His thumb finally brushes my cheekbone, so gentle it almost undoes me. "Not from me."
"I don't need protection from you."
The words hang between us, honest and dangerous. His eyes search mine, looking for something. Doubt, maybe. Or fear. But there's none to find.
Just want, pure and simple, and terrifying in its intensity.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and I know he's going to kiss me. Know it with a certainty that steals my breath and makes my heart race.
Then his SAT phone rings, shrill and insistent, shattering the moment.
Finn steps back immediately, professional mask sliding back into place as he reaches for the phone on his belt. I stand frozen, caught between disappointment and relief, my body still humming with unfulfilled anticipation.
"McKenna," he answers, voice betraying nothing of what just happened between us. He listens for a moment, his expression giving nothing away. "I understand. Send the file. We'll review it."
He ends the call and turns back to me, all business now, as if we weren't seconds away from crossing a line that can't be uncrossed.
"Frank?" I ask, trying to match his professional tone.
"Yes. The FBI has identified a suspect. They're sending over the file now."
Just like that, reality comes crashing back. The stalker. The danger. The reason I'm here in this cabin with this man who makes me feel things I shouldn't.
"Who is it?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself again.
"They don't have a name yet, just a physical description from security footage they've enhanced. White male, thirties, approximately six feet tall. They're running facial recognition now."
"So they're close to finding him?"
"They're closer than they were yesterday." He doesn't sugar coat it, doesn't offer false reassurances, and I appreciate that more than he knows.
"What happens when they find him?"
"They arrest him. He faces federal charges for stalking, breaking and entering, as well as making threats. He goes to prison for a long time."
"And I go back to my life."
"Yes."
I nod, trying to look appropriately relieved at the prospect. But the truth is, part of me doesn't want to go back. Part of me wants to stay here in this mountain sanctuary with this complicated, fascinating man who sees the real me beneath the celebrity facade.
"Let's go inside," Finn says, nodding toward the cabin. "We can review the file when it comes through."
I follow him inside, hyper aware of the distance he's keeping between us now. The almost kiss hangs in the air, unacknowledged but impossible to forget.
We spend the next hour in professionally distant silence, Finn at his laptop reviewing security footage from my LA home, me pretending to read a book while actually watching him over the pages.
The tension between us is palpable. I should be relieved that the phone rang when it did. That we didn't cross that line. That our relationship remains professional, uncomplicated by feelings neither of us can afford right now.
I should be relieved, but I'm not.
Because now I know what I was missing before. The way his hand feels in my hair. The heat in his eyes when he looks at me like I’m precious instead of a mere responsibility. The possibility of what might happen if we both stop fighting whatever this is between us.
And that knowledge is dangerous in ways my stalker could never be.
Finn looks up suddenly, catching me staring at him. For a brief moment, I see the same heat in his eyes, the same want that must be visible in mine.
Then it's gone, banked behind professional control, and he turns back to his laptop without a word.
