Prologue
Finn
I’m used to women looking at me like I’m their last meal, but this one looks like she wants to eat me—then have me gutted, stuffed, and added to her trophy case when she’s done.
If the Boston Brawlers Hockey Team boss of bosses, General Manager Joseph Moroni, wasn’t the one introducing me and my teammate Aiden Cavanaugh to Mrs. Boylston and her elderly husband, who looks more like her grandfather, I would have excused myself after five seconds. In spite of her polished good looks, she’s a colossal turn-off.
And this is the Annual Boylston Charitable Foundation Benefit Gala, so I have to play nice. Aiden and I were chatting up three fine ladies, and I won’t lie, I have every intention of scoring a bedmate for the night. But Mrs. Boylston dismisses them with a bared-tooth smile and I’m surprised I don’t hear a growl coming from her mouth. I plan to make it up to the women later. All three of them if I’m on my game. Watching them go, I don’t bother hiding my disappointment, especially the way their asses sway under the formfitting short dresses.
Mr. Boylston says, “My wife is a fan of yours, Finnegan. She was dying to meet you.”
“I admire the goalie’s job,” she says to me. “And that mask of yours. I don’t know, but somehow it gives you thatje ne sais quoi.You’re quite a hotshot—or should I say hot-shot-stopper.” She titters and the two older men laugh. Her husband makes her seem young by comparison, but I’d bet she’s my mother’s age. Albeit smoking hot. I’ll give her that. Aiden practically drools, elbowing me when she gives him the once-over. I hope she sets her eyes on him because I’m not into married chicks and we’ve all heard the stories about her. I wonder if Moroni knows the score as I slide my eyes to his. He gives me one of thosebehave yourselfglares in return.
Yup. He knows the score with Mrs. Boylston—Sherry—all right.
“Can I be so bold as to ask you for a dance, Finn?” she says.
I turn to her husband for his permission, seriously hoping he’ll stake out his territory and whisk her away. Instead, he smiles with resigned indulgence and nods.
“Of course,” he says. “A dance with my beautiful wife is your just reward for your hard work and successful season so far.”
Aiden grins and elbows me again. Edwin Boylston is an odd dude. Any man I know would rein his wife in at this point, but I mentally shrug it off since he’s well past his prime. Besides, he has a fucking gorgeous wife three decades younger than him and more money than a small country, so he’s entitled to be odd. At seventy-five, Edwin is ancient by my twenty-five-year-old standards and I wonder if he can still get it up for his poor wife.
She leads me to the dance floor. This is the hard part, though my dick isn’t. I need to be gracious and pleasant to this lady whether I like her or not.
She doesn’t make it easy with her flirting as we slow dance and I try to keep separation.
“You’re a very muscular and handsome man, Finn. You must have your pick of any woman you want.”
“I do all right.” She’s giving me that starved-for-a-good-orgasm look that makes my smile muscles protest because I’m trying to hold them back.
“If I were single, I’d snap you up,” she says, touching a hand to my tense jaw. Trying not to flinch, I remain silent.
“You’d take me home, wouldn’t you? After a couple of dances?” She looks around and waves a hand. “I’m not half bad compared to these women, am I?”
“You’re a very good-looking woman,Mrs. Boylston.” I put a slight emphasis on theMrs., even though I know it’s a lost cause. Either she doesn’t notice my lack of interest or she doesn’t care, because she leans close to my ear and whispers a proposition.
I laugh it off. She squeezes herself closer and whispers again.
“I’m not kidding, Finn. I want to taste your cock in my mouth, but not until I have you tied down and—”
“Mrs. Boylston, I—”
“I have a suite at the hotel that my husband doesn’t know about—or, who am I kidding, maybe he does know about it and doesn’t care. Either way, you’re the lucky man I choose to share it with tonight.”
Tilting her head, she smiles, coy, but with that superficial confidence that’s covering up something vulnerable. Insecurity? Loneliness? I don’t know and I grit my teeth getting ready for the gracious let-down. Not my favorite thing to do, but she is married to the old coot and she should have thought of that age disparity before she tied the knot, so I dismiss any sympathy I might harbor. There is no lust to tamp down, because heaven help me the last thing I find attractive is a married woman, especially a desperate older one.
In fact, she reminds me of my mother. That sends a sick jolt to my gut, but as the sneer takes shape on my face I remember where I am and who she is.Gracious let-down.
“Sorry Mrs. Boylston. I’ve made other arrangements for the evening.” It’s a lie, but she’ll never know. Besides, I plan to make other arrangements. Immediately. As soon as I can extricate myself from her. Looking around, no one pays attention to us. We’re dancing like everyone else even if she is sickeningly close. My dick could care less as she tries rubbing her pumped-up breasts against me like a cat. A quick glance down at the balloonlike smoothness of the skin showing above her dress makes me shrivel and I step back. We’re into the third song, but it’s not over and she grabs at my arm.
“Hey, where you going? You owe me this dance.”
“I’m sorry.” The stench of her perfume is too strong, and the need for escape overpowers me. The perfect long nails that tip her fingers claw into me. My mother has the same nails, clutching at men the same way.
With that needy, fearful note in her voice, she says, “Don’t be sorry. The least you can do is finish this song.” She tries for a pout, then licks her lips when I back away again. The switch from desperate to calculating is breathtaking. It’s her fear taking over, coloring a black streak over everything, one I recognize. She’s not a lonely and vulnerable woman. Now I see a selfish and insecure woman not above using men. I pull away from her. A dead ringer for my mother.
“Come now,” she says. “Surely it’s not such a punishment to dance with me.” She pushes her hips forward and her shoulders back, arching into me, presenting herself as if she’s a tempting dessert. All I see is poison.