Bad Boy (Invertary Book 5)

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  She shook her head, wondering where all the food went. If she could bottle his metabolism and sell it to women, she’d make her fortune.

  “I’ll get them.” If she didn’t, who knew what else he would eat while he was in there.

  “Mm,” Victoria said. “It certainly seems like Mr Boyle lives here now.”

  “I’m just being neighbourly, hanging out, being friendly. Getting fed,” Flynn said. “Showing you how well behaved I am now, so you can see I’m nowhere near being a bad influence on the kid. Isn’t that right, monster?”

  Katy giggled. Abby bugged her eyes at him. So not helping.

  “We’ll see,” was all Victoria said.

  23

  “He’s one of those footballers whose brains are in his head.”

  Derek Johnstone, former Scottish manager and player

  After lunch, Lawrence appeared to take Victoria into town. He wanted her to look at office properties. She was snippy about his quick decision making and very vocal about knowing nothing about offices. She still went with the man. Which made Abby wonder if there was something more going on between them.

  Flynn refused to leave, even when the women from Knit or Die turned up for a meeting. He waved her away, sending her to the kitchen to talk to the women while he plugged his iPad into the TV and pulled up an old football game. Last she checked, Flynn was sitting on the sofa with Katy beside him. He alternated between shouting at the TV and explaining everything to Katy in excruciating detail. Katy seemed fascinated. Abby wasn’t sure if it was with Flynn or football.

  “Don’t worry.” Margaret patted her hand where it rested on the kitchen table. “Katy’s safe with Flynn. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Heather, Flynn’s aunt, snorted. “Not unless he got drunk, stole a car and ran her over while joyriding.”

  The other women nodded, which did nothing to alleviate Abby’s worries.

  “He was a wild child,” Shona said. “Remember the time he stole the Paterson cow and tried to ride her like a rodeo bull? Poor cow sat there mooing, wondering what the hell was happening.”

  Jean laughed. “And the time he was going out with the McLean sisters—all of them. Three sisters at one time and they didn’t know about each other. It’s a town record.”

  Heather shook her head. “I thought Robert McLean was going to shoot him when the girls found out.”

  Abby stared at the women. “How could he do all this stuff when he was in London? Wasn’t he sent away when he was thirteen? He told me he was with Arsenal by then.”

  “Aye,” Heather said. “But he wasn’t sent away. He was desperate to go. He went down there just before his thirteenth birthday. My sister-in-law cried for a month. She was worried sick about him, but it was his dream. What was she supposed to do? Stand in his way? Harry was only nine at the time, and such a shy wee boy. The only person he ever really talked to was Magenta. We were terrified if Harry was taken away from the security of his routine, he’d become one of those antisocial computer guys who sits in a shed and builds bombs.”

  Margaret nodded. “It was touch and go there for a while. Magenta was the only one who kept the boy in the real world. Flynn always seemed so much more capable. Nobody worried about him the same way as they did Harry.”

  “I think that’s why he started acting out,” Shona said. “Seeking attention. Feeling neglected.”

  Heather shook her head. “He got plenty of attention. His dad’s brother kept a close eye on him and the family went down every chance they got. Not to mention he came home every break. He wasn’t neglected. The problem is his brain.”

  Abby swallowed awkwardly and coughed. “His brain?” Fear rushed through her, sounding like wind in her ears. Was there something wrong with him? Memories of her husband struggling with tumours assaulted her.

  “Oh, no.” Margaret patted her hand again. “It’s not like you’re thinking. All Heather means is he was a smart boy and when he wasn’t occupied he became easily bored. And when he’s bored, he gets into mischief.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Heather reached for another slice of cake. “The boy is too clever for his own good. He’s fine when he’s playing and thinking about playing, but honestly, it wasn’t enough of a challenge for him mentally. He calmed down a little when he was studying, but what he really needs now is a challenge. Something he finds hard. Those two boys are blessed with intelligence and good looks. Things come easily to them and they hate it. Luckily Harry always loved programming, which kept him out of trouble. But Flynn hasn’t found his thing yet. He will, though, I’m sure of it.”

  “He’s always thought he was stupid because Harry’s IQ is off the charts. But Flynn’s no dummy; he came top of his class in everything he studied. It just doesn’t mean anything to him because he keeps comparing his efforts to Harry’s,” Margaret added.

  Comparing himself to Harry didn’t sound like the action of a smart man to Abby. Arguing from the direction of the living room drew her attention.

  “Excuse me,” she said wearily.

  She pushed back from the table and went to investigate.

  “You can’t like the pink uniforms best,” Flynn was saying. “They’re the referees. They aren’t even players. They wear pink so the players can see them. There are no football teams with a pink uniform. Stop being such a girl and pick one of the proper teams.”

  Katy folded her arms and glared at him. “I want to support the pink men.”

  “You can’t support them, you numpty, they aren’t a team.”

  “Don’t care. They’re pretty.”

  Flynn threw his hands in the air. “How about you support Holland? You like orange, right? Orange is a pretty colour too.”

  Katy thought about it, then nodded. “Okay, I can support orange. But there should be a team with pink T-shirts. What about all the girls who watch football? I bet they’d like to watch some pink shirts.”

  Flynn grunted as he tapped on his iPad. “Trust me. The girls who are watching football aren’t looking at the players’ shirts. Right, enough rubbish.” He pointed at the screen. “This is the international between Holland and England in…”

  Abby backed out, a strange tightness in her chest as she left them to it.

  “Everything okay?” Heather said as she returned to the kitchen.

  “They’re fighting about pink football shirts.”

  The women looked at each other then burst out laughing. Abby asked everyone if they needed more tea, and when they didn’t they got down to business. The women were working their way through her patterns and had some suggestions and feedback. Meanwhile, Abby updated them on the suppliers she’d found and the progress of the website. They would be doing a lot of their selling online initially, but one day she’d love to open a store in town.

  “About names for the business.” Jean pulled out a legal pad. “We’ve been thinking and we have a few suggestions.”

  “Okay,” Abby said slowly.

  Jean cleared her throat and started to read. “This is what we have so far: Woolly Wonders, Kute Knits—with a K for cute. Highland Originals—but I think that’s a bit bland—Fibre Fancies, Get Your Knit Off—I came up with that one. You know, as in Knit instead of kit? I thought it was sexy.” She looked really proud. The other women were less impressed. “Then there’s Purls of Wisdom, Knit Picking, Knit Tonight Josephine, To Knit or Not to Knit…”

  Jean showed no sign of stopping. Abby held up her hand. “Wow, that’s a lot to think about. I’ll mull over those suggestions and get back to you.”

  Just as Jean opened her mouth to protest, Flynn sauntered into the kitchen, with Katy at his side. “We’re hungry. What’re you doing?”

  Abby tried not to notice how sexy he looked when he folded his arms, making his shoulders bulge. “We’re trying to come up with a name for my designer knitwear business.”

  Flynn shrugged. “McKenzie Made—luxurious knits, Highland style.”

  The women gaped at him as Flynn and Katy
wandered into the kitchen area and started opening cupboards.

  “Why didn’t we think of that?” Shona said.

  “I still think Get Your Knit Off is better,” Jean grumped.

  A minute later Flynn and Katy walked past, arms full of snacks. “Do any teams have purple shirts?” Katy said.

  “Kid. The colour of the shirt is the last thing you focus on.”

  “Is there a purple team or not?”

  They disappeared from sight.

  “See.” Heather pointed after them. “That’s exactly what I mean. Flynn’s got a quick mind. My nephew isn’t an idiot.”

  “Are we going with McKenzie Made?” Margaret said. “I like it.”

  There were nods of agreement.

  “I don’t mind being called McKenzie Made, just so long as we can do an advertising campaign with Get Your Knit Off as a slogan,” Jean said. “We can rope in some half-naked men in kilts for the artwork. Men in kilts can sell anything.”

  “So can a good set of abs,” Shona said.

  “And a tight bum,” Margaret added.

  The women nodded sagely.

  24

  “We lost because we didn’t win.”

  Cristiano Ronaldo, Portuguese national player

  As the afternoon progressed, Abby’s tension grew.

  Flynn hadn’t returned to his motorhome. In fact, he seemed pretty settled inside her house. He padded around on bare feet, shouted at the TV and lectured Katy on soccer rules. He also ate everything in sight. Every time he was near her, her need ratcheted up a notch. When he smiled a secret little smile just for her, she felt it sing straight through her body, waking every cell and derailing her thought process at the same time. And when he reached into her space with one of those oh-so-casual touches, everything within her paused.

  By the time dinner came around, she was wound up tight and barely able to breathe. They ate together, Flynn and Abby staring at each other over the wooden table as Katy chatted away, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room. As Katy ran off to get changed for bed, Flynn helped Abby clear the table. When he brushed against her, she blushed.

  “Stop jumping every time I’m near you.”

  “I can’t help it. I… My… I’m…” Nope, she had nothing.

  “You’re thinking about later.” Flynn boxed her into the corner beside the fridge. “You’re wondering how it will be with us. You’re wondering when we’ll get to touch. You’re thinking it will be explosive.” He nuzzled her neck, just below her ear. “I feel it too. It’s anticipation.”

  Her fingers curled into his shirt at his waist. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “Try not to worry. No pressure.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

  Flynn’s big hands cupped her jaw. There was no trace of the usual mocking amusement in his eyes. “I’m serious here, Abby. I want you. I can’t hide it. But we go at your pace. I’m not the dickhead most people make me out to be.”

  “Well, not totally.” Abby smiled up at him.

  “No,” he conceded. “Not totally.”

  He leaned into her and nipped her bottom lip, stealing her breath just as fast. As Abby clung to him, she wondered if it would always be like this with Flynn. If he would always steal her mind and strength with just one touch. She looked into his dark eyes, lost for a minute before she remembered there was no always, there was only now.

  “You got it sorted?” he asked softly, as though he’d been party to her thought process.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.” His mouth covered hers in a gentle kiss.

  “I better get a pony, Flynn Boyle.” Katy’s voice cut through Abby’s desire like a knife. She jumped back from him only to find her retreat blocked by the fridge. Flynn stepped away from her, but stayed close.

  Katy had her arms folded over her Minion pyjamas. “You promised me a pony if I let you kiss my Muma. You better not forget.”

  “Katy!” Abby stepped towards her daughter. “Flynn is not buying you a pony.” She glared at Flynn. “Tell her.”

  Abby could tell Flynn was struggling with his answer. His eyes said he really wanted to tell Katy she could get a pony. He shuffled nervously.

  “This is one of those things your mum has to decide,” he said at last. “I’ll talk to her about it, okay?”

  Abby narrowed her eyes at him. Did he think it wasn’t obvious he was plotting behind her back? She wouldn’t be surprised if a pony mysteriously turned up on her doorstep one morning.

  “Then you can’t kiss her.” Katy pointed at Abby. “She belongs to me and I get to say who can kiss her.”

  “No you don’t, young lady.” Abby scooped up her daughter. “Your mother chooses who she kisses.”

  “But,” Katy said, “Jonathan said you have to marry the people you kiss, and I don’t want you to marry Flynn. Jonathan said he wouldn’t make a good daddy. Jonathan said a good daddy has a proper job and a house. Flynn doesn’t work and he lives in a bus. Plus, he doesn’t know how to play tea party.” She glared at Flynn over Abby’s shoulder. “And he ate all my snacks.”

  “If you’re not fast you’re last, kid.” Flynn showed no remorse.

  “I think he’s got worms,” Katy said. “Jonathan’s dog had worms and he ate all the time, just like Flynn. His bum was itchy, too. Is your bum itchy, Flynn?”

  As Abby stared at her daughter, Flynn reached around her and plucked Katy out of her grip. “I don’t have worms. It’s time for a bedtime story. Tonight we’re going to learn all about a guy called Maradona. He was a great footballer, who not only ran rings around England during the World Cup in ’86, but cheated in the same match. That’s not on. Cheating is bad. Remember that.”

  “What colour did he wear?”

  “Pale blue.”

  “No pink?”

  “No pink.” Flynn looked utterly disgusted. He turned to Abby. “Give your mum a kiss and we’ll go read the story.”

  While Flynn held Katy, she wrapped her arms around her mum’s neck, squeezed tight and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I know what to get Flynn for Christmas. A pink football shirt,” Katy whispered loudly in Abby’s ear before giggling.

  “Enough of this,” Flynn ordered. “Time to learn something useful. Like the fact you never ever use your hands in a football game. Especially when it’s the quarterfinal in the World Cup and you’re playing against a country you were at war with. Goals should be shot with your feet. Not your hands. Got it?”

  “Got it, Flynn.” Katy rested her head on his shoulder and he carried her up the stairs.

  Abby felt her eyes tear up as she watched them go.

  Flynn Boyle was stealing her baby’s heart. And Abby worried hers was being stolen right along with it.

  As she turned to go back into the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Abby detoured to open it and was hit by blinding light. She stepped back as she shielded her eyes against the light. It took her a second to blink enough to see again. That was when she spotted the camera aimed at her face. She was about to slam the door shut when a hand reached out to stop her.

  Abby saw the long red fingernails first. Then she saw the woman. She was poured into a red minidress, her feet clad in sky-high matching stilettos. Her hair was long and teased out to give it lots of volume. Her makeup was perfect. Her eyes were calculating. And they were focused on Abby.

  “I need to speak to Flynn.” Her voice was sharp.

  “Flynn?” Abby stepped back.

  “Yes. I have something that belongs to him.” She pointed at the porch beside her.

  Having been blinded by the lights, Abby had missed the dark shape. It was a baby carrier. A car capsule. And in it, smiling up at her, was a beautiful little baby.

  “Junior wants to meet his daddy,” the woman said.

  Abby blinked at the woman. At the camera. Then years of training snapped into place. Her back straightened. Her chin went up.

  “Of course. Give me a moment and I’ll fetch him. Excu
se me.”

  She closed the door with a polite nod, leaned her head against it and closed her eyes.

  Baby.

  Flynn.

  Cameras.

  The air thickened, making it difficult to breathe.

  Reality smacked her in the face. Even if Flynn was trying to change, he would still have to deal with the consequences of his past behaviour. Consequences Abby wasn’t ready to let into her life. One look at the woman and her baby was like ice water over her brain. What was she doing? An affair with Flynn could never remain secret, and there was too much at stake to gamble that it would.

  It was time to stop listening to hormones.

  It was time to stop playing around with Flynn.

  25

  “I have a number of alternatives, and each one gives me something different.”

  Glenn Hoddle, former England manager

  “Are you sure the baby isn’t yours?” Matt asked again.

  They were in Matt’s newly built house, which was still being decorated. Boxes filled corners of the rooms, waiting to be unpacked. Flynn couldn’t have the conversation on his own land, as he now had two film crews camped there. Crews Matt had been called in to move after Abby politely, and coldly, asked Flynn to deal with his problem.

  “I’m sure it isn’t mine.” Flynn ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “You’ve slept with a lot of women,” Matt said. “Do you remember all of them?”

  Flynn clenched his jaw. No, he didn’t remember all of them. “I would recognise her. I don’t. Nothing about her is familiar. Plus, I’m not an idiot. I don’t have unprotected sex. I made that clear during the last paternity claim.”

  “Accidents happen.” Matt glared at him. “Especially when you court trouble.”

  “Thanks for your support.” Flynn glared back. “It means a lot. I’m touched.”

  “You’re touched, all right,” Matt growled. “Touched in the bloody head.”