Evie's Bombshell - By Amy Andrews
EVIE LOCKHEART BELTED hard on the door, uncaring if the whole building heard her. Loud rock music bled out from around the frame so she knew he wasn’t asleep. ‘Open up now, Finn Kennedy,’ she yelled, ‘or so help me I’m going to kick this fancy penthouse door right in!’
She glared at the stubbornly closed object. It had been two weeks since he’d been discharged from hospital after the less than stellar success of his second operation. Two weeks since he’d said, Get out. I don’t want you in my life. Two weeks of phoning and texting and having one-sided conversations through his door.
And it was enough.
She was sick of Finn shutting her out—shutting the world out.
And if she didn’t love him so much she’d just walk away and leave him to rot in the cloud of misery and denial he liked to call home.
But memories of the infection he’d picked up after his first operation and the state he’d got himself into as he’d tried to self-treat were never far from her mind and she was determined to check on him whether the stubborn fool wanted her to or not.
She was about to bash on the door again when the lift behind her dinged and Gladys stepped out. She’d never been happier to see Finn’s cleaner in her life.
‘Gladys, I need Finn’s key.’
The older woman’s brow crinkled in concern as she searched through her bag. ‘Is he all right? Is he sick again?’
‘No,’ Evie dismissed. Gladys had found Finn collapsed on the floor overwhelmed by his infection and still hadn’t quite got over the shock. ‘He’s probably fine but I’d like to see it with my own two eyes.’ Then I’m going to wring his neck.
Gladys stopped her frantic search. ‘He was fine yesterday,’ she hedged.
Evie had to stop herself from knocking the dear sweet little old lady, who also happened to clean her apartment along with many others at Kirribilli Views, to the ground and forcibly searching her bag.
‘He told you not to give me the key, didn’t he?’
Gladys looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, Evie. But he was very firm about it.’
Evie suppressed a scream but she stood her ground and held out her hand. ‘Gladys, I’m begging you, one woman to another, I need to see him. I need the key.’
Gladys pursed her lips. ‘You love him?’
Evie wasn’t surprised that Gladys was in the gossip loop, given how long rumours about she and Finn had been floating around Sydney Harbour Hospital and how many of its staff lived at Kirribilli Views. She nodded, depending on the incurably romantic streak she knew beat inside the old cleaner’s chest.
‘Yes.’ Although God knew why. The man was impossible to love!
Gladys put her hand in her bag and pulled out a set of keys. ‘He needs someone to love him,’ she said, holding them out.
‘He needs a damn good spanking,’ Evie muttered, taking the keys.
Gladys grinned. ‘That too.’
‘Thanks,’ Evie said.
‘I’ll leave his apartment till last today,’ the elderly woman said, and turned back towards the lift.
Finn glared at her as the door opened and Evie felt the glacial chill from his ice-blue eyes all the way across the room, despite the darkened interior from the pulled-down blinds. ‘Remind me to sack Gladys,’ he said as he threw back the amber contents of a glass tumbler.
Evie moved towards where he was sitting on the couch, noticing how haggard he was looking. His usual leanness looked almost gaunt in the shadows. His regular stubbly appearance bordering on scruffy. His dark brown hair messy as if he’d been constantly worrying at it with agitated fingers. The light was too low to see the streaks of grey that gave him that distinguished arrogant air he wore so bloody well.
How could a man look like hell and still cause a pull low and deep inside her? And how, damn it all, could he stare at her with that morose belligerence he’d perfected and still not kill off her feelings for him?
Finn Kennedy was going to be the death of her. God knew, he’d already ground her pride into the dust.
The coffee table halted her progress and she was pleased for the barrier as the urge to shake him took hold. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Nope.’ He poured himself another finger of Scotch from the bottle on the coffee table. ‘Not yet.’
‘It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.’
He raised his glass to her. ‘I appreciate this booty call, but if you don’t mind I have a date with my whisky glass.’
Evie watched him