Those Sweet Words

by Kait Nolan

  Even as the thought formed, she pushed it away again. He wasn’t her type. He was charismatic and gorgeous, with a serious case of wanderlust. A born heartbreaker. She’d loved a man like him once with all her heart, and he’d left her shattered and alone. Pru knew better than to expect anything else. Maybe, if she only had herself to think about, she’d consider it. But she was a mother now—or nearly. Her focus had to be Ari.

  Still, it couldn’t hurt to just look. Not looking at a man like him had to be illegal in some countries. Pru paused just beyond the threshold of the family room to do just that. He was so…well put together. He had a swimmer’s build—long, lean limbs, with powerful arms, as she had reason enough to know. All that wavy, black hair fell into his eyes and just begged for fingers to run through it. Would it be as soft as it looked? What about the neatly trimmed beard? She’d never been a fan of beards before, but Flynn’s worked, framing that strong jaw. Watching him in easy conversation with Kennedy, his bright blue eyes twinkling beneath a thick fringe of lashes—why were they always wasted on men?—she wondered if there’d ever been anything between them beyond friendship. There was no question that Kennedy had always been in love with Xander, but Flynn had seemed poleaxed at the announcement of her engagement. Was that because it seemed fast or because he thought there’d been a chance for something more?

  “Are you really ready for this?” Flynn asked. “Isn’t there anything else you want to do before you tie on the old ball and chain? Any carousing or adventures?”

  Pru stepped into the room. “Considering she did most of her carousing with Xander…”

  “True story,” Kennedy admitted.

  Flynn winced as he sat up, before his grin spread wide. “Kennedy Reynolds, were you a wild child?”

  Kennedy feigned an innocent face.

  Pru gave her the side eye before holding her thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart.

  Kennedy shrugged. “Well, maybe a little.”

  Pru zeroed in on the hand Flynn rubbed along his nape. “Are you hurt?” Had she injured the poor man by falling on him?

  “What? Oh, no. I’m just all kinked from the car. It’ll go away in a day or two.”

  “Pru can fix that. She’s a massage therapist. You should let her work on you.”

  That benign statement sent Pru’s brain skittering down a path that involved Flynn, naked on her table, with nothing but a sheet covering that magnificent—

  “Well, if you think you can sort out this knot before bed, I’d probably sleep better for it.”

  Pru blinked. “Sure, I can do that. It’s the least I can do for crashing into you.”

  “Better me than the ground. It would hardly do for the maid of honor to break a leg days before the wedding. Where do you want me?”

  Anywhere I can get you. The thought bloomed before she could stop it, along with heat in her cheeks. “Um…”

  “Should I sit or lie down?”

  For the massage, you sex-starved idiot. Get a grip.

  “I’ll see what I can do here, and if you need something further, I’ll get you on my table. Move over to the ottoman.”

  He complied, scooting to the back edge as instructed.

  Rubbing her hands together to warm them, Pru moved behind him. She considered asking him to take off his shirt, but given the direction of her thoughts, that seemed like a bad idea waiting to happen.

  I am a professional, damn it.

  Determined, she laid her hands on his shoulders, switching into professional mode and analyzing his muscles by touch, searching out the size and shape of the knots, finding their edges.

  “So, Pru, what will it take to bribe you into sharing stories? I feel like I need to hear about Kennedy the wild child.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure even you are that charming,” she teased.

  “Is that a challenge, Miss Reynolds?” He tipped his head back to meet her eyes and his hair brushed over her hands. Yeah, soft as it looked.

  Pru’s pulse jumped.

  A professional charmer, she reminded herself, digging into the knots. Better to steer clear.

  “Not even your blarney can overcome the sacred bonds of sisterhood,” Kennedy announced.

  Pru laughed. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

  Her sister gave a mock glare. “It hardly matters anymore. Xander’s reformed now that he’s the sheriff.” She grinned and gave a saucy wink. “Mostly.”

  “He’s the sheriff?”

  “Interim. But that’s just until the formal election in November. He’s going to win by a landslide.”

  “Sheriff or no, I bet you’d still be able to talk him into skinny dipping at Opal Springs,” Pru said.

  “Skinny dipping, is it now?” Flynn wanted to know, drawing out his Irish as he looked to Kennedy.

  “No better way to spend a hot summer night,” Kennedy said.

  “I can think of a few.” The words were out before Pru could stop them. She rushed to cover her gaffe. “But I’m pretty sure y’all had that covered, too.”

  Flynn’s laughter was pure delight. “What about you, Pru? Did you ever take a walk on the wild side and swim in the buff?”

  Kennedy answered for her. “No way. Pru is the good, responsible sister, who never stepped a toe out of line and made the rest of us look bad. We might have hated her a little for it, if not for the fact that she was also the one who covered our asses.”

  The good, responsible sister.

  It was undeniably true. She’d lived her life following the rules. She liked rules. Liked order. Life ran smoother that way. So why did the teasing rankle?

  “The poison ivy you got on your ass was hardly a motivation to follow your example,” Pru countered.

  Kennedy winced. “Okay, you make a good point. But thinking back to that summer…still gonna call it worth it.”

  Satisfied she’d mapped the problem areas, Pru began to press and knead at Flynn’s shoulders. She didn’t have any memories like that. Of something reckless and fun that she could look back on to say she’d really lived. She’d always done the safe thing. She’d needed that after her childhood before Joan. Lord knew, now that she was taking on a child of her own, safe was the only option. And that thought was just a little bit depressing.

  Beneath her hands, Flynn tensed, sucking in a breath before relaxing back against her with a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure that had Pru’s thoughts veering in a wholly unprofessional direction. “Jaysus, woman, where did you get those hands? That feels incredible.”

  The heat and strength of his back pressed against her front felt pretty incredible, too, and made her wonder all about the other ways she could get him loose and limber. And sweaty. She really wanted him sweaty.

  “Told you she was good,” Kennedy said.

  Pru swallowed against a throat gone dry. “Better?”

  “Much.”

  She stepped back. “Well, then. I’ll leave you two to visit.” She needed to get the hell out of here before she lost her apparently flimsy self-control.

  Flynn rose and caught her hand as she started to move past. It was the second time he’d done that today, and it flustered her even more than she already was. He flashed her a devastating smile. “Thank you.”

  Two simple words, delivered in that unreasonably sexy brogue, left her weak in the knees. Then he lifted her hand to his lips, peering up at her through those thick lashes. “Hands this talented should be pampered,” he said.

  Christ almighty.

  Digging deep, Pru managed to find a smile in return. “Nice try, but I’m still not telling you all of Kennedy’s secrets.”

  Her sister hooted with laugher. Flynn straightened, wholly unabashed, and released her, but not before dragging his thumb down the center of her palm.

  Heat flaring low in her belly, Pru made her escape.

  ~*~

  “I don’t think you understand how hen parties are supposed to work, love” Flynn observed. “The gents aren’t supposed to be around for
it.”

  “Psh.” Kennedy waved that off and knocked back a shot of whiskey. “We’re short on time, and there aren’t that many places to have a bachelor or bachelorette party. It just made sense to do it together. Besides, I feel bad enough that I’m getting married and leaving town practically right after you got here to visit me. I wanted to spend what time I could with you.”

  “Fair enough.” Flynn tossed back his own whiskey—not bad for not being Irish—and reached for her hand. “I know the bride is meant to be in charge, but if this is all the time I have with you, we’re going to dance.”

  Grinning, she slapped her hand in his. “Yes, we are! Denver!” She called to the bartender—also, apparently, her boss—who was regarding them both with amusement. “Queue up my playlist, will you?”

  “You’re the bride.”

  As they made their way to the empty space that had been cleared for dancing, the classic rock that had been playing low on the speakers stopped. A few moments later a lilting fiddle took its place.

  “I might have planned for this eventuality,” she explained, waving him to the opposite corner.

  Flynn grinned. “Shall we show these Yanks how we do this in Ireland?”

  In answer, she kicked her leg up and launched into a reel. He listened to the music for a few measures to get the beat, watching Kennedy circle the floor, her blonde hair bouncing and her face as light and joyful as he’d ever seen it. And no wonder, given the weight off her shoulders. They’d stayed up late the night before, and she’d filled him in on what had truly kept her away all these years. After all that, she and Xander deserved whatever happiness they could grab.

  Flynn leapt into the dance, throwing himself into the familiar call and answer of dancing with a partner he knew well. They circled, their quick, rhythmic steps echoing off the wood floors. The assembled guests began to clap in time, cheering as each of them executed more and more complicated steps. By the time the reel was finished, they were both breathing hard and laughing. Kennedy’s tiara was listing to one side.

  They took their bows to much applause, and Flynn hauled her in for a hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you happy, deifiúr beag.”

  “I’ve missed the hell out of you.”

  “Likewise. Now go dance with your groom. You’ve not taken your eyes off him since he walked in.”

  Beaming, she returned the kiss to Flynn’s cheek and hurried over to Xander. Flynn himself headed for the bar and Pru. She wasn’t drinking. He had no idea whether that was the norm for her or not. Everyone seemed to just know she’d be the designated driver. Since before they’d left the house, she’d been herding everyone else, making sure nothing was forgotten and everyone had a good time. Even as he approached, he overheard her speaking to Porter, one of Xander’s groomsmen, “Go dance with Maggie before she sneaks away to the bathroom to check in with her office for the umpteenth time. Bonus points if you manage to steal her phone.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He saluted and cut smoothly through the crowd toward his target.

  “Still taking care of everyone, I see.”

  “A mother’s work is never done.” She clearly meant it as a joke, but he heard something more serious in her tone.

  “Ah, but you’re not a mother yet.”

  She sipped at her tonic and lime. “Might as well be.”

  Which was sign enough that he ought to steer clear. He had rules for himself. But there was something about her that drew him, had him pushing, just a little. “Even so, mothers deserve to have fun themselves.”

  “Someone has to take care of everything.” That someone was obviously her. How much of that was because she was the eldest and how much was because she was the sister who’d stayed?

  “And who takes care of you?” It was something he’d been wondering since his arrival.

  Her gaze flickered with surprise. “I take care of myself.”

  Flynn nodded, recognizing an independent woman when he saw one. He’d grown up in a house with two, hadn’t he? The idea of somebody else taking care of her had never even crossed her mind. So he appointed himself—for the night, anyway—to make sure that she had a good time, too. He held out a hand. “Then come take care of me. I find myself without a dance partner.”

  “Oh no.” Pru shook her head. “I can’t do any of whatever you and Kennedy just did.”

  Flynn just flashed the grin that had a ninety-eight percent success rate. “I’ll go easy on you.” He angled his head, listening as the music changed. “See, there’s something nice and slow.” Which, in reality, was exactly what he’d wanted when asking Pru to dance. “C’mon. You won’t leave a guest on the sidelines, will you?”

  “You and I both know that, other than the bride, every woman in this room would be happy to dance with you. I’m pretty sure at least fifty percent of them started fanning themselves when they heard your accent.”

  True. American women did seem to fall all over themselves when he spoke. But not Pru. “Ah, but you’re the only one I’m looking at.”

  Pink flooded her cheeks and she dropped her gaze.

  To solve the issue, Flynn gently extracted the glass from her grip and set it on the bar. She didn’t resist when he tugged her toward the dance floor. He slid his hand to the small of her back and pulled her into his arms, beginning to circle her to the bluesy, country guitar, as somebody sang about a woman and Tennessee whiskey. Pru’s steps were a little stiff, her hold awkward.

  “Relax. I won’t bite,” he said.

  The fingers on his shoulder flexed, and he noted the pulse hammering in her throat as she lifted her gaze to his. “What if I ask nicely?” Her lips immediately pressed together and her color deepened, as if she hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  Flynn’s blood heated, and he shifted her an inch or two closer, angling his head to speak into her ear. “For you, mo stór, I would gladly do anything you ask.”

  A delicious shudder ran the length of her body. What would it be like to dismantle all those walls, stripping away her inhibitions until she came apart for him? The idea of it stirred him far too much.

  “Even dishes?”

  It was so out of sync with where his mind had gone, he pulled back slightly. “What?”

  Pru laughed and her smile punched into him, strumming that internal chord he’d felt in the barn. “You did say anything.”

  “So I did.” He didn’t think he’d ever seduced a woman over a sink of dirty dishes. What would that look like?

  “What does it mean?”

  Her question distracted him from his little fantasy. A good thing, probably, given the crowd. “What does what mean?”

  “Mo stór.”

  “Ah. It’s Gaelic for my darling.”

  Amusement quirked her lips. “Free with your endearments, are you?”

  “I’m Irish,” he said by way of explanation.

  “What about that thing you keep calling Kennedy?” Was there a touch of prospective jealousy beneath that casual tone or did he just want there to be?

  “Deifiúr beag means little sister, as she’s been mine from the day we’ve met.”

  Her brows winged up. “Really? All these years and you two never…”

  Flynn smiled. “No. I might have thought about it for about five minutes at the very beginning, but it was obvious her heart belonged to someone else. Now I know who.”

  They both looked across the dance floor to where Kennedy and Xander swayed, eyes only for each other.

  Pru sighed, and he didn’t miss the edge of sadness to her expression.

  “Here now, what have I said to make you sad?” Please don’t say you’ve been carrying a torch for Xander yourself all these years. He didn’t know why that mattered so much, but it did.

  “I just wish our mother was here to see them together like this. It was one of her greatest wishes that Kennedy would find her way home and back to him.”

  Flynn felt her tremble, saw her throat working against s
ome strong emotion, and recognized the brittle armor she wore for everyone around her. He stepped back, pulling her with him. “Come on.”

  Pru blinked. “What?”

  “Let’s get a little air.” He didn’t wait for her assent before taking her hand and weaving through the patrons, to the door that led to the designated outdoor smoking area. No one was there, and he was grateful. She needed a few moments away from everyone who knew her. “There. Just breathe for a bit.”

  In the dim glow of the patio lights, tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a little emotional.”

  Before she could do it herself, he gently wiped away the first one to escape. “We don’t shy from emotion where I come from. If you need to cry, cry. I’ll not think any less of you for it.”

  “I’ll ruin my makeup.”

  “All right then. All joking and flirtation aside, maybe just take a minute to lean instead.” He opened his arms.

  Pru frowned. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Consider me a shoulder by proxy. I’ve been one often enough for Kennedy over the years.”

  “You were there when I called her about Mom.”

  “I was.” He’d held his friend, while her world shattered into a million pieces. “I don’t know what it was like for you in the days and weeks after Joan’s death, but I get the feeling you’ve been too busy being the shoulder for everyone else to take some support yourself.”

  She hesitated, as if not at all certain what to make of him.

  “No judgment. No strings. Sometimes you just need to be held.”

  As another tear slid down her cheek, Pru stepped into him. Flynn wrapped her tight. She laid her head against his chest and released a bone-weary sigh. He said nothing as her body relaxed by degrees against his, just slid one hand beneath her hair and gently massaged her nape.

  “I thought I was all cried out. But, God, I miss her so much right now, I can barely breathe.”

  “You and your sisters would have imagined her at all your weddings and births and other milestones. It’s natural to feel the ache that she’s not here in body to share in the joy.”

  “I need to get a handle on this, at least until after the wedding. I won’t let anything spoil Kennedy’s day.”