All They Need (15 page)

So much for a boy's own adventures. He walked
naked up the hallway and dressed in the chilly living room. Then and only then did he allow himself to think about Mel again. In the light of a new day, what had happened between them last night didn't seem quite so dire. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not quite as end-of-days as he'd let himself believe last night.

After all, there had been almost five minutes of blazing-hot intensity between them before she pushed him away. That had to count for something, and definitely it had to count in his favor.

He was on his way to the garden, still mulling things over, trying to work out what his next step should be where she was concerned, when he opened the front door and almost stumbled over a bag that had been left on the doormat. Frowning, he picked it up and glanced inside. His gray sweater lay neatly folded in the bottom, while his sunglasses rested on top. Vaguely he remembered leaving both items on the rear porch at Mel's place yesterday.

He walked to the top of the steps and looked down the garden path, but there was no sign of Mel. Which made sense. She'd probably dropped by at the crack of dawn in order to avoid running into him.

So much for things looking better in the light of a new day.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. There'd been so many things against him falling for someone at this ridiculously difficult and stressful time in his life, but for whatever crazy reason he was here, in this place, with his feelings and hopes very firmly engaged—and Mel didn't want a piece of him. There was no other way to interpret this morning's gesture.

He walked into the living room and tossed the bag
onto the floor. The urge to kick something was so powerful he didn't even bother resisting it, simply aimed and left fly, sending the old wooden crate flying across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack.

It didn't change anything. He still didn't know what to do. Common sense told him to back off and cut his losses. If it were any other woman, he would. But this was Mel, and last night she'd been in his arms…

Frustrated beyond measure, he spun on his heel and went in search of something sweaty and exhausting to do. At least when it came to dirt and plants he knew what was what.

 

I
T WAS RIDICULOUS
, but Mel missed Flynn. Ridiculous because she never usually saw him during the week—last week being an exception—and because she was the one who had pushed him away.

The urge to text or call or email him gripped her most of Monday and Tuesday. She ignored it. For starters, she had no idea how she would even begin to start a conversation with him after what had almost happened. She'd groped him then rejected him—she couldn't now call him and pretend nothing had happened.

Could she?

She toyed with the notion all Tuesday night and was still undecided on the subject when she arrived at her parents' place on Wednesday morning. She'd been pressed into service to help prepare the yard for the big anniversary party on Saturday night and she spent the morning weeding the flower beds along the fence line before making a run to the garden center to get some annuals—“instant loveliness,” as her mother called them—then planting them. All the while the question of Flynn whirled in her mind. Could she call
him? Should she? If she was going to play it cool and pretend nothing had happened, what would she say?

She started scraping the rust and flaking paint off the garage wall in the afternoon in preparation for painting, and by the time she'd reached the halfway mark she still hadn't come up with a single decent conversational gambit with which to break the ice with Flynn.

“You know why? Because you're an idiot,” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

Mel looked over to see her mother crossing the patio, a glass of water in hand.

“Just talking to myself,” Mel admitted.

Her mother passed her the glass. “It's when you start answering back that you really have to worry.”

“Too late.”

Her mother grinned and shaded her eyes to inspect her progress. “You know, your father promised he'd do this for me so many times over the years, but it's taken this party before it finally happened.”

“Yeah, and he still isn't doing it.” Mel couldn't help pointing that fact out.

“True,” her mother said reflectively. “But he is paying for the party, which is why I've been able to guilt you into doing this, so, by extension…”

“You should be in politics. You have a sneaky mind.” Mel took a big swallow of water then turned back to the garage wall.

“Sing out if you need anything else,” her mother said as she headed inside.

Mel's phone rang as she bent to pick up the wire brush she'd been using. She straightened, leaving the brush where it was, and pulled her phone from her
pocket. Her heart did something strange in her chest when she saw it was Flynn calling.

“Hi,” she said, hoping she didn't sound as pleased—and relieved—as she felt to hear from him.

“Hey. How are things?” His voice sounded so good, so familiar.

“Things are good. Mom's got me on slave duties for the big party on Saturday night. Although I'm beginning to suspect that this is all a ploy to get a freebie renovation.”

She waited for him to pick up the conversational ball and run with it the way he usually did, but there was a small, awkward pause before he spoke again.

“Actually, I was calling about your parents' party. Your mother sent me an invitation, and I wanted to check with you before I responded.”

Mel blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“Your mother sent me an invitation to her party.”

“Holy—” Mel swallowed a curse, turning to glare at the house. She could see her mother moving around through the kitchen window. If she could have, she would have grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her until her teeth rattled. “I'm really sorry she did that, Flynn. Believe me, if I'd known… I'll tell her to cross you off her list right now.”

“Right. Well, I guess that answers my question,” he said slowly.

“What question was that?”

“Whether you knew if she'd asked me or not.”

She was so embarrassed she could feel heat radiating off her face. It took her a moment to register the disappointment in his voice and longer still to comprehend what it might mean.

“Don't tell me you want to come?” she blurted.

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Why?” The question came from her gut, fueled by all the doubts and regrets that had been plaguing her since she'd pushed him away on Saturday night.

“You really need me to spell it out?”

There was a faintly exasperated note to his voice, but she knew that if he was standing in front of her that there would also be a smile in his eyes. A wave of relief washed over her, so strong that she felt a little dizzy in its wake.

“I thought the next time I saw you was going to be when we bumped into each other accidentally in the village,” she said.

“Did you? And here I was, under the impression that we were friends.”

Her heart was going nuts in her chest. She lay her hand over her left breast to try to contain it.

“I thought that maybe, after what happened, I mean, after what didn't happen, that it might be too weird—”

“Because we kissed?”

“Because we almost had sex and I freaked out and kicked you out of my house like a complete psycho beast.”

“That's one way of looking at it.”

“What's the other way?”

“We kissed.”

Inexplicable tears burned the back of her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop herself from saying any of the things that were crowding her throat.

“Mel? Are you still there?”

She closed her eyes. “Yeah. I'm still here.”

“Good. I'd like to buy your parents something for their anniversary. Any suggestions?”

Mel opened her eyes and glanced toward the house
again. “My mother loves those little porcelain dogs and cats. The ones you can buy at the jewelers. Get her as many of those as you can. Half a dozen should do it.”

There was a small pause. “So she hates porcelain. Any other nonsuggestions?”

“Just buy her some flowers. She loves flowers.”

“Okay. I'll see you on Saturday, Mel.”

“See you.” She ended the call then stood for a moment, her head bowed. Flynn was coming to her parents' anniversary party. She was going to see him again. And he hadn't given up on her or decided she was too hard or not worth the hassle.

After a long beat, she lifted her head and took a deep breath.
“Mom!”

Her mother appeared in the door like a jack-in-the-box. “Are you okay?”

Mel marched toward the patio, the better to loom over her parent while she gave her a piece of her mind. “Why did you invite Flynn to your party without telling me?”

Her mother had the grace to look guilty. “I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.”

“Did it occur to you at some point that I might prefer not to be surprised? And that if I had wanted him to come I would have invited him myself?”

Her mother reached for the necklace at her throat, pulling the faith, hope and charity charms back and forth across the chain. A sure sign she was nervous.

“Why don't you want him to come? You obviously like the man. And he obviously likes you. Why wouldn't you want him there?”

“You of all people know why,” Mel said.

Her mother shut her jaw with a click and dropped her hand. After a long moment she nodded. “You're
right. I'm sorry. We just want you to be happy again, Melly Belly.”

“I know, Mom. But you can't make me happy, especially not by pushing me into something I have no idea if I'm ready for or not.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought maybe you just needed a little nudge.”

“No.”

“Okay. I'll cross him off the list, then,” her mother said.

Mel turned and walked back toward the garage. “He's coming.”

“But you just said—”

Wisely, her mother didn't complete her thought. Mel picked up the wire brush and resumed her attack on the garage wall. After a few seconds her mother reentered the house.

Mel spent the next hour trying not to feel like the world's biggest hypocrite—because, of course, she was over the moon that she would be seeing Flynn this weekend. But her mother didn't need to know that just yet.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, Mel plugged in the final string of fairy lights and stepped back to assess the effect. She gave a nod of satisfaction.

“Not too bad, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, not too shabby,” her brother agreed.

They'd been working since daybreak to transform their parents' yard for the big occasion. Thanks to their labors, fairy lights now hung from every conceivable anchor point—the eaves, the side of the freshly painted garage, along the fence—and pots full of flowering annuals had been borrowed from Mel's garden and placed in strategic locations to cover various domestic uglies like the tap and the grease trap. Assorted outdoor chairs were placed in conversational groupings, and the caterers had set up a long trestle table beneath the covered patio. Later, guests would help themselves to a selection of salads as well as roast lamb and beef, both of which were currently being spit-roasted on a rotisserie located in front of the garage, sending delicious aromas across the backyard.

“I'm going home to get ready before Mom spots us standing around,” Harry said, already fishing in his pocket for his car keys.

“Good point.”

Officially the party didn't start for another hour, but her mother's sister, Lydia, was notorious for being early,
and the neighbors would probably drift over sooner rather than later. Unless Mel wanted to be caught in her dirty track pants and equally dirty sweater, she needed to make a quick exit while she could.

“Two-minute warning, here comes Mom now,” Harry said. He ducked down the side of the house just as their mother exited the sliding door to the patio.

“Mel. Thank God. The light's blown on the front porch. Can you believe the timing? Your father's in the shower. Would you mind?”

Mel held out a hand for the lightbulb her mother was already carrying and followed her through the house to the front door.

“I'm still not sure if we've got enough wine. Do you think I should send Harry out for more champagne? And ice. Do we have enough ice?” her mother asked.

Mel handed her the blown bulb before placing her hands on her mother's shoulders.

“Mom. Calm down. You have enough drink to keep the Australian cricket team happy, and we have ice up the yoo-hoo. Why don't you get ready, then sit down and put your feet up for a few minutes and have a glass of wine?”

“I'm not sure. I wanted to make sure the caterers know where to set up the bar. And—”

Mel gave her mother's shoulders a little shake. “Quit it with the excuses. Go get ready. I'll tell the caterers where to put the bar on my way out, okay?”

Her mother looked relieved. “All right. If you insist.”

“I do, crazy lady. Now go make yourself beautiful, and I'll see you in half an hour or so.”

Mel waited till her mother had disappeared up the hallway to her bedroom before ducking outside to have
a quick word with the caterer. Then she escaped before her mother came up with another task for her to do.

She headed straight for the shower when she got home. Standing under the warm water, she allowed herself to think about Flynn again.

She'd been rationing herself, not allowing herself to think too much about him and build too much into the fact that she was going to see him again. It was enough that he was going to be there and that he wanted to be there. Anything else she was going to have to deal with on the fly, because no amount of thinking and double thinking and analyzing was going to change the fact that the future was yet to be written.

She'd laid her clothes out on the bed before she left that morning and she sprayed on perfume before slipping into a matching bra-and-panties set and reaching for her dress. Even though her parents had hired a number of outdoor heaters to try to take the chill off, she'd chosen a fine-knit red wool wrap dress for the party, as well as her black knee-high boots. Both went well with the black coat she'd be wearing. She sat on the bed to roll on stay-up stockings, then she zipped her boots and went to fix her hair. She pulled it into the laziest of updos, pinning it into a loose bun with stray curls around her face. She spent five minutes on her makeup before adding a pair of dangling jet earrings and matching necklace to her ensemble. She walked into the bedroom to check her reflection.

She looked good. And really, really nervous.

She collected her coat from the hall closet, locked the house and drove to her parents'. The street was beginning to fill with cars and she was forced to park near the corner and walk. She shrugged into her coat as she walked, her high-heeled boots clicking on the
pavement. The front door was open and she could hear music and voices inside, a sure sign that the party had well and truly started.

She let herself in and started looking for her mother to check there were no last-minute emergencies she needed help with before things really fired up. Mel's progress was slow as she stopped to greet and exchange quick catch-ups with various relatives and family friends. She'd scored a glass of champagne from a roving waiter by the time she made it to the patio, where she finally found her mother.

Dressed in painted-on black trousers and a jade-green silk jacket with a plunging neckline that was only made decent by a black lace camisole, her mother was lit up like a Christmas tree, a glass of champagne in one hand as she held court with her friends. Mel took one look at her and decided she was fine, making a bee-line for where she could see Harry and Justine standing near the garage.

“Mom's on fire already,” she said as she arrived.

“Tell me about it. Someone needs to remind her to go easy on the champagne,” Justine said.

“Why? It's her night. If she wants to get snookered and stagger around a little, she should be allowed to,” Harry said, raising his own beer to his mouth.

His gaze was glued to the petite blond waitress who was circulating with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Mel couldn't decide if it was because he was hungry or trying to pick up, and she decided she didn't want to know. Harry's love life was hair-raising at the best of times.

Justine's gaze slid over Mel's shoulder and a peculiar expression—half surprise, half smug—came over her face. “Look at that. He came.”

Mel knew who her sister was talking about, even
though she hadn't realized Justine had been privy to her mother's sneaky invitation.

Slowly she turned, her gaze scanning the crowd in search of a tall, handsome, blue-eyed man.

Everything inside her went very still as she found him. He was talking to her father on the patio, a small smile on his mouth. For long moments the world seemed to recede, leaving her with the rush of blood through her veins and the
thud-thud
of her heartbeat as she ate him up with her eyes.

He was wearing a midthigh-length black wool coat, designer jeans, a black sweater and a red-and-black plaid scarf and he looked dark and expensive and stylish and far too handsome. As though he could feel her regard, Flynn glanced up from his conversation with her father and their eyes met across the crowded yard. His mouth curved into a slow smile and he lifted a hand in greeting. Despite everything, a bubble of unalloyed happiness rose inside her.

A few seconds later, he made his excuses to her dad and began weaving his way to her. Mel checked the side tie on her dress and tweaked her skirt self-consciously, wishing she had a mirror to check her makeup.

“Don't worry, your lippy's on straight,” Justine said quietly. “You look great.”

Mel forced her hands back by her sides. “We're just friends.”

She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.

“And I'm a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Just promise me one thing, okay?
Be careful.
”

Mel looked into her sister's eyes, registering the warning she saw there, and the concern. “I will. I am.”

“Good.”

They both pasted on smiles as Flynn slid past the last group blocking his way.

“You poor bastard. I suppose Mom roped you into coming?” Harry said, shaking his head.

“No rope required,” Flynn said, his gaze sliding to Mel. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” She stepped forward, feeling incredibly bold, and put her hand on his shoulder. Then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “It's good to see you.”

He was watching her very intently as she withdrew and she had a sudden, hot flash of how it had felt when he'd kissed her last weekend. The way he'd held her. The way he'd tasted. She became aware that her sister and brother were watching them with knowing expressions and she gave herself a mental shake.

“Have you got a drink? Let's get you a drink,” she said, taking Flynn's elbow and guiding him away from her siblings. “Beer or wine?”

“A beer would be great, thanks.”

They joined the crowd at the impromptu bar and she gave him a small, nervous smile. “Bit busy. Won't be a tick.”

“There's no rush. Your mom looks like she's ready for a big night.”

“Oh, she is. This will be one for the record books if she's got any say in the matter.”

Someone jostled her from behind and she was forced to step closer to him.

“How are your parents?” she asked.

“They're good, thanks. It's been a good week.”

She could smell his aftershave and she fought the need to lean closer and inhale a big, greedy lungful of the stuff.

“It's good to see you,” she said before she could stop herself.

His eyes were warm as they looked into hers. “It's good to see you, too, Mel.”

Her aunt and uncle approached before she could say more and she found herself introducing them to Flynn. Then one of her father's work colleagues came over to ask if Flynn was the owner of the vintage Aston Martin her father had worked on, and the next thing she knew two hours had slipped by effortlessly as she watched Flynn win over her extended family.

He gave everyone he was introduced to his sincere and undivided attention, asking questions and making jokes and generally being too damned charming. He talked politics with her very left-wing cousin, Jack, for nearly half an hour and managed to leave him laughing despite the fact that they hadn't agreed on a single issue. He discussed home preserves with her elderly aunt, herb gardens with her mother's next-door neighbor and the property market with Jacob and Justine. When they ran out of seating at dinnertime, he perched on the rim of one of the built-in brick planters along the edge of the patio alongside her and Harry and made appreciative noises about the tenderness of the meat. He went back to the dessert table twice, insisting that Mel at least try the chocolate-mint mousse that had him so enthralled.

After dinner, Mel excused herself to go to the bathroom and fix her lipstick. When she exited the house to rejoin the party, she saw that Flynn had moved from their perch on the planter boxes. She scanned the crowd and finally found him talking with Eddy and Rex, hunkered down so that he was on the same level with them. His head was cocked, his expression open and engaged
as Rex relayed a story that, based on his hand gestures, seemed to involve lots of big explosions.

Watching Flynn give his all to her nephews, something sharp and painful tightened in her chest.

He was such a good man. Hardworking, genuine, kind, funny. What he was doing for his parents was plain old-fashioned noble, although she knew he would reject the label vehemently if she shared it with him because he was also modest and unassuming. By some miracle he managed to combine all of the above with a quiet confidence that drew people to him as naturally as the moon drew the tide.

In short, he was a special man.

And he wanted her. Not just for sex, either. He
liked
her. She liked him, too. She liked him in a crazy way. She liked him so much that even acknowledging it in the privacy of her own mind made her palms sweaty with anxiety.

She hadn't intended to feel this way about a man again. Certainly not so soon. But Flynn was here, and unless she was grossly misreading his signals, he wasn't going anywhere soon. Which meant that this yearning, almost painful feeling in her chest wasn't going to go away anytime soon, either.

Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by all the noise and chatter of the party. Picking her way through the crowd, she reached the side gate and slipped through to the front yard. She walked down the driveway and stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed over her chest as she looked out at the darkened street.

The sounds of the party ebbed and flowed behind her. She squeezed herself tightly and reminded herself that once upon a time she'd been brave. She could do this. She could.

She heard the gate open, then the sound of footsteps on the driveway. She didn't need to turn around to see who it was, but she did, anyway.

Flynn's face was half shadow, half light, his eyes unreadable as he approached.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

Then, because she was afraid she'd lose her courage and because she'd been aching to touch him again ever since she'd stopped, she closed the distance between them. Three steps, then her breasts were brushing his chest as she angled her head and pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded minimally, almost warily, and she moved closer still, curling a hand behind his neck and licking the seam of his mouth. She could feel how tense he was and after a few seconds he pulled his head back.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and ragged.

“Yes.” She reached for him again, but he was already reaching for her. His lips found hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. One hand slid around her waist, the other cupped her backside, hauling her close. She went willingly, wantonly.

He backed her against the side fence and pinned her there with his hips while he slid a hand inside the warmth of her coat, his mouth never leaving hers. Her nipples were already hard but she gasped her encouragement as his hand slid onto her right breast, his thumb gliding over her nipple. She could feel how hard he was, his erection a solid ridge against her belly, and she slid a hand onto the front of his jeans, gripping him through the denim. He pressed himself against her hand, his own tightening on her breast.