Chapter Four
It was nearly two weeks now since the first time that Finn had laid eyes on the delectable Delilah Ferris, and he was shockingly no closer to snagging a date with her - not to mention having hours and hours of hot, steamy sex - then he’d been on that initial encounter. He figured that this was probably the first time since his freshman year in high school - when he’d brazenly asked out the hottest girl in school, who also happened to be a senior and way, way out of his league - that a woman hadn’t immediately succumbed to his charms. Hell, thought Finn with disgust as he booted up his laptop, he couldn’t recall a time in the last couple of decades when he’d even had to make an effort to get a woman. Between his good looks, his bold, flirtatious nature, and his fame, he lured women in without having to do much more than smile at them invitingly. What typically followed next was merely a matter of nature taking its course.
Except, it seemed, with the brunette bombshell who had taken up residence across the hall from him. He’d encountered her half a dozen times over the past week and a half, and each time she’d been downright snooty and dismissive, barely sparing him a glance. And when she did happen to look his way, it was with that same expression of distaste he’d noticed the first time they had seen each other.
Granted, acknowledged Finn with a grimace, he sure as hell hadn’t helped his case with wooing the lovely Delilah a couple of the times they’d run into each other, given that he’d had another woman on his arm both times. And two of the other times he’d caught a glimpse of her - once as she was leaving the building to go out for the evening, and another when she was entering her condo - it had been Delilah who’d been accompanied by a date. On both of those occasions, Finn had scowled to notice that her companions almost exactly fit the description Armando had provided him with - tall, dark-haired, impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, obviously sophisticated. They could have been clones of Max, he’d thought dourly, and he vowed anew to keep his friend far, far away from the woman he was more intent than ever on pursuing. It would be just his rotten luck, Finn had thought sourly, that meeting Delilah Ferris would prove to be the catalyst to jolting Max out of his years-long depression and bring him back to the land of the living.
And when he’d thought for sure that the time was right to finally introduce himself properly to his new neighbor, she’d more or less given him the cold shoulder. After learning from Armando the approximate time Delilah left for work each day, Finn had made sure he was up and about - after also making sure that he had slept alone the previous night - in plenty of time to “coincidentally” leave his place at the exact same time she was leaving hers. He’d made sure to shave, comb his newly trimmed hair, and dress in a pair of dark wash designer jeans, a button-down white shirt, and a tweed sports coat. He’d even swapped out his usual footgear of sneakers or Vans or flip flops for a pair of handmade Italian leather loafers.
He’d timed it exactly right, closing the door to his condo just as she was leaving her place, making sure to flash her his most dazzling smile - the one that had never failed to snare even the most seemingly unattainable of women.
“Well, I would definitely say that this morning is getting off to a real good start,” he’d drawled in the lazy, sexy voice that most women swooned over. “When the first thing a guy sees as he’s getting ready to start the day is the most beautiful woman in San Francisco - well, it doesn’t get much better than that. Oh, here. Let me carry that for you. It looks heavy.”
But Delilah hadn’t even attempted to return his smile, not even the sort of tiny, polite little smile that usually meant “leave me the fuck alone”. And instead of graciously handing him the overstuffed leather satchel she was carrying, and thanking him for his chivalry, she had scowled and transferred the bag to her other hand.
“I’ve got it,” was all she’d said in reply, just before turning on her heel and striding in the direction of the elevators.
She’d been wearing a suit that day - a chic little skirt and fitted jacket of black wool, teamed with sheer black hosiery and sky high black patent leather pumps. The skirt had done really amazing things for her sensational ass, while the short jacket had subtly emphasized her full, round breasts. Her makeup had been a little more dramatic that day, with smoky eyes and dark red lips, and she’d reminded him of a sultry, tempting she-devil. And as he’d continued gazing down at her with his best “let me show you a real good time” smile, Finn had never wanted to give in to temptation as much as he had at that particular moment.
Her chilly dismissal hadn’t discouraged him one bit, however, as he’d held out his hand to her. “By the way, it just occurred to me that we haven’t officially met. And that I’ve been a very, very bad neighbor by not welcoming you to the neighborhood until now. I’m Finley McManus, but everyone calls me Finn. Well, except for my friend Max, but he’s British and a real stick in the mud. And he only uses my full name when he’s annoyed with me, which is pretty much most of the time.”
Delilah had arched a perfectly plucked brow, her lush, cupid’s bow mouth quirking up reluctantly at the corners. “I can’t imagine why that would be,” she’d replied dryly, in a slightly husky voice that had been somewhat at odds with her petite, ultra-feminine image.
She’d given his hand a brisk, reluctant shake, then just as quickly withdrew it. But that all-too-brief contact had been more than enough for Finn to become aware of how dainty her hand was, how soft her skin felt, and how even such a simple, fleeting touch had instantly caused a bead of sweat to form across his upper lip - not to mention the reaction it was having on other parts of his anatomy.
“Delilah Ferris,” she’d announced curtly. “And I don’t mean to be rude but I really need to be on my way to the office.”
But Finn hadn’t been easily deterred, placing his hand on her elbow as he escorted her the short distance down the thickly carpeted hallway towards the elevator. “Of course. Is your office close by?”
He hadn’t let on that he already knew just about everything there was to know about her fashion design business - not just the address but the website, phone number, and, most importantly, the bio of the CEO - one Ms. Delilah Ferris.
Delilah had none too discreetly jerked her elbow out of his grasp, punching the down button with far more force than necessary. “Not far,” was all she’d replied, not even sparing him a glance as she’d stepped inside the elevator car.
Before Finn could make any additional attempts at conversation, Delilah had extracted her phone from her chic black leather handbag and begun scrolling through messages, not even glancing up once. Finn had been decidedly taken aback, for he hadn’t been able to recall the last time a woman had outright ignored him, as though he wasn’t standing mere inches from her.
And he’d had to stifle a little moan as the intoxicating scent of her slightly spicy perfume assailed his nostrils. It was a subtle scent, not overwhelming as some perfumes could be, but more than enough to stir his already aroused senses.
He’d moved quickly to hold the elevator doors open for her when they reached the ground floor, all but forcing her to mumble a rather grudging “Thank you” before she’d strutted away on those sexy stilettos, their heels clicking in a rapid staccato on the polished marble floor of the lobby. Finn had thought about rushing after her, but given how icy cold her attitude had been he’d thought better of the idea.
He had left his condo at the exact same time for the next two days, just as she was leaving her place, but hadn’t managed to make any further progress with her. She’d coolly rebuffed his offer to join him for coffee, or dinner, not offering up any sort of excuse for her refusal, just flat out shutting him down. With any other woman, Finn would have cut his losses and simply moved on to one of the dozens of willing females who’d be all too eager to go on a date with him, or share his bed.
But Delilah’s stubborn refusals only served to make him more determined than ever to have her. She was a challenge that he wasn’t used to dealing with, a novelty, even. The fact that she definitely wasn’t playing hard-to-get, or some other sort of game intended to grab his attention, only intrigued him more. He couldn’t remember the last time when he’d actually had to woo a woman, and realized that he was way, way out of his comfort zone where this female was concerned.
On the fourth consecutive morning that he’d timed his exit to coincide with hers, she hadn’t shown up. He’d waited out there in the hallway like a lovestruck fool for close to half an hour, figuring that she was going into work a little later this morning, before finally growing impatient and heading down to the lobby. Once there, Armando had rather sheepishly informed him that Ms. Ferris had left the building some time ago, leaving Finn to realize that she’d caught on to his strategy real quick and had just as quickly moved to outmaneuver him.
But he’d been fortunate enough to run into her in the lobby last evening on his way out to meet one of his former NFL teammates for dinner. He’d thanked his lucky stars that his friend had suggested an upscale restaurant for their meal, which meant that Finn had dressed up a bit in a pair of tailored khaki slacks and a forest green cashmere pullover, instead of his usual Saturday night attire of jeans and a T-shirt.
As for the very fashionable Ms. Ferris - well, Finn’s tongue had practically been hanging out of his mouth when he’d spotted her waiting by the concierge’s desk. She’d been wearing red last night - bold, vivid, sinful red, a fitting color for the she-devil he’d likened her to. The little dress had hugged her curves like a second skin, the wrapover bodice showcasing those really remarkable boobs, and the short hem displaying her slender, shapely legs enticingly. And those damned shoes she’d been wearing - black stiletto sandals with an ankle strap. Finn had instantly envisioned fucking her while she was wearing those sexy shoes - and nothing else - her ankles locked around his neck as he rammed his cock as deep inside of her petite body as he dared.
Her luxurious mane of dark brown hair had fallen in loose curls about her shoulders and back, her plump, tempting mouth glossed over in a shade of red that almost exactly matched her provocative dress. She’d been carrying a black clutch bag, a black wool coat draped over her arm as she’d gazed expectantly at the front door.
Finn hadn’t wasted even a moment before he’d swooped in with his best sexy smile, and the lazy, seductive drawl that had never failed him yet.
“Well, this is good timing, isn’t it?” he’d inquired as he’d walked over to where she had been standing. “I was about ready to head out and meet an old friend of mine for dinner, but since I’d much rather spend the evening with you, I’m sure he won’t mind if I take a raincheck. In fact, if he could see for himself how gorgeous you look this evening, he’d insist on cancelling our dinner.”
Delilah had barely spared him a glance, her dark eyes raking over him dismissively. “I already have a date for this evening,” she’d replied brusquely. “And unlike you I have zero intention of cancelling it. I also have zero intention of going on a date with you, Mr. McManus – ever - so you can save yourself the trouble of asking me in the future.”
Finn had pretended to clutch his chest in pain, and had staggered backwards a step or two. “Such cruel words coming from such a beautiful mouth,” he’d scolded playfully. “But tell you what, darling Delilah. Let’s not call it a date then, hmm? Instead, let’s just consider it two neighbors going out for a drink or coffee or maybe dinner, and just getting to be - well, more neighborly. Does that change your mind about my invitation?”
She’d glared at him, and he could have sworn she had actually stomped one of her tiny feet in indignation. “No, it does not,” she’d retorted irritably. “Look, don’t take this personally - though I suppose that’s really not going to be possible - but you just aren’t my type. Okay?”
Finn had snickered, giving her a playful little chuck on the chin. “Now, that’s impossible, Ms. Ferris. Because I have it on very good authority that I’m everyone’s type. Uh, every female’s type, that is,” he’d amended hastily. “I, uh, don’t swing the other way.”
She’d all but slapped his hand away, giving him the evil eye as she’d done so. “Hands off, got it?” she’d hissed. “I study martial arts and self-defense twice a week. And while I might not be able to toss you on your arrogant ass, I have other ways of inflicting pain. Like breaking your pinky finger, for example.”
He had given her an unholy grin. “Ooh, but maybe I like pain, did you ever consider that? As for you doing any damage to me, I’d pay good money to see that, darling Delilah. I’m more than a foot taller than you are, even with those sexy shoes you’re wearing - love them, by the way - and I’m guessing I outweigh you by a good eighty pounds. And - fuck it! Ow!”
She had caught him completely unawares, ramming the dangerously pointed heel of the aforementioned stiletto into his instep. She’d actually had the nerve to laugh as he had hopped around on one foot, still cursing from the pain in his other foot, and he had thought darkly that his instincts had been exactly right - she was definitely a she-devil. A wicked, bad-tempered, and dangerous she-devil.
“Like I said, Mr. McManus,” she’d cautioned, waggling one scarlet-tipped finger at him, “I may not be very tall or strong, but you’d be surprised at all the ways I can hurt you. So I’d advise you to keep your distance. It’s pretty obvious you think you’re God’s gift to women, but I definitely don’t share that opinion.”
The witty comeback he’d been about to make had been pre-empted by the untimely arrival of Delilah’s date for the evening - a tall, dark-haired, attractive man in his early thirties dressed in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit. He could have been a clone of the two other men he had seen her with recently, or a younger version of Max, for that matter.
Clone Number Three had smiled winningly at Delilah before slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, then turned to gaze quizzically at Finn.
“Hey, you look really familiar,” the younger man had begun, and then snapped his fingers. “I know! You’re Finn McManus, aren’t you? I watch your pre-game show on the NFL Network all the time. Hey, do you think I could get your autograph?”
Finn had longed to give the other man a good, hard shove, furious that the bastard was allowed to touch and kiss the delectable Delilah while he was forbidden such pleasures himself. But he’d always prided himself on being gracious to his fans, and it had been those long ingrained habits that had prompted him to ask the concierge for a pen and sheet of note paper.
“Who should I make this out to?” inquired Finn, trying not to smirk when he glimpsed the annoyed look on Delilah’s face. She might not have any idea how famous he was - or care - but at least her dopey date for this evening was a fan.
“Oh, if you could make it out to Phil, that would be great,” gushed Delilah’s date. “I’m Evan, by the way. Phil is actually my father. He was a big fan of yours when you were playing. Before my time, of course, but my dad always likes to reminisce about the good old days. He’s going to be stoked when he learns I got your autograph for him.”
This time, Finn had had to restrain himself from throwing a punch at the little prick, especially when Delilah’s dark eyes had twinkled with unholy mischief at his obvious irritation, and she hadn’t been able to hold back her laughter. She was definitely, he’d thought darkly, at least part devil woman. But that realization had only made him more determined than ever to tame the shrew and tempt her into his bed.
He had hastily scribbled out his autograph and thrust it at Evan, before he’d mumbled a rather grouchy “Good night” and strode out the front door to hail a taxi. He’d been in a sour mood the rest of the evening, something his former teammate Gregg Hunter was quick to pick up on. After hearing about the unintentional dig Evan had made about Finn’s age, Gregg had spent the better part of their dinner trying to cheer his friend up - after having a good laugh about it first, of course.
But no amount of booze or New York strip steak or even Finn’s favorite potatoes au gratin had been able to lift his spirits. And when Gregg had suggested hitting up a singles bar or two after dinner and hopefully meeting a couple of hot babes, Finn had shocked his old friend by stating that he just wasn’t in the mood.
Gregg had stared at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted three heads. “Since when is Finn McManus not in the mood to get laid? Man, whoever this chick is that’s messing with your head had better be worth it.”
In reply, Finn had opened up the website for Delilah’s design firm - Ma Belle Petite - and scrolled through until he’d located the page with her bio, complete with a photo. Gregg had whistled admiringly as he’d studied the image on Finn’s phone, and then nodded his head in understanding.
“Okay, I get it now,” Gregg had admitted. “She’s definitely something special, isn’t she? Gorgeous and hot but also classy. You already know which one of those three characteristics isn’t on your usual checklist when it comes to picking up women. And I hate to say it, buddy, but this one might just be a little out of your league.”
Finn thought the same thing as he once again found himself staring longingly at Delilah’s image on the bio page of her company website. That plush, tempting mouth of hers was curled up in a half-smile, the expression on her face one of bold confidence. It would have definitely taken a woman of such steely strength to start her own very specialized fashion design firm - one that catered exclusively to petite women - and, more importantly, to have achieved the level of success that she apparently had, and within just a few short years at that.
There wasn’t a whole lot of personal information about her, simply the facts that she had grown up in Orinda, an affluent suburb about fifteen or so miles east of San Francisco. Finn knew that Delilah’s hometown was one populated by multi-millionaires, and that her upbringing, therefore, must have been one of wealth and privilege. She’d completed her education at the Fashion Institute of Design in New York City, earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, before returning to the Bay Area to start her own company. The idea behind Ma Belle Petite had stemmed from Delilah’s inability to find chic, fashionable clothes that actually fit her, or that hadn’t required extensive and expensive alterations. So she had set out to create a complete line of clothing and accessories - shoes, handbags, lingerie - specifically sized for women who were five foot three inches and shorter.
Since meeting his femme fatale neighbor a couple of weeks ago, and then learning about her design firm, Finn had poured over her website several times in an attempt to glean as much information about her as possible. And he’d been especially intrigued - no, make that more like obsessed - when he had discovered that Delilah herself had been the model in a good number of the photographs of the clothing and other items offered for sale on her company website.
He clicked on one of those photos now - his personal favorite, he’d decided - and tried not to drool as the image of her clad in just a lacy pink bra and matching panties filled his screen. Finn didn’t know if the photo had been airbrushed or not, as was often the case with fashion shots, but he doubted that much touching up had been needed. Delilah looked mouthwateringly beautiful in the sensual lingerie, the sexy bra showcasing her really amazing breasts to perfection, while the tiny pair of panties revealed a smooth, flat stomach, and gently curving hips. In this particular photo her skin had a pale gold sheen to it, and Finn found himself very, very impatient to discover whether that was due to a spray-on tan, good lighting, or her own natural coloring.
Finn sighed as he forced himself to close out the sultry image of Delilah, realizing that sitting here mooning over her picture wasn’t going to get him a date with her. No, he was going to have to pull out all the stops to win this woman over, he realized, was going to have to make some major changes to his lifestyle, and adjust his attitude concerning a whole lot of different things.
Starting with the frequent hook-ups with other women that had been a part of his life for more than two decades. He had already been celibate for nearly a week, admittedly the longest stretch of time Finn could recall in recent years. He’d somewhat unconsciously made the decision to do so after running into Delilah while he’d had a half-drunk date hanging all over him. The look of pure disgust on Delilah’s face had made him feel both ashamed and maybe even a little dirty, since it had been very, very obvious that the scantily clad, heavily made up bottle blonde hadn’t been anywhere near Delilah’s level of class.
It had been after that encounter when Finn had made up his mind that he was going to turn over a new leaf. He was going to stop picking up women in bars and clubs, was going to give the celibacy thing an honest try, and at the same time was going to cut back on his drinking - which had admittedly been a little out of hand lately. He was going to start taking more pains with his clothing and grooming, and was fully prepared to do whatever might be necessary in order to win over one Ms. Delilah Ferris.
And since Finn wasn’t too proud to admit that he couldn’t pull all of this off by himself, that he would need to call in the big guns for this one, he abruptly picked up the phone to call Jordan.
“Hey, buddy,” greeted Finn cheerfully as Jordan answered the call. “You and the girlfriend - excuse me, the almost-fiancée - got any big plans for tomorrow night? No? Good, because I need your advice. Big time. So, are you and Aubrey going to cook dinner or should I get takeout to bring over to your place?”