, but dismissed that. He never worried about what women thought of him—even gorgeous ones who looked like Grace Kelly.
No, this discomfort seemed to come from some kind of assessment she was making. And, for some reason, he wanted it to go his way.
With
Giselle
.
Lia’s sister.
Whom he didn’t even know.
And couldn’t sleep with.
What the hell?
He trudged the last half mile trying to clear his mind, then propped his surfboard along the wall of his patio. He swore at himself again for not coming clean—now he’d have to hope for the best, even if his scheme repelled her.
He’d just tell her today at one.
A funeral seemed like an appropriate place anyway.
CHAPTER
Five
G iselle opened and closed the refrigerator seven or eight times while she waited for Fin to arrive.
“Do you want an apple?” she asked Coco.
“I already had a banana after surf camp,” Coco said, spreading her Polly Pocket dolls across the dining table.
Giselle closed the fridge again. She hadn’t been able to eat a thing this afternoon, but she knew she needed something in her stomach. Coco had had fun at surf camp—already perfecting her “pop-up” under the proud grin of Rabbit—and Giselle had gotten some good photos. But now her stomach was in knots: She was jittery about seeing Roy again, about facing his family, about Coco’s reaction to going anywhere with a strange man in a strange car. Plus she was flat-out nervous about seeing Fin again. Spending an afternoon with a man who made your heart pound could be thrilling under normal circumstances, but when it was set up as a favor, not an actual date, it seemed like it had disaster written all over it. She already regretted coming up with this cockamamie idea.
When the knock finally sounded, she took a deep breath and smoothed her dress.
“Hello!” she breathed out as she swung the door open.
Fin filled the doorway, wearing some kind of Armani suit—a rich, double-breasted fabric that lay in a flat, black sheen along the contours of his body. The crisp white at his collar—secured with a simple black tie—contrasted with his golden tan and made his eyes especially blue. He had one hand in the trouser pocket like some kind
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