by Marie Force
“Hey, you’re awake,” he says when he and Fluff come into the room. Wearing only a pair of basketball shorts, Flynn is carrying a tray, and the scent of coffee has my full attention. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I try to sit up and instantly regret moving.
“Oh God, baby. Is it bad?”
“I’m okay.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I’m sore.”
“I’ll run you a hot bath after you eat.” He gestures to the plate with eggs and bacon and pancakes.
My stomach growls loudly. “Did you make all this?”
“No, Fluff did. But I supervised.”
I laugh despite my aches and pains.
Fluff barks and jumps up on the bed to “help” with my breakfast.
I struggle to find a comfortable position, and when I’m settled, he places the tray on my lap. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed before I met you.”
“What do you think of it?”
Taking a bite of bacon, I smile at him. “I could get used to it.”
“We’re fine with that.”
“Have you been up long?”
“Couple hours. I took a run and did some work.” He accepts the bite of pancake I offer him. “It’s no fun being awake without you.”
I waggle a finger at him to bring him closer so I can kiss him. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too. Sorry I slept so late.”
“Don’t be sorry. You were worn out.”
“Extremely.”
“Are you sorry… Do you wish…”
I lay a finger over his lips. “I loved it. No regrets, no second-guessing.”
He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Ready for that hot bath?”
“Sounds heavenly.”
“You should have plenty of time to soak before the masseuse arrives.”
“Masseuse?”
“You heard me right. I want my wife nice and relaxed for her big day.”
“You’re too good to me.”
He leans over to kiss me. “You’re good to me, too.” Then he’s gone to the bathroom to turn on the tub for me, Fluff following close behind him.
I meant what I said about having no regrets. I love happy, satisfied, relaxed Flynn, who isn’t wound so tightly he might burst from trying to deny who and what he is. I said I wanted all of him, and I got that last night. I have absolutely no regrets.
Flynn returns to the room with Fluff once again hot on his heels.
“Have you noticed she follows you around now the way she used to follow me?” I ask.
“Does it bother you that she likes me now?”
“Of course not. I want you guys to be friends.”
“I thought you wanted us to be father and daughter.”
I giggle at his indignant expression. “That, too.”
He comes over to the bed and removes the tray, placing it on a nearby footstool. “My love, your bath awaits you. Put your arms around my neck and allow me.”
Because I’m so achy, I do what I’m told and enjoy the way his strong arms scoop me up like I’m weightless. “Hey, what happened to my garters and the rest?”
“I took them off after you conked out last night.”
“I’m worried about how much time you spend awake while I’m sleeping.”
“I’m always watching over you, sweetheart.” He deposits me into the tub, which is full of bubbles and something else.
“What is that? What do I smell?”
“Eucalyptus. It’ll fix what ails you.”
“This is very decadent.” I reach for his hand. “Come in with me.”
He drops his shorts and climbs in behind me. The tub is even bigger than the one in his New York apartment, so there’s more than enough room for both of us.
With his arms around me, I recline against his chest and sigh with contentment. “Already the best Valentine’s Day ever.”
“For me, too, sweetheart. Are you excited for the party?”
“Very. I can’t wait to see what your mom put together for us. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”
“She does love to throw a party. At this very moment, I picture her with a clipboard and a bullhorn, ordering everyone around. My sisters are probably nowhere near there. They know better.”
“A bullhorn?”
“She does her best work with amplification.”
I giggle madly at that image of his classy mother barking orders into a bullhorn.
“Don’t worry. With Stella at the helm, it’ll be a hell of a party.”
“I have no doubt. I just wish my sisters could’ve come, and Leah and Aileen.”
“I know, love. I feel so bad that they can’t make it.”
“It’s not your fault. Even you can’t make other people’s bosses give them time off.”
“We’ll celebrate with them the next time we see them.”
After my bath, I stroll out of the bedroom to find the living room has been filled with red roses that perfume the air with their fragrant scent. The blinds are drawn against the bright morning sun, and a massage table has been set up where the coffee table usually sits.
Flynn is in the kitchen with a tall blonde woman he seems to know well. “There’s Nat. Sweetheart, come meet Jasmine.”
Her name is Jasmine, and the only thought in my head is whether or not he’s slept with her.
“Could you come here for a quick second, Flynn?”
“Excuse me for one second, Jas.”
Jas… I want to growl with jealous rage.
“I’m going to take this call.” Jasmine holds up her phone as she heads for the pool deck. “I’ll be right out here when you’re ready.”
He comes over to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Is she… Have you… Been with her?”
I see the surprise before the hurt registers, and I immediately regret the question. He speaks softly so only I can hear him. “You think I would bring someone I’ve fucked before into our home to tend to you?”
“I… No. I’m sorry.”
He seems stunned. “How can you think…”
“You didn’t tell me about Marlowe.”
“Oh my God, Nat. That was a hundred years ago and lasted minutes.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Do you want a list of all of them? Like a spreadsheet, maybe?”
“It’s a fair question, Flynn.”
Shaking his head, he looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the very first time. “I’m disappointed that you would think that of me.”
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”
“Do you still want the massage?”
I don’t. I want to walk away from him and be alone, but after he went to the trouble to arrange such a lovely surprise for me, I don’t do that. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll get her.”
He walks away, and that’s when I realize my heart is beating hard, and I’m light-headed from the unusually contentious exchange. Returning with Jasmine, he introduces us and leaves us to get on with it, never once looking directly at me.
Jasmine is cheerful and professional and tries to make me feel comfortable under the heated blankets, but knowing he’s angry with me—fairly or unfairly—makes it impossible for me to truly enjoy the massage.
I’m torn between calling a halt to it and fearing I’ll hurt her feelings if I do.
She’s turned me from back to front when I hear Flynn’s raised voice coming from the pool deck. I try to hear him, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “Jasmine, I’m sorry, but I have to stop.”
“No problem at all, Mrs. Godfrey. We can do it another time.”
“Yes, please. Another time would be great. And call me Natalie.”
“I will, thank you, Natalie.”
She hands me my robe and turns her back to gather her supplies while I put it on. I leave her to finish cleaning up and head for the deck.
He’s pacing, phone pressed to his ear, body rigid with the tension th
at reminds me of the days that followed David Rogers’s decision to sell my story to the highest bidder. Turning, he spots me there and lowers his voice.
I feel left out, excluded from whatever is happening, but I resist the urge to turn my back and go inside. Rather, I wait for him to end the call, which he does a few minutes later.
“Did Jasmine leave?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t an hour.”
“I couldn’t seem to concentrate or relax. I heard you yelling. What’s wrong?”
“Rogers’s wife has gone to the media to pressure the FBI into making an arrest in her husband’s case.”
“Anyone in particular she wants to see arrested?”
“Who do you think?”
“Flynn…”
“Don’t worry. They’ve got nothing on me, or we’d know it by now. I talked to Emmett. He says our guy on the ground in Lincoln is making progress and should have something soon.”
“Can you make his wife stop saying you did it?”
“Emmett is handling that, too.”
It’s a warm day and the sun is beating down on the deck, but I’m chilled to the bone nonetheless. Normally, Flynn would be holding me as he offered comfort, but now he keeps his distance.
“You’re angry with me.”
“A little, I suppose.”
“I may ask that question again in the future.”
“For the record, I’m not close to nor do I regularly associate with any woman I’ve slept with other than Marlowe.”
“What about Cresley?”
“We’re friendly. We don’t hang out except for once in a while at the clubs. I don’t talk to her between visits or hit her up when I’m in New York. I like her. We’ve partied together, I’ve met her son, we had sex a few times with Hayden. That’s all it’s ever been or will ever be. She’s not going to suddenly drop by here out of the blue to hang with us.”
“Will she be at the party?”
“No.”
“Are there other women coming to the party that you’ve slept with?”
He doesn’t like the question, but I don’t care if he likes it. “Other than Marlowe, no.”
“Do you think I’m out of line to ask these things?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look so pissed off?”
“Because! You think I’d hire someone I’ve fucked to come in here and run their hands all over you. You actually thought I’d do that.”
“I didn’t know if you would do that because your attitudes toward sex are very different than mine were until I met you. I’m still learning the rules of how it’s done in your world.”
He seems to lose some of his rigidity as that point strikes home. “Okay, that’s fair enough, and I wasn’t seeing it from your point of view. But you have to know I’d never disrespect you that way.”
“I do now.”
He takes a step toward me and then another.
I do the same, meeting him halfway. “Did that count as a fight?”
When he smiles down at me, I’m thrilled—and relieved—to see the tenderness is back in his sexy brown eyes. “Maybe. You kinda got me right here asking me that.” He rubs his hand over his breastbone.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I have questions. I’ll probably have others as we go forward. I need to know I’m allowed to ask them.”
His hands encircle my hips, and he gazes down at me in that intense, all-consuming way of his. “You’re allowed to ask, just as I’m allowed not to like it.”
“But you’ll always answer me truthfully?”
“Yes, I promise.”
I go up on tiptoes to kiss him. “She rubbed oil all over me. Seems a shame to let that go to waste, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm,” he says, biting my earlobe. “That would be a damned shame.”
Chapter 17
On our way to Beverly Hills in the chauffeured Bentley my dad sent for us, Natalie sits close to me, holding my hand. She’s wearing the same dress she wore for our wedding in Vegas. I’m in my favorite Armani tux. From what I’ve been told, the celebrity news programs are ablaze with the accusations Rogers’s wife is making against me, but I’m comforted by the FBI’s public statements that I’m not a suspect.
I hope they mean that. They haven’t actually told me that—yet. Emmett has spent the day on the phone trying to get more information out of them, but other than what we’ve seen on TV, they’re letting me continue to twist in the wind.
I didn’t kill David Rogers. I never met the guy. Am I sorry that someone else killed him? Not at all. After selling Natalie out to the press for money, he got what was coming to him.
Today, I need to put all that aside to focus on my gorgeous wife and the many surprises I have in store for her this afternoon and evening. In cahoots with my parents, I’ve ensured this will be a day she never forgets. Our argument earlier today has left me feeling unsettled, despite the spectacular makeup sex that followed.
I hate that she thought for one second I’d bring a woman I’d fucked into our home and pass her off as hired help. Not that I think of Jas that way. She’s done massages for the Quantum team for years now and is actually a close friend of Marlowe’s. It never occurred to me that Natalie might think I’d slept with her. But, with hindsight, I can see why she’d ask even if I’d hated that she asked.
My lifestyle is still very new to her, and I’ve encouraged her to ask questions. I have to be willing to answer them, even the ones that make me uncomfortable. I’ve never been ashamed of the way I’ve approached sex and women, and I’m not going to start now with second-guessing myself or the choices I’ve made.
However, now that I’ve found the woman I want to spend forever with, I do wish there were fewer situations and people for her to ask about.
We arrive in Beverly Hills, and my parents’ street has been shut down by event security. They wave my dad’s car in.
“Wow,” Natalie says. “They closed off the street. Do the neighbors mind?”
“No, they understand, and they have full access to their homes. If the word got out about this, we’d be overrun with paparazzi. The neighbors would rather have the security than the photographers.”
My parents come out to greet us when we arrive. Wearing a champagne-colored gown, Mom is fairly sparkling with excitement. She’s waited a long time for this day, and it makes me happy to give her something she has wanted for me. Dad loves any and all time he gets to spend with his family, so he’s also beaming as he welcomes us with hugs and kisses. He’s decked out in a sharp black tux that makes him look twenty years younger than he is.
“Your mom has gone all out,” he tells me.
“I have no doubt. I warned Natalie.”
Dad’s booming laugh echoes through the foyer as they escort us upstairs to the second floor.
“Come see.” Mom throws open the doors to the small ballroom that has hosted many of the most important Godfrey family events over the years. Inside, tuxedoed workers are scurrying about, applying finishing touches.
“Oh my God,” Natalie says, her eyes glittering as she takes in the elegant, intimate scene before her.
I try to see it through her eyes, as if I’m seeing the room for the first time with its high ceilings and elaborate crown moldings. The centerpiece is a huge crystal chandelier that bathes the room in soft, romantic light. Mom has put a tasteful emphasis on Valentine’s Day through red accents but thankfully hasn’t gone overboard with the hearts. Round tables are laden with china, crystal, candles and red roses.
“It’s absolutely beautiful, Stella,” Natalie says, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“I’m so glad you’re happy with it, honey. We’re thrilled to officially welcome you into our family.” As Mom hugs Nat, I contend with a huge lump in my throat. It’s at moments like this when all the crazy shit that surrounds me fades away, and I’m reminded of what’s truly important in this life. “Come,” Mom says, taking Natalie by the hand. “You two ca
n relax in Flynn’s old room until the guests begin to arrive. We don’t want them to see the gorgeous bride and groom before we’re ready.”
She deposits us in my old room, which is exactly as I left it, right down to the vintage poster of Farrah Fawcett on the wall, the Dodgers pennant, the surfing posters, the trophies from my short-lived career as a lacrosse star and posters of the metal bands I’d worshiped in high school.
While I flop down on the bed and wish for more time alone with my wife in my old room, Natalie looks at everything. “Metallica? Seriously?”
“It was a phase.”
“Tell me you didn’t have a mullet.”
“Okay, I didn’t have a mullet.”
“Did you?”
“I dare you to find a picture of me in this room where I have a mullet.”
“I’ll ask your sisters. They won’t lie to me.”
“Come over here, Mrs. Godfrey, and make all my teenage boy fantasies come true.”
“No way am I coming near you when I’m all ready. You like to mess me up too much.”
“You’re wearing the panties, right?”
“Yes, Flynn,” she says with a long-suffering sigh that makes me smile. “If you turn them on when I’m talking to friends of your parents, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A knock on the door makes my heart beat faster with excitement because I know who it is, and I can’t wait to see her reaction. I pretend to check my phone. “Can you get that, hon?”
“Sure.”
Natalie heads for the door, and I keep my phone out to take pictures. I want to capture every second of this to show her later. She opens the door to Candace and Olivia, who are wearing matching red silk dresses.
“We heard you needed bridesmaids today,” Candace says.
Natalie lets out a shriek that reminds me a little too much of other times she’s made that particular noise, but I quash those thoughts to fully wallow in her joy at seeing her sisters. It’s the first time she’s seen Olivia in person in more than eight years, and the three of them cling to each other, all of them talking at once.
I told Addie to tell Nat’s makeup artist to use only waterproof mascara. I’m glad now we thought of that.
