Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I’ve done a great deal of professional preparation in my life for assignments, briefings, even one memorable Senate testimony when I was with the NSA.
And none of those moments involved the question I’ve been chewing on for the last forty-five minutes while I got ready for my evening, which is whether the cream cashmere is too much or just enough for a man like Finn Marlowe.
I don’t have an answer to the question, but I’ve decided to keep this outfit, just as I’m decided on trying to focus on using this man as a source of information. It’s an internal pep talk I’ve been giving myself all day, trying to focus on professional rationalization. This man is a confidential source, I’m going out with him for intelligence gathering, and we’re operating on a tit-for-tat deal. But the more I consider my appearance and whether I should have put on lipstick, I know that this can’t be all professional and need to stop pretending otherwise.
I’m going on a date with a man whose criminal record I have read. I’m wearing a sexy sweater but did nothing to draw attention to my mouth. I’m not telling anyone where I’m going.
I take a breath and the doorbell rings. I glance at my watch and see he’s five minutes early. That’s okay though, because I’m ready.
Finn is standing on my porch in a pair of jeans and a fitted dark sweater under a black wool peacoat. He’s freshly shaved, his wild mane of hair carefully swept back into stylish waves. I’m as mesmerized by his green eyes as I was the moment I first saw him, as I was at his house last night. Against his black hair, they’re incandescent, and the way he’s looking at me now makes my blood sing.
“Hi,” I say lamely.
His mouth curves into a charming smile. “You look beautiful.”
Heat flames my face and I force myself not to lower my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur, and then pay a true compliment back. “And you… look very handsome.”
“Thank you, milady,” he teases with a slight bow. “I know I’m a little early. I don’t mind waiting out here.”
“No, not at all,” I say, waving off his concern. “I’m ready.”
I grab my coat off the hook, my purse from the small foyer table and step out onto the porch, setting the electronic lock pad.
When I turn to face Finn, his elbow’s cocked toward me and I don’t hesitate to slip my hand into it. He escorts me down the steps to his black Range Rover that smells of new leather and his faint but woodsy cologne.
When we’re both settled inside, he starts the engine and turns to me. “I’m not taking you to a restaurant. Hope that’s okay.”
“You’re not taking me somewhere to kill me, are you?” I quip, and I realize in that moment, that’s a pure joke on my part. For some odd reason, I feel safe with this man.
Finn laughs. “No, I’m not going to kill you, but if you let me, I might kiss you later.”
Another blush, but this one is less heated. I’m learning that this guy doesn’t keep his feelings or wants bottled up, and his flirting is straightforward and honest.
I actually like it.
“I usually never kiss on the first date.”
“Which implies you’re already thinking about our second one,” he says, sliding a glance my way as he pulls away from the curb.
“I’m unwilling to commit to that this early in the game,” I say with a laugh.
“Fair enough. I’m actually taking you to my boat for dinner.”
“Boat? The Quartermaster?”
Finn shakes his head as he checks his blind spot, moving into traffic. “No. That’s a fishing vessel. I’ve got another boat that I use for recreation. I keep it over at the Elliott Bay Marina.”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say thoughtfully.
“And what’s that?”
“That water is in your blood. Boats, waterfront home… it’s all coming together.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, settling one hand casually on the wheel. “I hope it’s okay. I probably should have asked first.”
“It’s fine and I’m intrigued.”
The Range Rover handles beautifully, and Finn drives confidently but not aggressively. It’s exactly how I would describe the man with what little I’ve come to know.
We drive west, the lights of downtown moving past on our left. “How long have you lived in Seattle?” I ask.
Finn’s head turns my way briefly. “Why do I feel you already know the answer to that?”
It’s true… I do. And he knows that because he knows I researched him. “Sorry… I do know a little about you. I know you were born in Portland and grew up there, but now you’re in Seattle.”
Finn nods, checks the left lane and pulls into it to go around a slower car. “I don’t know how deep your sources are on my criminal record, but I did some time in juvie when I was seventeen and when I got out, I came to Seattle and never left.”