The Player Gets Coached Page 8

  “You’ve already seen the kitchen,” she began. “That was totally re-done - floor, cabinets, counter tops, appliances. It was actually in good condition when I bought the place but the colors just didn’t do it for me - light oak cabinets, brown granite, beige floors. Ugh. I knew right away I would never want to cook in a kitchen so bland, knew I had to have more color.”

  In addition to the jade green granite counters, the kitchen featured gleaming walnut cabinets, professional grade stainless steel appliances, and recessed lighting. Being a contractor’s son, Finn recognized the high quality of the gourmet kitchen, and knew she had spent tens of thousands of dollars on the room.

  The rest of the two bedroom, two bath condo had been just as thoughtfully and tastefully renovated - from the pale gray wood floors to the deep burgundy window coverings and unusual but striking pieces of art that had been hung on nearly every wall. The furnishings were an eclectic mix of antique tables, cushy sofas and chairs, and discreet light fixtures and lamps. The accessories and decor ran the gamut from an artful assortment of candles and multi-hued straw balls to a whimsical collection of music boxes to a shelf filled with framed photographs. Books and magazines nearly overflowed other shelves, and the bouquet of flowers he’d given her a few days ago had been arranged in an antique bronze milk jug and set on the dining table.

  It was evident that Delilah had a flair for interior decorating, perhaps an offshoot of her career in fashion design. Equally apparent was her love of bold, vibrant colors - both jewel and earth tones, ranging from luscious sapphires and amethysts to deep topazes and burnt siennas. Finn knew instinctively that she had chosen every piece of furniture, every picture, every dish and glass and candlestick, and that she wouldn’t have permitted some impersonal designer to influence any of her choices.

  She’d had both bathrooms completely gutted and re-done to her tastes, including the sunken, jetted tub in the master bath. Finn forced himself not to envision how she would look in that tub, her naked flesh wet and glistening, with those masses of dark hair piled atop her head. And he wouldn’t even allow himself to imagine getting into that spacious granite shower with her, soaping up her curvy little body before wrapping one of her slender legs around his waist and fucking her against the wall. Because if he indulged himself with either or both of those very sensual fantasies, he was going to find it damned near impossible not to at least attempt to reenact them.

  Delilah was using her spare bedroom as a home office, complete with a drawing board, sewing machine, and several bolts of fabric. This was the only room thus far on the tour that wasn’t as neat and tidy as the rest of the place.

  She gave a careless little shrug when she noticed his raised eyebrows. “I tend to get a little carried away when I’m inspired. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with an idea and dash in here to work on it for a couple of hours. I don’t always have the patience to put everything away neatly.”

  Finn held up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, far be it from me to criticize your housekeeping. If I didn’t hire someone to clean up after me three days a week, I’d be sleeping on the same set of sheets for a year, and would have to keep buying new underwear and socks because all the others were dirty.”

  Delilah wrinkled her nose. “Charming. Just charming,” she replied dryly. “Now, since this will probably be the first and only time you ever get to see my bedroom, you’d better commit it to memory.”

  He grinned at her lasciviously. “Never say never, darling Delilah. One of these days you might decide that you prefer blonds after all.”

  She gave him a dark look, muttering “asshole” under her breath, as she guided him to her room.

  “Wow.”

  Finn couldn’t think of anything else to say as he studied Delilah’s sumptuously decorated bedroom. The walls had been painted a dark, sensual red, while French doors had replaced the regular sliding door that opened out onto the balcony like the one in his own bedroom. But the focal point of the room was the enormous four-poster bed, with its dark gold brocade duvet and a huge pile of jewel toned accent pillows. The bedside lamps had red silk shades with amber beads hanging from the bottom, and the overall theme of the room made him think of a -

  “A harem. That’s what this reminds me of,” he mused, running his palm over the satiny fabric of the duvet. “Not sure if that was your intent, but I definitely think it suits you. And the red walls - well, what else would a she-devil have chosen?”

  Delilah laughed softly. “Is that how you see me, Finn - a devil? Or maybe a succubus?”

  He walked over to where she stood hovering in the doorway, sliding a hand into her luxurious hair before she could step away. “What else?” he murmured huskily. “You’re gorgeous and tempting as hell, not to mention you seem to enjoy driving me insane. And since red is your favorite color, it all makes sense.”

  Surprisingly she didn’t bat his hand away, or try to break his little finger, seemingly content for his hand to remain where it was, at least for the moment. “You really aren’t my type, you know,” she retorted. “And it’s not just the blond hair and - well, let’s call it a very casual dress code. I don’t date players, Finn. And while the last thing I’m in the market for right now is a serious relationship, I also have zero interest in a quick, dirty fling.”

  Finn lowered his head towards hers, his thumb brushing over her lips as he murmured huskily, “Baby, trust me. Nothing about going to bed with you would be quick. I’d take my time with a prize like you, make it last a good long time. And there’s nothing the least bit dirty about you, Delilah. You’re a queen, baby. Queen of the devil women most likely, but royalty just the same. And that’s how I’d treat you - like a queen.”

  She quivered at his words, closing her eyes briefly. But just as he was ready to finally claim that lush mouth in a deep kiss, she broke away and hurried back into the living room.

  “You, um, haven’t seen the terrace yet,” she announced, opening up the French doors that led to the tiled balcony. “I don’t think the view from this side of the building is as good as yours, but I still love having a cup of coffee or a glass of wine out here and looking out over the city. Especially at night when all of the buildings are lit up.”

  Finn allowed her to change the subject, but couldn’t contain a satisfied inner smile at knowing he’d finally succeeded in rattling the cool, calm, and collected Ms. Ferris.

  “I like it at night, too,” he agreed. “And I also like what you’ve done with the space out here - all of these plants and the rattan furniture with those bright cushions. It feels like a tropical retreat in the middle of the big city. In fact,” he added, “I like everything you’ve done to your place. You obviously put a lot of thought into the process, went to a lot of trouble and expense to give it your personal stamp.”

  Delilah nodded, taking a sip of her wine, and he could tell she was pleased with his compliment. “I needed this place to feel like a real home,” she acknowledged. “Something I haven’t really had for - well, a very long time.”

  Finn was tempted to quiz her about that particular - and incredibly sad statement - but wisely chose not to. There was no way he had made anywhere near enough progress with Delilah to start asking such personal questions. Instead, he asked her for decorating advice about his own condo.

  “It’s pretty bland and basic,” he admitted readily. “A typical bachelor pad. Except that this bachelor is going to be forty years old soon and, well, just about everyone I know keeps telling me it’s finally time to grow up.”

  Delilah snickered. “At least your friends seem like sensible people. Why in the world do they hang out with you? As for the decorating advice, I’m not sure, Finn. For one thing, I’m not exactly an interior decorator. I mean, I know the sort of things and colors that I like, but that doesn’t mean I’m qualified to give other people advice.”

  He shrugged. “I could care less about your qualifications or experience. I can tell you hav
e good taste and your opinion would mean a lot to me. And I’d welcome the chance to work on some projects. Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty handy around the house with repairs and minor construction. My family has been in the construction business for decades, and I spent a lot of summers out on job sites with my dad and uncles. So if you ever need me to, uh, bring my toolbox over, just knock on my door.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Now, when you refer to your toolbox, are you really referring to - “

  Finn laughed heartily. “I mean an actual metal toolbox with a hammer and pliers and wrenches, all that sort of stuff. Why? Was your dirty little mind thinking I meant something else?”

  “Of course not,” she retorted huffily. “Can I refill your wine glass?”

  He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’d better pass. Been trying to cut down. Now, what’s your answer about giving me some decorating advice?”

  Delilah hesitated. “I don’t know, Finn,” she hedged. “Work is super busy right now.”

  “I promise not to take up much of your time,” he pleaded. “And I’m prepared to bribe you if necessary. Since you play the piano, can I assume you like going to the symphony?”

  She nodded, a soft smile on her lips. “Love it. Why do you ask? And before you answer that question, just know there’s no way I’m going to believe that you’re a classical music fan.”

  “No. But I could be persuaded to be,” he cajoled. “Especially if you agreed to go with me this weekend to hear Samson and Delilah.”

  She gasped in delighted surprise. “Oh, my God, the symphony is performing Saint-Saëns this season? I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had time to even glance at the performance calendar.”

  Finn extracted the tickets that had practically been burning a hole in his pocket ever since he’d knocked on her door. “Some of the best seats in the house I’m told.”

  Delilah examined the tickets carefully, unable to hide her pleasure. “I think you’re the devil, Mr. McManus,” she chided. “Bribing me unmercifully to go out with you.”

  He gave her an unholy grin. “I’ll buy you a very expensive dinner first, too. Ladies choice as to the location. So. What’s your answer, darling Delilah? Think you can handle a date with the devil?”

  She sighed before throwing up her hands in surrender. “I already know I’m really, really going to regret this but - yes. It’s a date.”

  Chapter Seven

  Delilah’s fingers hovered uncertainty over the keypad of her cell phone, every sensible, logical impulse she possessed urging her to go ahead and send the text - the one she should really, really send to Finn with the sole purpose of cancelling their date this weekend. For the life of her, she still couldn’t even begin to explain what insane impulse had convinced her to agree to such a thing. After all, she’d known from the very first time she had seen her handsome manwhore of a neighbor that Finn McManus was bad, bad news.

  She set her phone down on her desk, pushing it slightly out of reach, and sighed for perhaps the tenth time this morning. She had made it one of her main goals in life, ever since she’d begun dating at the tender age of fifteen, to steer clear of men like Finn - men who reminded her all too well of the one man who’d not only broken her heart but her spirit as well. And in the thirteen plus years since that awful time in her life, a time when the hits had just kept coming one after the other, Delilah had been diligent about avoiding men who liked to flirt just a little too much, or the ones who had a different woman every week, and definitely the ones who never seemed to take much of anything seriously. The fact that her annoyingly persistent neighbor fit all three of those descriptions should be setting off warning bells in her brain right now, screaming “Danger! Danger!” at full volume.

  But she still had a soft heart deep down, despite the cool, no-nonsense, and controlled image she presented to most of the world. Desiree, her older sister and oftentimes surrogate mother, liked to scold her about worrying too much about hurting people’s feelings, and chided her about the need to toughen up and protect her emotions - especially from known heartbreakers like Finn McManus.

  Delilah shuddered to imagine her sister’s reaction when she learned about this upcoming date with Finn. Desi would shriek and lecture and nearly go off the deep end, as she so frequently did when it came to protecting her little sister. And there was no point in lying to Desi, or keeping the news from her. As Delilah had come to realize over the years, her sister had an uncanny knack, some hidden sixth sense even, about finding certain things out. Delilah had grumbled more than once over the years that Desi should have been a private detective or a spy instead of an investment banker.

  And if Delilah was discriminating about what type of men she dated, being extremely careful to only the date the ones she was supremely confident she could control, then Desiree was on a whole different level entirely. She’d acquired such a reputation as an infamous, ruthless ballbreaker that it was rare for her to even get a date nowadays. Delilah didn’t consider herself anywhere near as tough as her sister, even if her pain-in-the-ass PA Calvin frequently called her a maneater.

  Delilah snickered now as she tried to imagine the horror-stricken look that would have appeared on her sister’s face if Desi had seen the way Finn had looked on that very first morning - unshaven, his longish dirty blond hair uncombed, bare chested, barefoot, and wearing only a pair of ripped, faded jeans that had rested low enough on his hipbones to make it apparent he was commando beneath the denim. He’d had that sleepy, sexy look in his eyes, that dreamy grin that more or less advertised the fact that he had just tumbled out of bed, and that he hadn’t done so alone.

  And then, of course, there had been the alluring, raven-haired beauty who’d been clinging to Finn for dear life. Delilah had thought derisively that there was no way in hell she would ever be that needy or possessive over a man, would never give one the satisfaction of mooning over one as Finn’s pretty bedmate had done that morning. She knew without having to ask that he’d never seen that woman again, largely because he had had a completely different female hanging all over him the next time she’d run into him, but also because he simply wasn’t the sort of man who actually had relationships.

  ‘But then again, Delilah, neither do you,’ she told herself. ‘You date - sometimes the same man a few times as long as he doesn’t get too pushy or clingy. You have sex - on occasion, and nowhere near as often as that twit Calvin thinks you do. But let’s face it, girl - you’ve spent far more late nights with your sewing machine than you ever have with a man. So who are you to judge Finn for his lifestyle when you’re just as much of a commitment-phobe as he is? Probably even more so.’

  And while she had zero idea about Finn’s background or family, save the fact that they owned a construction company, and even less idea about why he shied away from long term relationships, she knew very, very well why she and Desiree had always done the exact same thing.

  The two sisters had grown up not far from San Francisco in Orinda, an affluent suburb about fifteen miles east of the city. The public schools they had attended had been among the highest rated in the state. The family had lived in a spacious, elegantly furnished house complete with its own pool, and their parents had employed both a housekeeper and a gardener. Desiree and Delilah had never wanted for anything, had been indulged and spoiled and treated like little princesses. They had taken not just piano lessons but also ballet, gymnastics, and art classes. The girls had been treated to extravagant, professionally planned birthday parties, vacations in Hawaii, Disneyland, and the Caribbean, and their socialite mother Marina had bought all of their clothes from only the most exclusive children’s shops. The sisters had had an almost idyllically happy childhood, carefree and completely absent of any sort of worry or trouble. And if their pretty but fragile mother could oftentimes be a little high strung or nervous, then their handsome, charming father would be there to smooth things over and make everything happy again.

  Da
niel Ferris had been a very successful corporate attorney, the senior partner at a well established law firm in San Francisco, and everyone who’d met him - male and female alike - had been irresistibly drawn to his good looks, charismatic personality, and larger than life presence. He had always been immaculately groomed, his dark hair perfectly cut and styled, his nails neatly trimmed and buffed, his face clean shaven. He’d had an extensive wardrobe of designer suits, coordinating shirts and ties, and dozens of pairs of shoes. Even his more casual attire had still been carefully chosen and coordinated, whether he’d been hosting a barbeque at his home, playing a round of golf at the private country club he belonged to, or swimming in the pool with his beloved daughters.

  Delilah’s earliest memories of her adored father had been of a tall, strong man who loved picking up and cuddling both of his daughters, and who always smelled of some sort of tangy aftershave or cologne. He had represented comfort and love and laughter to Delilah and Desiree, especially when their mother would develop one of her headaches or other ailments and retreat into the privacy of her bedroom for hours at a time. The girls had eagerly anticipated their father’s arrival home from his office every evening, waiting for him at the front door, and squealing with delight when he’d spun them around in a circle and given them a kiss hello.

  He had always traveled a great deal for work, though most of his trips had been relatively short in duration, and he had never failed to bring both of his daughters some small gift home. Holidays had been celebrated with great fanfare, especially Christmas, and the girls had been thoroughly spoiled with all of the gifts they’d received.

  Delilah wasn’t quite sure when their seemingly perfect, happy life had begun to unravel a little at a time - one exposed lie at a time. She had probably been around eight or nine years old when she’d first noticed that Daddy was arriving home a little later each night from work - often missing dinnertime, and sometimes getting there too late to kiss her and Desiree good night and read them a bedtime story, as he had done since they were very small girls. The frequent business trips that had previously only lasted a few days or a week at the most were now two weeks at a time or even longer. Whereas before Daniel had rarely if ever missed one of his daughter’s piano or ballet recitals or a school play or teacher conference, he gradually began to skip more and more of them.