It's possibly the most masculine thing I've ever seen, and I've spent my career surrounded by men who make their living selling an image of masculinity.
But there's nothing manufactured about Finn. Nothing calculated or designed for maximum appeal. He simply is what he is. Authentic in a way that makes every man I've ever known seem like a pale imitation.
I realize I'm staring and step back from the window with heat rise to my cheeks. This is not how I should be thinking about the man I've hired to protect me. The man whose job is to keep me alive, not to star in the inappropriate fantasies currently running through my mind.
But there's something about Finn McKenna that gets under my skin in a way no one else ever has. Something that makes me wonder what those strong hands would feel like against my body instead of wrapped around an ax handle.
"Get it together, Nova," I mutter to myself, turning away from the window. "He's your bodyguard, not your romance novel fantasy."
Except he's exactly my romance novel fantasy, which is the problem. The strong, silent protector. The dangerous man with a code of honor. The reluctant hero who sees the real woman beneath the celebrity facade.
Every trope I've secretly loved since I was thirteen stealing my mother's paperbacks to read under the covers with a flashlight.
I need to focus on reality, not fantasy. The reality is that I'm in danger. That someone wants to hurt me. That Finn McKenna is a professional doing a job he's being paid very well to do.
That I'm just another client.
I shower quickly in the attached bathroom, appreciating the luxury of the rainfall showerhead and the expensive toiletries that seem at odds with Finn's rugged exterior. Another reminder that he's more complex than he appears.
After drying off, I dress in jeans and a soft henley, clothes chosen for comfort rather than style. It's strangely liberating not having to consider paparazzi angles or brand partnerships or what message my outfit is sending to my fans.
Here, I'm just a woman getting dressed. Not a billboard. Not a brand. Just Nova.
When I make my way downstairs, I find the main room empty but coffee already made, a mug set out beside the pot. A small gesture that shouldn't make my heart skip, but does.
I pour myself coffee and move to the french doors that lead to the deck, watching as Finn continues his wood chopping ritual. From this angle, I can see more of the scars that mark his body. A puckered circle on his left shoulder that can only be a bullet wound. A long, jagged line across his right ribs. Smaller marks scattered across his back like constellations.
Maps of violence and survival etched into skin.
He turns suddenly, as if sensing my presence, and our eyes lock through the glass. Neither of us moves for a long moment. Then he nods once, acknowledging me, and sets down the ax.
I push open the door and step onto the deck, coffee mug clutched between my hands like a shield.
"Morning," he says, reaching for a shirt that hangs from a nearby fence post. I try not to feel disappointed as he pulls it over his head, covering the topography of muscle and scar tissue I'd been admiring.
"Morning." I take a sip of coffee to hide my suddenly dry throat. "You've been up a while."
"I’m always up with the sun." He gathers several split logs into his arms. "Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in months, actually."
Something like satisfaction flickers across his face. "Good. The security system does its job."
"I think it might be more the man running the security system," I say before I can stop myself.
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I see something there that makes my pulse quicken. Something heated and intent that has nothing to do with professional obligation.
Then it's gone, shuttered behind the cool blue of his professional gaze.
"I'm going to stack these," he says, nodding toward the woodpile. "Breakfast in twenty?"
"Sounds good. Need help?"
"I've got it."
He turns and walks away, leaving me with the distinct impression that he's retreating from more than just the conversation.
Back inside, I explore the kitchen, finding everything I need to make breakfast. By the time Finn returns, I've got bacon sizzling in a cast iron skillet and eggs ready to cook.
