She opened her mouth, but what could she say? Think fast. “Maybe that just means I’ll be someone else’s mommy one day,” she said brightly. “If I’m lucky, they’ll be as wonderful as you.”
He looked far from convinced, so she sat farther into the bed, dragging a leg up to sit sideways. She needed to address this head-on. “Here’s the thing, Flynn. New mommies sometimes come along, but it’s up to daddies to choose them.”
He considered this before shaking his head. “I fink the kids should choose them.”
“You have a point.” She tried to suppress a smile—his argument had logic, but this could be a problem later and she needed to take it seriously. “You know, I don’t really know much about how it works. But there is someone who knows.”
“Who?” he asked, his eyes becoming impossibly big.
“Your dad. He’s a smart man. I think you should ask him.”
Flynn stared at her for a moment, and butterflies quivered in her stomach as she waited to see whether he would let her off the hook or not.
Then he got up on his knees, reached to the side table and retrieved the bear book they’d read yesterday. He passed it to her, eyes hopeful.
“I was just in the mood for a book about teddy bears,” she said on a relieved breath.
He gave her a contented smile and curled into her side.
At lunchtime when Matt stepped into the anteroom to spend the afternoon with his son, Susannah was walking in to meet him from the other side. As she moved, her long blond hair swung around her shoulders and, though she was smiling, concern was clear in her eyes.
He mirrored her smile as she slipped through the door in case Flynn was watching. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing new about his condition.” She paused and bit down on her lip and his eyes were drawn to the action. Such a plump lip, tailor-made for the nibbling it was currently having. He turned away. He shouldn’t be thinking about Susannah Parrish’s lip.
“But I wanted to forewarn you about a question you’ll probably get.”
Relief flowed through him, and he bent to wash his hands. “He’s always been challenging with his questions.”
“Flynn asked if I was his new mommy.”
He snapped to attention and pivoted to face her, hands dripping on the floor. “How did that come up?”
“I swear, Matthew,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle, “I didn’t encourage him.”
That was true—Susannah could never cause anyone pain on purpose, he knew that deep in his bones. He tapped the faucet off with his elbows and reached for a paper towel.
“I know.” He threw the towel in the bin and took a breath. “But do you know where he got the idea?”
Her eyes flicked to Flynn through the window. “He says I kiss like a mommy, and sing like one, too.”
He winced. Strong pieces of evidence to a three-year-old. “What did you tell him?”
“I said daddies were the ones to choose the new mommies and he should talk to you about it.” Although her eyes were still worried, a grin peeped out. “He thinks kids should choose the new mommies.”
Matt couldn’t restrain a chuckle. “That sounds like our Flynn. Thanks for aiming him back to me—I’ll handle it from here.”
Not that he had any idea what he’d say to the kid who was too wise for his own good. As much as Matt had tried to protect him when Grace died, his son had changed. Now he saw too much. Thought too much.
And he deserved better than a father who was making it up as he went along. Grace had been the one who’d always known what to do with kids. Even when they’d been talking about a divorce, he’d still expected they would share custody afterward.
Now he was all Flynn had. He looked through the glass panel at his son flicking through his favorite teddy-bear book.
He would just have to do better.
Four
Susannah watched Matthew eat the last spoonful of her coffee and hazelnut cheesecake. A warm glow suffused her body when he made an appreciative sound. Cooking calmed her—somehow allowed her thoughts to fall into order—so she would have wanted to cook today regardless. But to have someone enthusiastically appreciate her food made it that bit more worthwhile. Especially when that someone was Matthew, whose opinion she’d come to respect.
“After a meal like that, I don’t think you need to worry about pulling your weight,” he said, leaning back into his chair and giving her a lazy appraisal.
“It’s one of my mom’s many recipes.” Her mother had taught her to cook from when she was young—savory meals, desserts, cakes. They’d been the recipes her own mother had taught her, and maybe one day Susannah would have her own little girl or boy to teach them to. A picture of Flynn flashed in her mind, but she pushed it away. He was Matthew’s son, not hers.
“I can see that you and your father ate well.”
“My dad passed away when I was young, so it was mainly Mom and me.” The familiar ache swelled to fill her chest. It’d been many years but she still missed her father immeasurably, missed his hugs, his radiant love for her mother and her.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, genuine concern in the fine lines around his eyes. “I lost my father not long ago.”
Headlines in the local newspaper had screamed the new developments in the story to passersby when she’d been at the store earlier. She’d picked up a copy and read the first few lines about Reginald Kincaid’s murder, then placed the paper back on the pile and moved on, unwilling to be another vulture, prying for details of something so intensely private.
For the rest of the afternoon, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the story, her heart aching for Matthew. So much grief and burden—first his wife’s tragic death and becoming a single parent to Flynn. Now losing his father, and discovering it was through murder.
The urge to reach out and touch his hand verged on irresistible—had there been anyone to comfort him? His wife was gone and each family member would have been suffering their own grief. She glanced at his broad shoulders, his strong frame. What would it be like, drawing him close and offering a consoling embrace? Her skin warmed. Probably less about giving comfort and more about her fascination with him, judging by her body’s response to the mere thought.
She settled for wrapping her fingers around her wineglass. “Were you and your father close?”
He nodded once, his lips curving into a grim smile. “We’re a close family.” A frown line appeared on his forehead then grew while he studied his empty plate. “Well, I thought we were.”
She remembered the obvious affection between Matthew and Kara, and the way he’d spoken about his other siblings. “What’s made you question it?”
His gaze was on his empty plate but she knew he didn’t see it. Even as he spoke, she knew his focus was a million miles away.
“After my father’s death,” he said through a tight jaw, “we discovered he had a second family. Complete with two extra sons—one biological and one informally adopted. Seems that, decades ago, he met up again with his first love to find she’d borne him a son, been married and had another son to her husband. By the time she met Dad again, the husband was gone, so Dad set her up as his mistress and created a second family for himself with her and the boys.”
She leaned back in her chair, physically rocked by the revelation, despite not knowing his father. The betrayal, the anger, must have been overwhelming.
“You had no idea?” she whispered.
His eyes were bleak. “None at all.”
“Oh, Matthew, I can’t imagine how awful that must have been. Especially to find out that way.”
“It was no picnic,” he said and reached for his wineglass before taking a long sip.
“So, beyond the shock, is it a good thing getting two new brothers?”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t think the new brothers are looking to play happy families. Jack, my father’s biological son, definitely isn’t and the jury’s still
out on Alan. Also, the way my father divided the stock between both groups has left the family company in a precarious position.”
“I’m so sorry. Sometimes life is simply unfair.”
He gave her an ambiguous smile and stood to clear the plates. “Tell me about your mother.”
She recognized the change of topic for what it was—he’d exposed too much for comfort to a virtual stranger—so she allowed him the preservation of his dignity.
“My mother is fun,” she said and followed him to the sink with their wineglasses. “Always lively, always ready with a witty joke. It must have been hard for her after my father died, but she rarely let on.”
He opened the dishwasher and looked up, genuine curiosity in his eyes before he stacked their crockery in the slots. “How old were you when he died?”
“Eight.” She had no clear memories left of that time, just the overwhelming sense of sadness and despair. Poor Flynn must have experienced similar depths after losing Grace, and she wished with everything inside her she could have saved him that. At least he had Matthew, the way she had her mother.
“My parents were very much in love,” she said, “but Mom pulled herself together quickly to ensure my world was stable. I see you’ve done the same thing for Flynn and I really respect that.”
A quick grimace passed across his face before he turned away to grab a cooking pot. “Did you have much family around?” he asked.
“Mom’s parents were interstate and they’d help where they could. Dad’s parents were less helpful.” The resentment that lived in the pit of her stomach threatened to simmer, but she wouldn’t let it. She wouldn’t let them ruin her mood all this time later.
He straightened and his green gaze narrowed on her. “Define ‘less helpful.’”
Perceptive man, Matthew Kincaid. For an instant, she considered deflecting the question, or giving a half response, but he’d just shared a very personal story and she couldn’t be less than honest in return.
“They sued for custody of me after Dad died.”
Very slowly, he put the cutlery down and rested his hands low on his hips. “Were there any grounds?”
“Only in their imaginations. They’d never liked or approved of my mother. She was an outsider to their social scene. My father had provided a buffer for her when he was alive, but once he was gone, they pulled out all the stops.”
Her father’s family had money and influence—a lethal combination. It had taught her young that wealthy families who were used to getting their own way were dangerous. Her mother had been blinded by love when she’d married, but Susannah had learned from that mistake. Families like her father’s—like the Kincaids—were full of secrets and maneuverings. She’d bet the Kincaids had a few more secrets up their sleeves, too. Families like theirs always did.
“Criminal,” Matthew said, scowling. “To make it harder for you both while you were grieving is unforgivable.”
The unqualified support loosened the knot in her chest where the memory lived and allowed a little more of the story to ease out. “Not just while we were grieving. When they lost the custody case, they wiped Mom. Wouldn’t acknowledge she existed. Mom would drop me over on visits once a month, and they’d shower me with presents and try to convince me to live with them.”
“I can’t imagine Grace’s parents doing something that selfish. They adore Flynn—they stay with us regularly, and ring him every Sunday. Thinking of them pulling Flynn away from me…it’s just inconceivable.” He shook his head. “Did you tell your mother?”
“No, I just put up with it.” Until they went too far.
“How are they now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, obviously being far too perceptive once again.
She hesitated before admitting, “I wouldn’t know.”
“You stood up to them,” he said, warm approval in his eyes. “What was the tipping point?”
It was a time in her life that she avoided revisiting, and had never told anyone else about, yet, it seemed somehow natural to share with this man.
“Four years ago,” she began, then moistened her lips, “my mother lost everything in a despicable scam. She’d trusted someone she worked with who disappeared after the scam went down. Lots of people were stung and despite the authorities being called in, there was no chance of recovering her money. She was going to lose the house she’d shared with my father. Her family didn’t have a lot of money, so she made me promise not to tell them. But my father’s family was rich, and she was their daughter-in-law.”
“She didn’t know you asked, did she?”
She shook her head.
“What did they say?”
“They were exquisitely polite and very sorry not to be able to help, but—” she flinched, remembering their falsely sympathetic faces “—the bottom line was they wouldn’t spend the money on a woman they didn’t care for and had never wanted in their family.”
She’d learned something that day—something she’d already known but had been trying to avoid admitting. Wealth changed people. Especially families. When money was inherited, it changed the family dynamics. Made life into an “us and them” scenario. She wanted enough money to get by, but huge wealth wasn’t something she wanted anything to do with. And she’d never marry into a rich family the way her mother had.
He moved forward the smallest of steps and ran his fingertips down her arm in a gesture that was comforting even as it made her pulse jump.
“Susannah, I’m sorry.” His voice was deep with concern.
“One good thing came of it,” she said, trying to ignore the fingers that now rested near her elbow. “I went home, legally changed my name to my mother’s maiden name and haven’t seen them since.”
If she’d lost her father’s name in the process, that was regrettable but ultimately it was okay—her father had hated the way his parents had treated his wife, so she knew he would have understood. And she had him living in her heart, which was more important than a name.
“Good for you.” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “So what happened with your mother?”
“I took out a loan for as much as I could get approved, and I met Grace soon after. Your money for the surrogacy paid the balance on Mom’s house. It’s rented out for the time being to help with loan repayments, and we moved to Georgia so Mom could live with family till the bank is paid out.”
His fingertips began to trace a pattern on her skin once more, causing her pulse to jump erratically. “The house was that important?”
“She’d worked her entire life and,” she said around a tight ball of emotion in her throat, “after Dad died she worked two jobs to give me the best start in life she could manage. I couldn’t let her lose her house, the home for her retirement, her one link back to the man she loved.”
With sure hands, he pulled her into his arms. She resisted at first, she was used to dealing with things on her own and she’d only known this man a couple of days, but he held her with a gentle firmness until she relaxed into his warmth. He was offering his support so freely, and just this once, she allowed herself to simply absorb.
And yet, there was something else that thrummed between them, a dangerous craving that always seemed to be lurking just beneath the surface when they were together.
She knew she should move away, banish the craving.
But she didn’t.
Lately Matt wasn’t used to having any woman in his arms besides his mother or his sisters. Susannah Parrish didn’t feel remotely like his sisters. Her eyes, filled with strength and hurt at the betrayal had been his undoing. He couldn’t have stood another second with the distance between them. And, even though he rubbed a palm slowly up and down her back the way he might for Lily, Laurel or Kara, he couldn’t begin to fool himself.
This wasn’t platonic—her nearness was setting his skin on fire.
He’d never known why she’d carried his baby, what she’d used the money for, but the story of her resilience was amazing. Could he have ev
er done something as difficult for similar reasons?
“If I’d known, we’d have paid you more.” Heck, if he thought she’d take it, he’d give her more now.
“It was enough,” she said softly. “But thank you for saying that.”
“What if I give—”
She pulled back in his arms and he could see her face again. “Please don’t offer. I’ll be fine.”
“Noble as well as generous and beautiful,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand. Her pupils dilated and her breath came faster, and he wanted to kiss her so badly that he ached with it. He leaned down, wanting…
“Matthew,” she said, and he stopped close enough to feel her breath on his face as she spoke. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“It sure feels like a good idea,” he said, not retreating an inch. And, God help him, at this moment he couldn’t consider anything other than how her mouth would feel opening beneath his.
“Things,” she began, then paused to swallow. “Things are too complicated already.”
“It’s just a kiss, Susannah,” he told her…told himself. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.” He brushed his lips across hers lightly, needing to feel them. “Just—” over one corner of her mouth “—one—” then the other corner “—kiss.”
On a sigh, her lips parted, and a shudder ripped through his body. He’d been trying to deny that he’d wanted her ever since she’d walked through the arrivals gate at the airport. In the past year, any flicker of desire—no matter how minor—had felt disloyal to Grace, and had been followed by a tidal wave of guilt. Despite the talks of divorce, they’d still been married when she’d died. Worse, if he hadn’t suggested divorce in the first place, Grace would still be alive. The confusion had kept him closed to the idea of other women for twelve months.
But what Susannah stirred within him was too strong to deny. Her mouth tasted of the sweet dessert, combined with an allure all of her own that drew him ever deeper.
He plowed his fingers through her silken hair, holding her for his kiss, unwilling to risk her withdrawal. The wet slide of her tongue against his was sinfully erotic, her teeth nibbling at his lip explosive.
What Happens in Charleston... Page 5
