Miss Prim's Greek Island Fling

Finn folded himself up to hunch over his beer. ‘Scrap that. Don’t ask your question. I don’t like the look on your face. You went from curiously speculative to prim and disapproving.’

She stiffened. ‘Prim?’

‘Prim,’ he repeated, not budging.

‘I am not prim.’

‘Sweetheart, nobody does prim like you.’

His laugh set her teeth on edge. She forced herself to settle back in her chair and to at least appear relaxed. ‘I see what you’re doing.’

‘What am I doing?’

‘Reverse psychology. Tell me not to ask a question in the hope I’ll do the exact opposite.’

‘Is it working?’

‘Why are you so fixated on me asking you my owed question?’

A slow grin hooked up one side of his mouth and looking at it was like staring into the sun. She couldn’t look away.

‘Is that your question?’

Strive for casual.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ If Rupert hadn’t put the darn notion in her head—Don’t fall for Finn—she wouldn’t be wondering what it’d be like to kiss him.

She sipped her beer. As long as speculation didn’t become anything more. She did what she could to ignore the ache that rose through her; to ignore the way her mouth dried and her stomach lurched.

She wasn’t starting something with Finn. Even if he proved willing—which he wouldn’t in a million years—there was too much at stake to risk it, and not enough to be won. She was determined there wouldn’t be any more black marks against her name this year. There wouldn’t be any more ever if she could help it.

If only she could stop thinking about him...inappropriately!

For heaven’s sake, she was the one in her family who kept things steady, regulated, trouble-free. If there were choppy waters, she was the one who smoothed them. She didn’t go rocking the boat and causing drama. That wasn’t who she was. She ground her teeth together. And she wasn’t going to change now.

She stared out at the harbour and gulped her beer. This was what happened when she let her hair down and indulged in a bit of impulsive wildness. It was so hard to get her wayward self back under wraps.

Finn might call her prim, but she preferred the terms self-controlled and disciplined. She needed to get things back on a normal grounding with him again, but when she went to open her mouth, he spoke first. ‘I guess it’s a throwback to the old game of Truth or Dare. I’m not up for too much daredevilry at the moment, but your question—the truth part of the game—is a different form of dangerousness.’

He stared up at the sky, lips pursed, and just like that he was familiar Finn again—family friend. Their session of jetskiing must’ve seemed pretty tame to him. He’d kept himself reined in for her sake, had focussed on her enjoyment rather than his own. Which meant that dark thread of restlessness would be pulsing through him now, goading him into taking unnecessary risks. She needed to dispel it if she could, to prevent him from doing something daft and dangerous.

‘The truth can be ugly, Finn. Admitting the truth can be unwelcome and...’ she settled for the word he’d used ‘...dangerous.’

Liquid brown eyes locked with hers as he drank his beer. He set his glass down on the table and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I know.’

‘And yet you still want me to ask you a possibly dangerous question?’

‘I’m game if you are.’

Was there a particular question he wanted her to ask? He stared at her and waited. She moistened her lips again and asked the question that had been rattling around in her mind ever since Rupert’s phone call. ‘Why do you avoid long-term romantic commitment?’

He blinked. ‘That’s what you want to know?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m curious. You’ve never once brought a date to a Russel family dinner. The rest of us have, multiple times. I want to know how you got to avoid the youthful mistakes the rest of us made. Besides...’

‘What?’

‘When Rupe was warning me off, he made some comment about you not being long-term material. Now we’re going to ignore the fact that Rupert obviously thinks women only want long-term relationships when we all know that’s simply not true. He obviously doesn’t want to think of his little sister in those terms, bless him. But it made me think there’s a story there. Hence, my question.’

He nodded, but he didn’t speak.

She glanced at his now empty glass. ‘If you want another beer, I’m happy to drive us home.’

He called the waiter over and ordered a lime and soda. She did the same. He speared her with a glare. ‘I don’t need Dutch courage to tell you the truth.’