by Nikki Logan
‘I’m busy—’
‘No. You’re not leaving me for another dinner with your own family. It’s been three weeks since I sat across the table from you. How are they going to believe we’re a couple if you treat me like I have some foul disease?’
‘They know me.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
His eyes bored into hers. ‘I mean it won’t surprise them at all that I’ve gone AWOL. I’ve been doing it my whole life.’
She blinked at him, unsure which was more surprising—that her need to learn more about him was being unexpectedly addressed or that he’d volunteered something personal. Flynn. Mr Uncommunicative. ‘Really? Even while you’re home?’
‘Just because we share property doesn’t mean we have to share every waking moment. I love my family but there are limits.’
Not for me. These days and nights of unconditional acceptance were some of the best days of her life. Which was a bit sad, really. Not that unconditional necessarily meant totally without complications. There was clearly a lot that different members of the Bradley clan were wanting to ask but they were—for the most part—restraining themselves. But how many nights of Flynn being a no-show would they tolerate?
‘The longer you leave me with them, the harder it’s going to be to not get into difficult territory.’ She bent a little to catch his eyes when he tried to avoid her gaze. ‘They’re going to start asking questions I’m not equipped to answer. It’s not normal that a couple—’ she put that in finger quotes for good measure ‘—would spend this much time apart.’
The moment she found his eyes, he held them. She almost regretted searching them out. ‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘You eat with me from now on.’
Her stomach dropped. ‘Here?’
‘That should buy us some time.’
Time until they had definitive proof that one of the embryos had stuck well-and-truly and formed a tiny Rochester—she glanced back at him—Rochester-Bradley. Because until that was the case then he wasn’t telling his family anything about their supposed wedding plans. And, by rights, a chance to spend some time away from the need to lie continuously to them should have been a blessing.
But still she hedged. ‘What if they want to see you at dinner?’
‘They see me during the day. I’m sure they’ll survive.’
‘But I’m expected.’
He shrugged. ‘Then go. You were the one concerned about their questions.’
Frustration hissed out of her. ‘It’s not very fair that you’ve left me to deal with all of this. You’ve just … opted out of the whole thing.’
‘Again. They’re used to it.’
‘But I’m not. I’m feeling the pressure. What if I say something wrong?’
‘Then have dinner here tonight. With me.’
Dinner with Flynn, alone here in his house. The earthy, masculine decor suited him down to the ground and here he was very clearly the lord of his domain. The whole place even smelled like him, that distinctive eau de Flynn that tripped her pulse in ways it really shouldn’t.
Coming down here during the mornings and pretending to spend time with him was one thing. Sitting down for a whole lonely meal with the man who’d made it all too clear how he felt about her family and—by association—her …
She’d take the Bradley inquisition any day.
She straightened and turned for the door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
He was up in a second and caught her just as she pushed the screen door open. Two opportunistic flies buzzed in through the gap. ‘Belinda …’
She stopped and turned.
‘Stay.’
He said it in the same low tone he used when he worked with the Reach’s two golden retrievers—mild and low. As if they’d be doing him a favour rather than obeying a command. And somehow the timbre of his voice reminded her of the way he’d taken his mother’s phone call back in the café on that first day they’d driven into Oberon. Gentle. Intimate.
Which was not possible. Not with her.
And, sure enough, he followed it with, ‘I think you could be right. We should start limiting how much alone time you have with them. Especially Nan, if she’s growing suspicious.’
The mini-pleasure of Flynn finally admitting she was right about something only lasted a nanosecond as the reality of being stuck with his dubious company struck home. But still she couldn’t help the snark. ‘Will you actually be here or will you go find a wombat burrow somewhere to hole up in while I eat alone?’
His thick lashes dropped for a moment, then lifted. ‘I’ll be here. We should talk.’
Oh.
And suddenly talking seemed so much worse than not talking. Except that she did have a few things she wanted to say. She turned for the big house. ‘I’ll let your mother know …’
‘No, I’ll do that. Make yourself comfortable.’ And, with a quick snatch of his battered akubra off the hook by the entrance to protect him from the late afternoon sun, he squeezed past her in the doorway and was gone.
Comfortable. Uh-huh. Not going to happen. Not in Flynn’s company.
In order of comfortableness, Arthur came first with those quiet, companionable hours with the rehab animals—no questions about the past or the future or her home—then Bill and Denise, the parents who echoed so many of Drew’s traits it was impossible not to like them. Then, despite how much she reminded Bel of her own long-gone Gran, Flynn’s nan, Alice, who saw too much to be truly relaxed around …
And finally Flynn, way down the bottom of the list. The man who made her angry and nervous and self-conscious …
… and breathless and acutely aware of what every part of her body was doing at any given moment. As he had just now as he’d pressed past her in the doorway, brushing his hard frame against hers.
She crossed her arms across her front and hugged them to her.
He had his brother’s charisma but it was packaged differently. Drew had channelled his into an easy charm and sharp wit that made him a joy to be around. To care for. Flynn’s was all about sexy, silent, understated intelligence. Not easy to be around but, boy, did she know she was alive when she was near him.
She pushed away from the door and drifted back into the small open-plan house. The back half was blue corrugated steel and charcoal window frames, standing on timber stumps a half-metre off the rich green earth. But the front half—her favourite part of the house—was floor to ceiling tinted windows all around and it jutted out on tall stilts where the ground beneath dropped away in a sharp slope.
She crossed to the corner closest to the magnificent view down the long gully of interconnecting forested spurs. If you followed the meandering trail long enough, Flynn had told her, you would stumble out into a cave network and you could be lost for ever in the famous Blue Mountains.
She was just as happy to look from a safe distance.
But what an amazing place for two young boys to grow up. What adventures Drew and Flynn must have had. Her hand slipped to her still-flat belly. If custody went her way would she be welcome back so that Drew’s child could experience some of what he must have?
When. When custody went her way …
‘Looking for Bunyips?’ Flynn’s voice sounded behind her, deep and warm. Either his accent was easing off or she was acclimatising to the Aussie twang because he practically purred the next words. ‘You’ll have to go deeper into the bush for that.’
Wow. Had she been lost in thought all that time or had he made the fastest return trip ever up to the main homestead? No. He wouldn’t be looking forward to this any more than she was.
‘I was just imagining you and your brother growing up here. How idyllic it must have been.’
Flynn snorted. ‘Now I know Drew really didn’t speak about us.’
That brought her around. ‘You thought I lied about that?’
He shrugged and tossed his hat with the ease of practice onto its peg. ‘Nothing would surprise me.’
S
he let go her natural instinct to take offence at yet another unfounded prejudice from Flynn. He was speaking to her: progress number one for a man who could go days without saying more than a handful of words. And he was speaking about Drew: progress number two. She wasn’t going to mess up the chance to learn more about what had happened between them. ‘You two didn’t play together here?’
He looked at her strangely. ‘No. We’re from Sydney originally. I’m surprised my folks haven’t filled you in on our background.’
No. Which only brought it more to her attention. Why would the family who would talk about anything not talk about that?
‘All of us lived there until I was fourteen and Drew was sixteen,’ he said.
‘Why did you move?’ En masse …
His expression grew tense. ‘Lots of reasons.’
Bel sank down onto one of his broad blue fabric sofas and studied him. ‘Any you care to share?’
His eyes hardened. ‘With you? No.’
Okay. Her lips tightened. ‘My mistake. I assumed dinner would come with conversation.’
‘My misspent youth isn’t really an entrée.’
‘What makes you think it’s yours I’m interested in?’
His eyes flared and then darkened. ‘Ah, Drew again. I should have known.’
‘Maybe I’m curious about what shaped the man my sister married.’
True, yet only half the truth. What she really wanted to know was how did the same geological forces that shaped the valley stretching out before them create two such different brothers. One made of air and water, the other of earth and fire.
Flynn moved to the kitchen and pulled open the pantry to examine its contents.
‘Drew was more of a city boy at heart,’ he said, rummaging for ingredients and then setting a pot of water to fast boil.
‘And you weren’t?’
‘I thought this wasn’t about me.’
‘Of course. Carry on.’
He looked a little flummoxed, as if he didn’t quite know how he’d just committed himself to continuing the discussion. ‘Not much to tell. He wasn’t a country boy.’
‘No. I can’t imagine it, really. The Drew I knew only liked to get his feet dirty on the rugby field.’ But she forgave him his aversion to nature for all of his other worthy qualities. His brilliant mind. His loyal heart. His fierce focus. That dogged competitiveness was something she’d admired about him, his ability to block out distractions and just go for his goals.
But maybe it had a flipside when you were one of those distractions.
Flynn snipped open a packet of ready-made gnocchi and tipped it into the simmering pot. He turned back to her with carefully neutral eyes. Pain leaked out despite his best efforts. ‘What did he tell you?’
Bel’s heart squeezed. She stood and crossed to the opposite side of the kitchen island, hedging. ‘About you?’
‘About all of us. Where did he say he was from, if not here?’
‘Sydney. The suburbs’
Flynn grunted and tossed a tin of whole tomatoes into a bowl. He punished the tomatoes with a masher. ‘And he never mentioned …’
Having a brother? Bel chose her words carefully. ‘Did Gwen seem surprised when she met you?’
Talking about her sister as though she was alive pulled painfully on Bel’s barely healed heartstrings.
‘Not particularly.’
‘Then he must have told Gwen. But never me, no.’
‘And never to your parents?’
What did they have to do with anything? ‘Not as far as I know. Why is that?’
He wielded the large kitchen knife he used to slice up some fresh herbs a little bit too well. ‘Search me.’
He knew exactly why—his taut body language screamed it—but he wasn’t sharing. Interesting. And the fact that he was possibly more uncomfortable than she was in this conversation made him seem that bit more approachable.
It was an evening for firsts.
She didn’t need to understand his sudden tension to recognise it. But she did her bit to relieve it, and made light. ‘Anything I can do towards dinner?’
‘Sure, want to cut up some bread and butter it? Nice and thick between the slices.’
‘Your arteries may never forgive me,’ she said, smiling.
‘My arteries are in perfect shape.’
Her eyes took that statement to its logical conclusion and drifted to his rear end. As she dragged them back somewhere more appropriate she met his in the reflective windows at the far end of the kitchen and the breath evacuated from her lungs. Heat surged up her throat.
Busted.
She carefully regulated her choppy respiration while she sliced the bread and levered wedges of village-made butter between the thick slices, and then took extra, extra care not to brush against him as they worked together in the country kitchen.
‘So what did you want to talk about?’ she eventually asked when the silence unnerved her more than whatever it was he wanted to say to her. When he didn’t immediately answer she tried again. ‘You said you wanted to talk.’
Flynn turned his back on the simmering pot of pasta and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I wanted to get some more ground rules sorted. If you’re going to stay.’
‘You’re assuming I am.’
‘The embryos took, against the odds. My money is on you going full-term.’
Her whole body tightened. She hadn’t really been letting herself hope, just in case. And he’d treated her as if she were either impaired or incapable since the day she’d arrived, so to hear Flynn had faith in her … Or at least in her ability to incubate …
‘What if the lawyers get things sorted in record time? I could be out of here within weeks.’
‘The courts never do anything fast in my experience.’
‘Oh, had a lot to do with the legal system, have you?’ She meant it to be flippant, but that wasn’t how he took it. Again with the heavily shuttered look.
And again, interesting.
‘We’ve got legal teams on two continents sifting their way through two separate judicial systems and rewriting the book on family law,’ he said. ‘It’s not going to be quick.’
No. Probably not. Still, they were already three weeks into the twelve she imagined she’d be staying. ‘So what were you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking that Nan is definitely onto us. She’s way too perceptive. The look she threw me when I nicked up to the house …’ He took a moment to strain the steaming gnocchi in a large colander. ‘So, we may need to ramp up the appearance of us being … a couple.’
That brought her eyes around to his. ‘Ramp it up how?’
‘Start planting wedding bell seeds. But nothing we can’t back out of if necessary.’
Suddenly the sauce’s tantalising smell seemed a whole lot less aromatic. Had she really believed he’d gone off the marriage idea just because he hadn’t mentioned it in a couple of weeks? Her signature on a marriage certificate was part of their deal. The one thing that equalised them in the eyes of the law. Even his lawyers thought it was a good idea. They’d be going through with it whether either of them wanted to or not.
And the answer, for both of them, was not.
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘I know we had an agreement—’
‘Which I suspect you’re about to welch out on.’
‘They’re never going to buy we’re a couple if we don’t touch each other, Bel. But I gave you my word. So we need to talk about it, to amend our agreement. Mutually.’
I’ll break any part of you that so much as touches me. It burned her even more that one part of her actually appreciated his honesty. Despite everything else going on between them, he had at least been upfront with her on most things.
‘You want to start—’ Oh, my God, could this be any more awkward? ‘—touching?’
‘This is not just about the touching. There’s things we can both do better.’
That got her blood
racing. As far as she was concerned, she’d done everything he’d told her to. And more. Once started, Belinda Rochester liked to do things well. ‘Really? And how have I been lacking, in your estimation?’
‘This is sport to you. You’re not taking it seriously enough.’ He slid a small white bowl filled to the brim with hot, plump potato and flour morsels and drizzled in Napolitana sauce across the island bench to her. Then he dumped a chunk of farm-fresh bread on top.
She didn’t even look at it. Her eyes were too busy being outraged. ‘This is not sport. I am not having fun. I am doing my best to honour the conditions that you set in this ridiculous plan.’ She clenched both fists on the table. ‘I hate lying to your family.’
He tucked into the dinner as if they were discussing the weather, not lining up a quickie wedding that would only end in a quickie divorce and heartbreak for whichever of them went home empty-handed. ‘All the more reason to get a move on with appearing crazy for each other so that a sudden wedding announcement isn’t going to be suspicious.’
‘In the way turning up out of the blue with a strange girl and abandoning her with your family wasn’t at all suspicious?’
‘I have not abandoned you.’
‘You know you have. Everyone has noticed, I’m just amazed no one’s mentioned it openly.’ Yet.
‘They wouldn’t intrude on my business.’
How she wished that had been the same in her upbringing. ‘They’re family, Flynn. That’s what families do.’
‘Not with me.’
Bel stared. What was that, the fourth mention about his background? ‘Okay, I’ll bite. How come you get away with the whole brooding Heathcliff thing? What makes you so special?’
He forked two more loads of pasta into his mouth before deigning to answer. A single shoulder shrugged. ‘My family respect my privacy.’
‘Rubbish. No families are respectful of each other’s privacy.’ Especially not the concentrated, intimate Bradleys. ‘What’s really going on? Or should I ask your nan?’
He shot her a dark glare as he soaked up the last of his sauce in the thick bread. ‘I imagine they’ll tell you eventually, anyway.’
‘Tell me what?’
He pushed back in his seat and took a moment to wipe at his mouth with the clean brown serviette. ‘I got in some trouble when I was younger.’
