All They Need (18 page)

“Look at you, Mr. Perfect,” she said as she watched him strap on his watch.

“Says the sexy naked lady.” His gaze seemed very bright and very blue as he eyed her across the bed. “What are you up to for the rest of the week?”

She knew what he was asking—when she was free to see him again. She bought herself a few seconds of breathing room by searching in her handbag for the spare pair of panties she'd tucked into the side pocket, just in case her desire for more of Flynn's lovemaking had proven more powerful than her misgivings regarding staying the night.

“How does your schedule look?” she asked, throwing the ball back into his court.

“I've got a work thing tonight, but Thursday and Friday are free at the moment.”

She stepped into her panties and reached for her bra.

“Friday night is good for me,” she said.

“Then I'll call you and we'll tee something up.” He pulled a coat from the closet. “I have to run, but just pull the door shut behind you when you go, okay?”

“Okay.”

They kissed, the feel of his fine wool suit against her mostly naked skin very erotic. His gaze was hooded when he stepped away from her.

“Hold that thought,” he said.

She smiled.

He left the room. She was tidying the rumpled bed when she heard the automatic door on the garage rumble to life. She crossed to the window and a few seconds later the Aston Martin cruised out of the garage and down the driveway.

The town house seemed unnaturally quiet as she sat on the end of the bed to put on her socks. She glanced around Flynn's room as she pulled on her jeans and sweater, feeling a little as though she was invading his privacy but curious about the man who was becoming an increasingly important part of her life.

A scary thought in and of itself.

The quilt cover was a dark charcoal pinstripe, the sheets snowy-white. The bed featured an upholstered headboard in a neutral café-latte color and there was no art on the off-white walls. In fact, the only giveaway that anyone lived here was the pile of books on one side of the bed—a couple of thrillers, and a stack of colorful gardening books, including a biography on Edna Walling.

Mel smiled to herself. Like herself, Flynn was far less passionate about the inside of his home than he was the outside. She went in search of the real Flynn and found it in the rooftop garden, an oasis of potted palms and cabbage trees and other tropical foliage plants, set off with colorful floral displays in hot pinks and oranges and yellows. A sandstone garden seat sat along one wall, and a potting bench held pride of place in the far corner.

She admired the simple yet striking arrangement before reentering the town house and collecting her jacket and handbag. She double-checked that the door had locked behind her and was on the road ten minutes after Flynn had left the house. Traffic was light leaving the city and she pulled into her own driveway an hour later.

She felt an odd sense of relief as she let herself into her house, as though some part of herself that she hadn't even known was on the alert had relaxed. Which made
sense—this was her territory, her space. She felt safe here. Not that she'd felt
unsafe
at Flynn's place, but definitely she'd been aware that she was on his turf. One of the many reasons why no matter what happened with Flynn, she would never give up her house or her independence.

She was checking her email for bookings when the doorbell rang. She opened it to find Justine on her doorstep.

“The mountain has come to Mohammed,” her sister said.

Mel waved her inside. She'd been dodging her sister's phone calls since Sunday so she'd been half expecting this. “You want a coffee?”

“Sure. I brought muffins. The better to bribe you with,” Justine said as she followed Mel into the kitchen.

Mel turned the kettle on and grabbed a couple of mugs. Her sister propped her hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

“So? What's going on with Flynn?”

“If I said none of your business would you listen to me?”

“No.”

Mel sighed. “We're seeing each other. In case you haven't already guessed. There's not much else to tell.”

Justine frowned. “Are you in love with him?”

“It's way too early for that kind of talk,” Mel said, even though her heart did a nervous little shimmy in her chest.

“Not for Flynn it isn't.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“The man is besotted with you, Mel. If you could have seen the way he was looking at you at Mom and Dad's party, you'd know what I was talking about.”

“Justine, can we please not read too much into any of this? I'm seeing a man. A really nice, great, lovely man. It feels like more than enough to be happening without piling the labels on.”

“So, what, you're winging it?”

“Yep. Taking each moment as it comes.”

“And when he gets down on his knee and proposes, how are you going to take that?”

Mel blinked, startled by her sister's comment. “Wow. You are really pushing the boat out today.”

“That man is crazy about you, Mel.”

Mel shook her head. “We've barely started seeing each other. Stop trying to make this more than what it is.”

“It took me an hour to work out that I was going to spend the rest of my life with Jacob. Sixty minutes almost exactly from the moment we met.”

Mel shook her head again. “It's not like that between us.”

She could hear the strain in her own voice as she tried to convince her sister. The truth was that she didn't want to think about any of the things her sister was pushing her to consider. She was coping—barely—with being intimate with a man again. Being naked with him, trusting him with her desire and her needs. Both big steps after the way Owen had abused that trust. She wasn't up to worrying about bigger-picture stuff, like where her relationship with Flynn might be going, what it might mean.

“Okay,” Justine said, nodding. She pushed away from the counter and pulled a white bakery bag from her purse. “You want chocolate chip or blueberry or halvies?”

Mel watched her warily, not convinced her sister
would back off so easily. “Halvies sounds good,” she said cautiously.

Justine cut the muffins in half and divided the bounty between two plates. She took a big bite of muffin, then fixed Mel with a contemplative gaze as she chewed and swallowed. “For what it's worth, I like him. He seems like a decent guy.”

“He's more then decent. He's a great guy.”

“But he's still a rich guy. He's still got lots of rich friends and rich parents and all that bullshit hanging over him.”

“And?”

Justine shrugged. “Nothing. I just want you to go in with your eyes open this time.”

Mel took a deep breath, reminding herself that Justine had been the one she called the night of the Hollands' party. She'd seen Mel at her worst, seen the marriage at its ugliest. She had a right to dislike Owen and all he stood for.

So instead of telling her sister to butt out, she crossed the kitchen and gave Justine a big hug.

“I'm doing okay. I think Flynn is good for me, and I'm smarter now.”

Justine's eyes were swimming with tears when Mel let go.

“I want you to be happy so badly, Mel. He seems like a nice guy, but he's not like us. He doesn't know what it's like to have the heating break down and know you're going to have to live on baked beans for the next month to pay for the repairs. He's never had to call the bank to explain why the mortgage repayment will be late. He's used to the best of everything, to having the world at his feet.”

Mel thought about what Flynn was going through
with his parents, the career he'd given up to take over the family business. “His life isn't perfect, Justine. Far from it. Money doesn't make everything better, and it doesn't turn people into dicks. They do that all on their own.” She paused for a beat to give her words a chance to sink in. “Now, can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

Justine sniffed inelegantly and used her sleeve to blot her tears. Then she pushed the plate with Mel's share of the muffins on it toward Mel.

“Eat something. You're making me feel like a pig over here.”

Mel dutifully picked up half a muffin, and her sister dutifully recounted a story about Rex and Eddy. The kettle boiled and Mel made them both coffee, and an hour later her sister left, her doubts apparently assuaged.

Mel went into the garden afterward, wishing she could say the same. She'd meant every word she'd said to her sister, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The garden had always been her sanctuary when she was troubled and she tackled the weeds encroaching on the path with a vengeance, deriving a certain amount of satisfaction from restoring order.

She couldn't stop Justine's words from echoing in her head, however. Her sister thought Flynn was crazy about her—
besotted
had been the word she'd used. She'd even made a crack about him proposing, of all things.

Both notions made Mel feel a little ill. She didn't want Flynn to be
besotted
with her. She wanted him to like her and to enjoy spending time with her, and she wanted him to desire her—but she didn't want any of
those wants or likes or desires to become too messy or demanding. The same as she didn't want her own wants, likes or desires in regard to him to take on a life of their own. She wanted to feel in control, and she wanted a sense of separation between her and him, a clear demarcation line that allowed her to maintain her life and him his while allowing them both to meet somewhere in the middle.

She certainly didn't want him to propose. Even the thought of getting married again made her dizzy with anxiety.

Calm down, Miss Melodrama. You've barely been seeing the man a week. You are getting way, way, way too far ahead of yourself. Remember what you said to your sister? You're taking it as it comes. Moment by moment, day by day.

Mel refocused on the pathway, shifting along a few feet and tugging at the weeds, tossing them into a pile. After a few minutes, her heart rate normalized.

Her sister may have had good intentions, but Mel could definitely have done without her probing questions and unsolicited observations this morning. She'd already decided not to obsess over what might happen with Flynn, and she needed to stick to that undertaking if this was going to work for her. For both of them.

Resolute, she pushed her sister's and her own doubts away and concentrated on her garden.

F
LYNN CALLED
M
EL
the following evening when he got home from work. They talked for nearly an hour while he made himself stir-fry chicken and vegetables, discussing her latest bookings and their various ongoing garden projects. As always, her voice sounded sultry over the phone and he found himself remembering key moments from their last encounter as they talked.

Mel stealing one of his curry puffs at the Thai restaurant where they'd had dinner then laughing throatily at his mock-outrage.

Mel on his sofa, a knowing look in her eyes as he popped open the stud on her jeans.

Mel sleeping beside him, her body curled loosely, her hair spread across the pillow and his shoulder and chest.

“Pick somewhere nice and I'll take you out tomorrow night,” he said impulsively.

They'd been discussing the soil quality at Summerlea and there was a small pause on the other end of the phone.

“You don't have to take me out.”

“I want to.”

“You're afraid of my cooking, aren't you?”

“No. I want to show you off.”

“To whom, exactly?” She sounded amused.

“Anyone and everyone. What about that French place in the village?”

“Too posh.”

He remembered her discomfort when he'd taken her out for lunch at that Spanish place. “Fine. Then we'll go to the local pub. How does that sound?”

“More my speed.”

They talked for another five minutes before winding up their call. The thought of the weekend ahead kept his head above water the following day when various loads of manure hit assorted fans. He was wading through the most recent disaster when he glanced at his computer and saw that it was nearly six. He'd planned to leave at six-thirty, but he was savvy enough to know he wasn't even close to being done for the day.

He reached for the phone and called Mel, explaining the issue and telling her that he was going to be late.

“I have no idea what time I'll get down there,” he said apologetically. “Do you still want me to come over?”

“Why don't we do this? Give me a call when you're twenty minutes away and I'll meet you at Summerlea. I'll bring something to eat and we can have a glass of wine and you can wind down and not have to worry about being anywhere.”

“It sounds like a lot of trouble. Especially when I'm supposed to be taking you out for dinner.”

“It isn't. Drive carefully, okay?” Her voice was soft, concerned.

His chest got tight as he imagined what it would be like having Mel to come home to every night. “I'll see you soon.”

He threw himself into work and managed to drag himself away from his desk by eight-thirty. He hit the
road, yanking his tie off as he drove toward the freeway entrance. He hit heavy rain halfway there and shook off his tiredness to concentrate on the wet, dark road. He exited in Frankston and hit speed dial.

“Thunderbirds are go,” he said when Mel picked up.

“I'll see you in ten.”

He was opening the main gate at Summerlea when she pulled up behind him. Even though it was still drizzling, he abandoned the task to approach her car. She wound down her window but before she could get a word out he leaned in and kissed her.

“Hey,” he said when he finally came up for air.

She looked gratifyingly dazed. “Hey.”

“You look good.”

“You look tired.”

“I'm very resilient. Give me ten minutes and I'll prove it to you.” He gave her his best dirty look.

She cocked an eyebrow in challenge. “Okay, then. Your time starts now.”

He laughed, striding back to the idling Aston. She followed him up the driveway, parking behind him. He waited while she collected a shopping bag from the passenger seat and they walked up the front steps together. The porch was pitch-black and he swore under his breath as he tried to identify the door key.

“Remind me to get a sensor light installed here,” he said.

Mel followed him into the living room and stopped in her tracks as she registered the king-size bed he'd had delivered during the week. The only real furniture in the room, it dominated the left wall.

“Where did this come from?” she asked, bemused.

“The local bed place. I left a spare key out last weekend and organized for them to deliver it.”

A selection of bedding, still in its packaging, was stacked on the end of the bed.

“I would have helped if you'd asked,” she said.

“I don't want you running around after me.”

“But you'll let complete strangers do it?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Okay, I understand what you're saying. But it still feels wrong. I'm willing to workshop it, however.”

“Workshop it?” she asked as she started pulling plastic containers from her shopping bag.

“It's the latest buzz word. You don't like it?”

She pulled a face. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, her hands sliding to his backside.

“I promise never to use it again,” he said as he zeroed in on her mouth.

They kissed, tongues stroking one another, bodies straining together. He reached for the waist of her long-sleeved T-shirt just as a low gurgle sounded. She smiled against his mouth.

“Was that your stomach?”

“Ignore it,” he said, tugging her top up.

She slipped away from his embrace. “Eat your dinner first, while it's hot. Then you can have dessert.”

“I'm going to hold you to that.”

She finished setting out containers of food and he crossed to the fireplace and laid a quick fire. By the time she'd handed him a plateful of savory beef Stroganoff and a hunk of crunchy garlic bread the fire was blazing. He grabbed the pillows from the bed to serve as floor cushions and poured them both a glass of wine.

“This looks great, Mel,” he said as she joined him in front of the fire.

They talked casually as they ate and it wasn't long before he'd wolfed his meal down.

“That was just what the doctor ordered,” he said as he pushed his plate to one side. He focused on Mel. “Come here.”

“Maybe we should let our dinner settle first.”

“In case we get cramps and drown?”

She laughed. “Something like that.”

“Get your delectable ass over here.”

She placed her wineglass carefully on the hearth and moved toward him. Bracing one hand beside him, she leaned close and laid her lips against his. Her mouth was hot and spicy with wine and he made an approving noise in the back of his throat. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her off balance and into his arms. She collapsed onto his chest with a muffled yelp.

“That's better,” he said, rolling swiftly so that she was beneath him, his body splayed over hers. “Now I've got you where I want you.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.” He grinned down at her. “Now, about this dessert…”

He reached for the hem of her top and she shifted to allow him to pull it over her head. His eyes narrowed appreciatively as he took in the almost transparent black lace of her bra.

“Nice.”

He lowered his head and began to kiss and lick the curve of her breast until finally he was sucking her nipple through the lace of her bra. She stirred beneath him and he transferred his attention to her other breast, repeating the action. She slid her hands down his back to his sides and then around to the front of his jeans.
When she started to fumble with the stud, he caught her hands.

“Uh-uh,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“I haven't finished my dessert yet.”

He reached out and undid the snap on her jeans. Holding her gaze, he started to peel her jeans down her legs. Her mouth opened ever so slightly and she licked her lower lip. His gaze dropped to her hips. She was wearing black stretch-lace French knickers and he smoothed his hand over her belly and down onto her mound.

“Great presentation. Pass my compliments to the chef,” he said.

She swallowed a laugh as he tucked a finger into the waistband and pulled her panties down. He studied her, admiring the paleness of her skin, the taut muscles of her thighs, the dark silk of her hair.

“So beautiful, Mel…”

He swept a hand from her hip to her knee before pushing her thighs wide. He moved lower, settling himself between her thighs. She caught her breath as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, following it with an exploratory lick. A shudder racked her body.

“Don't forget to breathe,” he murmured.

She dropped against the pillows as he started to tease her with his fingers and tongue and mouth. Stroking her inside and out, he drove her higher and higher until she was mindless with need. She fisted a hand in his hair and pushed her hips toward him, unashamedly demanding everything he had to give. When she came, she cried out, her back arching off the floor, her body as taut as a bow.

She collapsed onto the carpet, as loose as a rag doll.
He was so hard it was a wonder he hadn't exploded. He kicked his suit pants to one side and rolled a condom on before laying his body over hers and drawing one rosy pink nipple into his mouth. His erection nudged against her slick folds and she gave a low, needy moan and tilted her hips to accept him. He slid home to the hilt and started to move inside her. She gripped his ass, hips lifting to meet his thrusts.

“Yes. Please, Flynn, you feel so good…?.”

He whispered in her ear, dirty, sexy words of praise, telling her how she made him feel, how much he loved her body. She shuddered as she came, his name on her lips. A few seconds later he followed her, his cheek pressed against hers.

After laying lax and spent in the flickering light of the fire for endless minutes, they made the bed and drifted into sleep beneath his new down duvet.

He woke with a start to find Mel sitting upright in the bed beside him, the covers pooled around her waist.

“Hey,” he said sleepily, reaching out to lay a hand on her naked back. “You okay?”

She was tense and her skin was clammy with sweat.

“Sorry. I think I must have been too hot or something.”

She slipped out of the bed before he could respond. Her pale figure was like a ghost in the darkened room as she headed for the door.

“Mel. It's freezing,” he said.

“I'll be fine,” she said as she walked out the door.

Flynn threw back the covers and walked across to flick on the light. The fire had burned down to embers and he threw some more kindling on before scooping up Mel's T-shirt from the floor. He grabbed a T-shirt for himself from his overnight bag and shrugged into it
as he went in search of Mel. He found her in the bathroom, washing her face with big handfuls of water. The room was freezing and she was shivering and covered with gooseflesh.

“You'll catch a cold. Here,” he said, handing her the T-shirt.

“Thanks.”

She dried her face on a towel before slipping the T-shirt over her head. “Come here.”

He pulled her into his arms, smoothing his hands over her back to try to warm her. It took a moment for her body to relax into his embrace.

“What's going on?” he asked quietly.

“Just a bad dream. Nothing important.”

He hesitated a moment. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No. It was mostly gobbledygook. Bits and pieces of lots of stuff.”

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his throat.

“Your house is very cold.” Her hands slid to his backside and she cupped his butt cheeks. “Lucky you're so hot.”

She kissed his neck again, opening her mouth this time. His body stirred to life instantly but he was very aware of the fact that Mel was using sex to distract him. She lifted a leg and ran her foot along his calf, pressing her hips against his. He pulled back from her a little so he could see her face.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

She returned his regard, her gray eyes unreadable.

“I'm fine. Really.”

She kissed him, urging him close again with her hands on his hips. This time he didn't resist, even
though he knew he wasn't getting the full picture, even though he suspected that Mel wasn't
fine.
She clearly didn't want to talk about it, and she clearly also wanted to make love again. He was prepared to follow her lead. For now, anyway.

They returned to the living room and made slow love, firelight flickering over their bodies. Afterward, Mel tucked her body against his back and rested her cheek on his shoulder. A few minutes later she was asleep. He lay awake, watching the fire, thinking.

He knew Mel's marriage had been unhappy. She'd intimated that her ex had been critical, maybe even controlling. The day they'd had lunch together she'd also implied that Owen Hunter's parents had not approved of their marriage and that she'd never fit in with the Melbourne society set.

Not a good picture, any of it. And he could understand why Mel might be gun-shy. He wished he knew more about what she was thinking, how she was feeling, because he was about as committed as it was possible to get. Had been for some time now. For the first time in his life, he was truly in love. Mel was the woman he'd been waiting his whole life to find. Everything in him wanted to sweep her off her feet and put things in motion to start the rest of their lives together.

But only an idiot would ignore the subtle and not-so-subtle signals that Mel was broadcasting. She'd been reluctant to acknowledge their attraction from the very beginning, and even though he'd been hoping that what had happened between them last weekend would have put paid to some of her doubts, it was clear that she was still very much feeling her way as far as their relationship was concerned.

He was going to have to be patient, and he was going to have to let Mel set the pace. It chafed the impetuous idiot boy in him, but at the end of the day, as long as they wound up at the same destination, he was willing to take as circuitous a route as Mel required. Whatever it took.