Halfway through dinner she instigated a game with me—making a squeal that I repeated back—over and over again.
“Are you through?” Finley asked, nodding toward my plate. I had a feeling she was going to kick me out immediately after dinner, but I nodded anyway.
I cleared the plates while she wiped Maple’s hands and face. “I’m going to lay her down,” Finley said, lifting a sleepy Maple into her arms.
Unsure what else to do, I started rinsing the dishes as the soft sounds of a lullaby drifted from down the hall.
About fifteen minutes later, Finley joined me in the living room, looking tired, and sunk down onto the worn sofa.
“Not what you expected of me?”
“Becoming a stripper? If I’m being honest, no.” That was the last thing I would have ever guessed. Finley was soft spoken, reserved, with a quiet confidence and inner strength lurking under the surface. She wasn’t flamboyant or overly sexual, or any of the other things you think of when you hear the word stripper.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“You haven’t,” I corrected her. “I just want to help, and if I’m in a position to make your life a little easier, why not let me?”
“Because I don’t accept handouts. I take care of what’s mine,” she said, an air of confidence to her voice.
“So do I.” My tone matched hers and I sensed we were ready to square off, say all the things that had been kept bottled up for almost two years now.
“We’ll never be yours, Greyson. Surely six years in the military under enemy fire didn’t totally warp your brain.”
I leaned in closer, and caught a whiff of vanilla and lavender. “That’s the thing about SEALs – we’re hard headed. And once that bond is formed, it’s like a brotherhood – unbreakable.”
God, were we ever. Marcus and I had been practically attached at the hip.
“So you’re only doing this – looking in on us – to honor some memory?” Finley asked, pulling me from my somber thoughts.
“I didn’t say that. If I didn’t want to be here –I wouldn’t.” That was the absolute truth.
Her gaze studied mine, as if searching for the sincerity in my words, for my true motivation. Changing tactics, I tried for something more complimentary. “Seeing you last night brought up a lot of old memories, and meeting your little girl tonight – well she’s amazing.”
“Thank you.” Finley blushed and lowered her chin again.
After several moments of stiff silence, she shifted on the couch, pulling her legs underneath her. “So what are you proposing?”
I was shocked that her defensiveness had softened so fast. But I squashed my pleasant surprise at the small victory. This couldn't possibly be that easy; I shouldn't let myself get too hopeful. Maybe she was just looking for more concrete ammunition to shoot down my offer. Tread carefully, soldier. “Let me come by. Allow me to help out. Surely there are things around the house that need done, things a man could help with.”
She shook her head, frowning.
Damn stubborn woman.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she added.
I could see that it was more than that. Determination shined brightly in her eyes. The need to prove herself as a single working mother wasn’t easy and she wanted, no, needed to prove she could make it.
I was going to let it drop. For now.
“I know you don’t approve, but I have my reasons for working at the club.”
I raised one brow. “And those would be …?”
“Dancing allows me to pay my bills, mostly, and still be home with my daughter during the day. Maple already lost her dad; I didn’t want her mom to work fifty hours a week at an office an hour away and see her only at bedtime. She’s all I have. And I’m all she has.”
“I get that.” I nodded.
“Besides that, daycare is expensive. A big chunk of whatever money I made from working days would go right back into a babysitter or daycare.”
“Listen, I understand. You’re providing for your daughter, I’m just saying I didn’t like seeing you up there.”
Finley smirked at me. “I’m sorry for your poor eyes...I know I’m a few years past my expiration date, not to mention I’m a mom now.”
Past her expiration date? She had no fucking clue how wrong she was. I considered letting it go, but the way her eyes drifted down the floor and her fists closed tightly in her lap, I knew I had to set her straight. “That’s not what I meant,” I corrected her. “You were sexy as hell, and before I knew who you were, my cock was standing at attention, giving you a full salute.”
Her cheeks went bright pink.
“Seriously,” I said, “Where the hell did you learn moves like that?” I couldn’t help the touch of respect in my voice.
“I can’t believe you just told me you got hard …” She was still smirking at me and looking at me with a bit of wonder.
I shrugged. “We’ve been through too much to start beating around the bush now.”
Beating. Bush. Those may have been the wrong choice in words. God, what was with me? I definitely didn’t want her to know I’d gone home and jerked myself raw to thoughts of her naked breasts, tanned skin and silky curves.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly, her gaze lifting to mine. “When I’m on stage, it’s the only place where I can really let myself go. The only time I’m free. I’m not a mom, not a grieving widow, I’m someone more fun, casual, and desirable. I guess I don’t really think, I just feel the music and let it move me.”