Apparently that was all the reassurance Becky required. If Mr. Flynn said it was going to be fine, she'd believe him. Her arms loosened around his neck, her world set right again.
Flynn set Becky down and pointed her in the direction of the bedroom. "Go get a jacket and I'll get the picnic." She skipped off, confident that all was right with her world as long as Flynn was in it.
Ann shifted toward the door, her eyes settling on a point somewhere beyond Flynn's shoulder. "I guess I'll let you two get on with your picnic. I... I'm sorry about what my father did."
"Where are you going? I thought the three of us had planned this extravaganza of hot dogs and indigestion."
Her eyes flickered to his face and then away. "I didn't think I'd be welcome."
Flynn caught her arm as she moved closer to the door, pulling her forward until she stood right in front of him. There was nowhere to look but at him. She stared at his collarbone, too ashamed to meet his eyes.
"Ann, you can't possibly think I blame you for what your father did? It had nothing to do with you. I know that."
His voice was so gentle that Ann had to blink back tears. It had been a long time since anyone had used that tone with her. It made her want to lean her head on his chest and let him take care of her.
"How can you be so nice about it? If I hadn't told my father about Becky, he wouldn't have called the social worker and you wouldn't be about to lose Becky."
"Don't be silly." He gave her a gentle shake that brought her eyes to his face. "You couldn't have known what your father was going to do. And I'm not going to lose Becky. We're not going to lose Becky. Hey, you've got to cultivate a more positive attitude."
Ann managed a shaky smile, but she couldn't prevent the single tear that slipped down her cheek. Flynn's eyes darkened, his expression softening almost magically. His head lowered, and Ann closed her eyes as he kissed the tear from her cheek. It was a gentle gesture, a comforting gesture and yet, somehow, comfort was not exactly what it achieved. With the touch of his mouth on her cheek, the atmosphere was charged with sexual awareness. As if the awareness had been there all along, just waiting for an excuse to break through.
He hesitated, his mouth against her skin, and Ann forgot how to breathe. His lips shifted, trailing along her jaw, drawing closer to her mouth. Ann's mouth softened, anticipating the touch of his. He was so close. So close.
"Are you kissing Ann?"
Flynn jerked as if slapped. Ann's eyes flew open as he stepped away. Was it her imagination or was his breathing a little uneven, his color a little high? His eyes locked on hers for an instant, but it was impossible to read their expression. And then he looked away, and Ann could almost believe that she'd imagined the entire incident.
"Becky. You got your jacket."
'"Course I got my jacket. I thought we was going to the park." The look she gave him made it clear that he was acting slow-witted. Flynn flushed.
"We are. But Ann has to go and get her shoes and I've got to get the picnic."
"You said you was going to do that when you told me to get my jacket."
"Well, yes, I got distracted."
"What's 'stracted mean?"
❧
"How do kids manage to ask so many questions?" Flynn's tone was exaggeratedly weary, and Ann hid a smile.
"How else are they going to learn?"
"It just seems like they try to learn everything all at once."
Ann looked to where Becky was playing with a group of other children.
"I think that's the first time I've seen her with kids her age."
Flynn's eyes followed hers, settling on Becky's brightly clad figure. "I think she and her mother moved a lot. According to the investigator, they've had six different addresses in the last two years. I doubt if Becky's had a chance to make any friends."
"Has she ever talked about her father?"
Flynn shook his head, reaching for a bite of cotton candy from the cone Ann held. "She hasn't said much. I get the feeling her mother didn't want to talk about him."
"She told me that Frankie was a present from her father and that book she has was his. That's not a cheap edition of Robert Louis Stevenson and it's part of a set. And Frankie isn't a dime store stuffed toy. He's Steiff."
"Steiff? What's Steiff?"
"They make toys. Expensive toys. Collectible toys. The tag is gone but they always put a button in the animal's ear. If her father bought her Frankie, he probably wasn't on the dole line."
"Maybe he stole him."
"Maybe. I can't help but wonder where he is. I can't imagine what kind of a man would abandon his own child."
"Happens all the time. Here." Ann opened her mouth automatically, her thoughts on other things. She was unaware of the intimacy of Flynn feeding her a bite of sticky cotton candy, or of the way his eyes watched her tongue come out to lick the sugar from her lips.
"You're very good with her."
"With Becky? She's easy to get along with." He shrugged off the compliment, pulling off another length of spun sugar.
"You'd make a good father." His eyes went to Becky again.
"At least I know what not to do. You don't pigeonhole your kids from birth. You don't expect a kid to be perfect. I watched what that did to my brother.
Always striving to be exactly what Dad wanted, never feeling like he'd quite measured up."
"What about you?"
"Me? Well, there are advantages to being the black sheep of the family. No one expects anything but trouble out of you." His smile took on a wicked edge. "I was pretty good at living up to those expectations."
He held another bite of cotton candy up to her mouth, and Ann hesitated a moment before taking it from him. They were slipping into dangerous intimacy. His fingers brushed her lips.
Ann felt the sticky sweet melt on her tongue, her eyes never leaving his. It wasn't fair that he should have such blue, blue eyes. It was too easy to get lost in them. The sounds of the park faded into the background. His fingers shifted but didn't leave her face. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin.
"You have the softest skin."
Any second now, she was going to make some light remark and draw away. Any second now. But she couldn't seem to move. "I do?"
"Umm." His eyes dropped to her mouth and Ann felt her pulse pick up. It wasn't fair. He shouldn't be able to do that with just a look. "Did you know you have cotton candy on your mouth?"
"I do?" The words were breathy. She couldn't get enough air. His head was lowering and she should be moving away. She didn't want this. Didn't want it at all. Which explained the quivery sensation in the pit of her stomach when his breath touched her mouth.
Her eyes fell shut. His tongue came out, delicately licking the sticky sweetness from her mouth. The touch was so intimate, so hungry that Ann forgot all about not wanting it. Forgot all the reasons she couldn't get involved with him. Forgot everything but the surprising hunger in her own body. She was the one who moved closer. Her hands came up to rest on the front of his light jacket.
Flynn groaned, a low rumbling sound that Ann felt in every pore of her body. Her mouth opened, inviting him inside, and he took the invitation, sweeping her breath away as his mouth closed over hers, his tongue sliding inside, hot with demand.
They were standing under the huge branches of a live oak, the ancient tree sheltering them, giving the illusion of privacy. Ann wasn't sure how it happened but suddenly she was pressed against the tree, the bark rough against her back, Flynn's body a sensual weight against her.
Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer. She felt as if all her life she'd been only half alive and suddenly he'd awakened the sleeping half of her. She'd never known such a rush of urgency, of need. Of hunger.
The passion that flared between them was instantaneous, catching them both off guard, leaving no room for pretense, no room for anything but each other.
"Mr. Flynn, you've got cotton candy in your hair."
&n
bsp; Ann felt as if she'd just been pushed out of an airplane without a parachute. The return to reality was so abrupt that she was disoriented. Flynn's head came up, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before he stepped away, leaving her to lean limply against the tree. If it hadn't been for its support, she would have simply slid to the ground. There didn't seem to be any stiffening in her knees.
"How come Ann put cotton candy in your hair?" Becky's piping question was another rude introduction to reality. Ann stared at the little girl for a moment, and then her eyes dropped to the crushed paper cone in her hand. The pale pink confection was almost gone but she'd forgotten all about it when Flynn kissed her. He ran his hand over the back of his head, drawing it back with a grimace.
"I think I need a shower."
Ann nodded, still dazed. He wasn't the only one. She wondered if there was a shower long enough and cold enough to slow her pulse down to normal.
Chapter 7
"How come the water comes out hot?" Ann looked from Becky to the stream of water splashing into the tub and tried to organize her thoughts. It had been like that all afternoon. No matter how she scolded herself for letting one little kiss throw her off balance, she couldn't seem to get back to the real world.
Of course, calling it "one little kiss" was rather like calling King Kong a spider monkey. A little kiss didn't send shock waves to your toes. A little kiss didn't leave you tingling houis later. A little kiss—
"Ann?" She blinked and smiled at Becky.
"They heat the water in a big tank and pump it up to the faucet." As basic explanations went, it was about as basic as they came but she wasn't up to trying to explain the miracles of modern plumbing, even if she understood them, which she didn't. Becky seemed satisfied and she climbed into the tub without asking another question.
Becky was quite capable of taking a bath without a supervisor, but it had become a nightly ritual for Ann to sit in the bathroom with her. It was hard to say who enjoyed the ritual more. Ann tried not to think about what was going to happen when Becky's mother was finally found. She couldn't pretend anymore that life was going to go back to the way it had been before she'd opened her door to Flynn's towel-clad, panic-stricken presence.
She reached out to tuck a strand of Becky's hair out of the way of the washcloth. Becky smiled at her, revealing a gap where a tooth had come out two days ago. Ann smiled back, hoping the little girl wouldn't notice the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Flynn had been so nervous when Ann had checked the loose tooth and announced that it was time to pull it.
He'd let her do the honors, telling Becky that since Ann was a doctor, she'd know how to do it just right. When the moment finally came and the tooth was pulled, Ann thought Flynn might cry right along with Becky. But the tears lasted only a moment, more from fright than actual pain. Afterward, they'd made a ritual out of placing the tooth under Becky's pillow for the tooth fairy. Becky had explained that there wasn't really a tooth fairy, but the pragmatic words didn't quite match the excitement in her eyes.
Ann's smile widened as she reached for the washcloth to scrub Becky's back. It had taken her almost ten minutes to convince Flynn that a dollar was enough for a tooth. If she hadn't been there, he would probably have left the Ferrari under Becky's pillow.
"Are you and Mr. Flynn going to get married?" The washcloth slipped and Ann almost fell into the tub.
"What?"
"Are you and Mr. Flynn going to get married?" Becky wound the spring on a toy boat and set it sailing across the tub.
"What on earth would make you ask that?" Ann hoped the amusement in her voice sounded light and not hysterical.
"He was kissing you today."
"Becky, you know people don't get married just because they kiss each other."
"Why do they get married?"
"Well, they get married because they want a home and a family, something to come back to every night. Somebody who'll love them no matter what and be there when they're happy or when they're sad."
"Don't you want those things?"
Ann stared down at Becky, meeting the innocent question in those clear gray eyes. "I don't know. I guess I've never really given it much thought. I've had to work very hard at my job. I guess everybody wants those things but it's not easy to find them."
Becky rubbed soap over the washcloth, lathering it up until the cloth all but disappeared in bubbles. "Mama says that if you really want something, you've got to go out and get it. She says you can't sit around waitin' for stuff to come to you." She scrubbed the soapy cloth over her face. ,
Ann watched her. Out of the mouths of babes. Surely that statement had to have been designed for Becky.
❧
Half an hour later, Becky was dressed in a long cotton nightgown and tucked into bed. Ann dropped a kiss on her forehead, trying not to think of how much she'd grown to care for this small scrap of humanity.
"Tell me a story, Mr. Flynn." This, too, had become a nightly ritual. Ann moved quietly around the room putting away the day's accumulation of clothes and toys, while Flynn's voice spun a quiet story about elves and princesses and beautiful moths that flew them through fairyland.
The story was only half over when Flynn's voice stopped, and Ann turned to see that Becky had fallen asleep, her lashes making dark crescents against her flushed cheeks. Flynn eased himself off the bed and dropped a kiss on Becky's forehead. They tiptoed from the room, leaving the door open just a crack.
In the living room, the atmosphere was suddenly awkward. The early autumn temperature had dipped low enough that Flynn felt justified in lighting a fire, and it hissed quietly in the fireplace. One lamp burned next to the sofa, casting a pool of brilliance that seemed too intimate.
"Join me in a glass of wine?"
Ann glanced at him and then looked away. He was altogether too sexy. He'd washed the cotton candy out of his hair, and it now fell onto his forehead in a heavy black wave that made her fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. His jeans molded his thighs, just snug enough to tantalize anyone with the least imagination. His shirt was plain blue cotton, but the top two buttons were undone, allowing a glimpse of curling black hair.
It would be foolish to stay for a glass of wine, and one thing Ann had never been was foolish.
"That sounds nice."
Ten minutes later, the two of them were seated on the thick carpeting in front of the fireplace. Huge pillows bolstered their backs. It was a warm, intimate setting and part of Ann couldn't believe that she was here, courting disaster like this. But that was the practical Ann, who'd spent her life working toward certain goals.
There was another Ann, the Ann that was beginning to realize how much she'd given up to ambition. The Ann that wondered about all the things she'd told Becky that went into marriage. That was the Ann sitting here. Besides, where was the danger in sharing a simple glass of wine?
She stared into the fireplace, afraid to look at Flynn, afraid to look too closely at what she was doing. Afraid to stay and even more afraid to go.
Flynn's hand came out and took the wineglass from her fingers. Ann watched him set it on the hearth. The pale liquid picked up all the colors of the fire, bending them into new displays of light and color. Flynn's glass joined hers, the two of them sitting side by side. And still she sat there, her hands lying in her lap, her eyes on the two glasses.
She felt his hands in her hair, pulling out the pins one by one. She should say something. She couldn't just sit here and do nothing. She couldn't just let him... The last pin came out slowly, as if he were dragging out the anticipation. She closed her eyes as her hair tumbled onto her shoulders.
He didn't move, didn't speak until, at last, she could bear the tension no more. She opened her eyes, turning her head until she could see his face. She needed to know what he was thinking.
His eyes were on her hair, deep red waves that made the fire pale in comparison. The flames cast shadows over his features, making it difficult to read his expression.
"You are so beautiful." His voice was husky, soft. "I wanted to see you with your hair down the first moment I saw you. You looked so cool and disapproving but there was such fire in your hair." His fingers slid into the thick waves and Ann shut her eyes again. His thumb brushed her earlobe and she shivered. She felt him shifting closer. Her lips parted, anticipating, needing, wanting.
And then he was there.
His mouth claimed hers hungrily, with none of the tentative searching that had been in his other kisses. They both knew the time for questions was gone. There might be new questions tomorrow, but tonight there was only the two of them.
The spark that had been kindled earlier had lain waiting, needing only a touch to burst into life. Flynn's fingers slid deep into her hair, cupping the back of her head, tilting her mouth to his.
Ann moaned low in her throat as her lips opened, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. He tasted of wine. He tasted of madness. He tasted of all the things she denied herself for so many years. Things she'd only dreamed of. Her tongue came up to meet his, as hungry as he was. They tangled in erotic love play, testing, teasing, savoring.
She was barely aware of his hands shifting to "her shoulders, lowering her to the thick carpeting. His mouth left hers but only to taste the delicate skin along her jaw. The firelight created dancing red shadows against her closed eyes. Flynn's mouth slid down her throat, his tongue tasting the pulse that beat frantic cally at its base.
His fingers teased open the buttons on her blouse, spreading the thin cotton fabric out around her body. When he lifted himself away from her, Ann's eyes fluttered open. She should have felt self-conscious,
lying beneath him with only the fragile lace of her bra shielding her breasts from his gaze. But the look in his eyes was warm, melting away her inhibitions, her fears, leaving her feeling wanted, loved.
"You are so beautiful." He breathed the words out as if he could hardly believe that she was lying here beneath him.
Her fingers came up to smooth the hair back from his forehead. It promptly slipped back down again, but her hands had moved to other things. His shirt buttons slid apart easily, baring his muscled chest. Ann could feel him watching her but she kept her eyes on her fingers, concentrating on sliding each button loose. If she looked at him, she might lose the fragile courage she'd found.
Tell Me a Story Page 10
