Beah felt his clever fingers tracing the edges of her collarbone and slapped his hand away. “Finn Murphy! Concentrate! These decisions are not going to make themselves and the wedding is three weeks away.”
Finn responded by sliding his hand down her chest, under her top and cupping her breast, his fingers playing with her nipple. Beah tipped her head sideways, keeping an eye on the door, on the glass walls, leaning her temple against his forearm, taking a minute to enjoy the ripples of lust running through her.
“I haven’t seen you for ten days, and you’re asking me to concentrate on flowers and fripperies. Not a chance.” Finn bent down to murmur in her ear as his thumb swiped over her nipple, making her harder than she believed was possible.
“Someone might see us.”
“Relax, honey, I’ll hear someone walking down the hallway before they see us,” Finn told her. “But there’s an easy solution to your dilemma. Come down to my office. We can lock the door and hide away for an hour. Maybe two. Or three. Hell, let’s just ditch work—it’s after four.”
Man, she was tempted. So tempted. But she couldn’t. She had a meeting with one of her newest clients, a dot-com millionaire who was flying in to see her, wanting to talk about starting an art collection. And she had to remind herself, Finn’s house was not home. Her home was her apartment in Notting Hill, even though she hadn’t been back to London in nearly a month.
It was true, she could work from anywhere.
Her client was due in—Beah glanced at her Cartier watch—five minutes. He could be walking down the hallway at this very minute. Dammit, no time to do anything interesting. And by interesting, she meant running down to Finn’s basement office and stripping him naked and exploring his ripped body with her tongue and teeth.
Beah sighed and reluctantly pulled Finn’s hand from beneath her top. Finn wasn’t the only one who was as horny as hell.
Beah stood up, glanced through the glass walls of the office. Seeing no one in the hallway outside, she dropped a quick, hard kiss on his sexy mouth. “Later. Now behave!”
Beah stepped back and tried to move the chair but Finn kept it in front of him. When she tried to push it beneath the desk, he raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Give me a minute, honey. Nobody needs to see the steel pipe in my pants.”
Ah, no, they didn’t. She blushed but met his eyes, knowing hers reflected the same desire he was feeling. “We’ll have our own private party later, I promise.”
“My place? As soon as you can get away?”
She couldn’t resist him, nor did she want to. It had been too long. Nearly a fortnight ago Ronan sent her to São Paulo to meet with the board of directors of a private museum in the city. They were thinking about thinning out their collection and wanted Beah’s opinion on what art they should sell and keep and whether they, and Murphy’s, could strike a deal.
From São Paolo she’d taken the opportunity to travel to Bariloche, a quaint Alpine town in southwest Argentina. A resident of the town had, a few months back, sent a photograph of a possible Renoir via the contact form on their website and it looked enough like the real deal to warrant the trip to the pretty town.
Much to the owner’s disgust, she’d decided the painting was a fake, a good fake, but still a forgery. The volatile owner of the painting had yelled and screamed and told her she was going to get a second opinion and Beah shrugged, left her card and left town.
It wasn’t the first time she’d told a family their much-treasured piece of artwork, passed down through generations, was a fake and worth nothing. It wouldn’t be the last, either.
But while Beah was away, she’d thought about Finn often—okay, all the time—and missed him intensely. Her dreams were hot and filled with memories of his hands and mouth and the way he loved her...
“Seriously,” Finn growled, “if you don’t take that look off your face, I’m going to place you against the nearest wall and kiss you senseless. And to hell with anybody watching.”
Beah shook her head and held up her hand. Right! That was for later. Beah sucked in a breath, walked around the desk to put some space between her and Finn—better safe than sorry—and pointed to the stack of wedding magazines on the desk. She grabbed the nearest one and flipped it open to a page she’d marked with a bright yellow Post-it.
“White roses and jasmine or bright, cheerful gerbera daisies?”
Finn looked at the pictures, frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Men. “It’s simple, Finn, which one do you prefer?”
“Either. Both. I’m sure Piper will love both,” Finn replied. “Why don’t you ask her?”
Beah frowned. “I’ve sent her a couple of emails and text messages but she hasn’t replied. Have you spoken to Ben recently?”
Finn shook his head. “Actually no, not for a week or so. But I’ve been slammed.”
Weird. Beah chewed on her bottom lip. But they were running out of time to organize their big day and they couldn’t wait for Ben and Piper to get in touch. “We have to make the decision today. The florist needs to get the order in.”
Finn pushed the chair away and placed his hands on his hips. “I trust your judgment, Bee, and they did ask us to organize this wedding. Make the call.”
Flowers were a big deal and a very personal choice. This was too much pressure. “Why don’t you?” Beah wailed.
Finn gestured to his clothes. “I wear black and denim all the time because it matches and I don’t have to think about it. My place was decorated by an interior decorator. This isn’t what I’m good at. Just choose, Bee.”