by Nicola Marsh
Having a relationship with a soldier wasn’t an option, not after what she’d been through, what her mum had been through.
Flynn had persisted, tried to keep in touch during his three years at ADFA and year at Duntroon, but she’d stood firm with brief, terse responses out of politeness ingrained by her colonel father from a young age.
Until his final night in Melbourne before he transferred to the front line, when she’d been unable to resist.
And look where her weakness for him had got her.
“Maybe some other time?”
His lips curved and her heart flumped at the injustice of damn memories. The power-packed smile lit his face, accentuating the tiny lines radiating from the corner of his eyes, the groove-like crease bordering on a dimple in his right cheek, highlighting his rugged handsomeness.
“You’re giving me the brush off?”
Compressing her lips to stifle the urge to smile right back at him, she steeled her resolve not to give in and grab a quick latte for old time’s sake.
“Looks that way.”
“Why?”
His low voice rippled with curiosity, and she stiffened. The last thing she needed was Flynn asking questions she had no intention of answering.
“We’ve moved on, forged careers, separate lives, what’s the point of — ”
“This is the point.”
The kiss came out of nowhere. One moment she was rebuffing him, the next his mouth was on hers, commanding, demanding and despite all intentions to resist her lips softened.
Her body sang with remembrance as he cupped the back of her head, his fingers splayed through her hair, her scalp prickling with the instant electricity his touch elicited.
Oh yeah, she remembered this, this overwhelming, mind-numbing need to have him kiss her for minutes, hours, obliterating every obstacle standing in the way of a relationship, every doubt she possessed.
His kiss was cataclysmic.
His kiss was sublime.
His kiss was wrong.
Breaking away, she dragged a hand through her hair, surreptitiously itching her scalp where residual tingles fired annoying messages into her brain: Why don’t you whack him? Why don’t you tell him to shove it? Why did you stop?
With the smug smirk of a guy who knew exactly how he affected her after all this time, his nonchalance rankled as he leaned against his trolley. She flexed her fingers, unsure whether she should deck him or pat him on the cheek and thank him for reawakening her hormones for the first time in years.
He eyeballed her. “That’s the goodbye kiss we should’ve had six years ago.”
“We did plenty of kissing that night … ”
A blush stole into her cheeks, matching the heat simmering through her body and she silently swore.
“So we did.”
She knew what he’d ask next before he opened his mouth.
“Why did you run out on me that night?”
She couldn’t tell him, any of it, so she settled for partial truth.
“You were flying out in the morning. I hated goodbyes. You knew that from the first time you left for the Academy.”
His probing stare had her transferring weight from side to side, fidgeting with her handbag strap, eager to flee.
“That’s a cop out.”
She shrugged. “You asked.”
“And I expected an honest answer.”
Trepidation tip-toed down her spine and she pointedly glanced at her watch.
“I really have to go.”
“This isn’t the end.”
Ignoring him, she pushed her trolley toward the checkout.
“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” he called out, his cocky tone reminiscent of their debating days. “I’ll call you.”
“I’m not in the phone book,” she flung over her shoulder, instantly regretting her quick look back when his taunting gaze followed her all the way to the checkout where she flung items at the bemused girl before bustling out the door, ramming a stray trolley along the way.
Twenty-four hours had passed since Lori had bumped into Flynn and thankfully he hadn’t made good on his promise to call. She needed time to think, to sort out her feelings, for despite her act that he meant nothing to her she knew it was just that — an act.
The minute she’d looked into those fathomless gray eyes she’d been sucked in, drowning in a pool of sensation, hazy memories combining with his potent presence, compounded by the fact he’d hardly changed.
His eyes still held that same indefinable quality that hypnotized and resistance was futile. She’d had a sleepless night to prove it.
As for that kiss … logically she shouldn’t have responded but her body had had other ideas, that one intoxicating, mind-blowing kiss short-circuiting her in a big way.
After tossing all night, she wondered if maybe she should’ve had a quick chat with him, been polite? After all, they shared more than a history.
“A fact I’d rather forget,” she muttered, shoving the pile of essays she needed to mark that night into her car boot, slamming it shut, sending a silent prayer heavenward that the result of their shared history never discovered the truth.
“Still have that habit of muttering under your breath, huh?”
She jumped and whirled around, her heart slamming against her rib cage, as her history became her present.
The schoolyard was almost deserted this time of evening so she should’ve heard Flynn. Guess soldier boy had practiced stealth among the many other moves she’d rather not know about over the past six years.
“Where did you spring from?”
Her shrewish tone had little to do with him startling her and everything to do with the sight of him in faded denim and a white T-shirt that snatched her breath.
He’d spent years on the front line, confronting and seeing and dealing with goodness knows what, so why didn’t he look more battered, more damaged?
A cruel thought, malicious, but she hated her subliminal reaction to his compelling physicality: the impulse to smooth her floral A-line skirt and tug at the hemline of her peasant top, the urge to pull the butterfly clip out of her hair and shake it loose in the hope she didn’t come across as an uptight schoolmarm, the type of teacher they’d both despised way back when.
“I was told I could find you here.”
“How?”
He tapped the side of his nose and winked. “Army Intel. If I tell you I’d have to kill you.”
“Not funny.”
“I guess not.”
Rattled by his appearance, she didn’t speak and he shrugged. “Remember Michael Fuser? He’s my accountant, said you taught here.”
She’d personally throttle Michael at tax time.
“And another thing that’s not funny, you kissing me the other day.” She folded her arms, then thought better of it when his gaze flicked to her chest.
“I’m not going to apologize for it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Another problem. She couldn’t think straight at all when he was around.
“It was out of line.”
He shrugged. “Sue me.”
She could’ve pushed the issue but it wouldn’t be wise. Best to relegate that kiss to a spur of the moment mistake, one she had no intention of repeating.
Flynn glanced around the school grounds and she wondered what he thought of the newly painted buildings, the immaculate gardens and the state-of-the-art sports stadium that had recently been erected. He’d scoffed at her “toffy” high school when they’d first met and by the disdain on his face now, his opinion hadn’t changed.
“What do you teach?”
“English and Human Development.”
“Human Development?”
She fought a rising blush and lost. “Sex education in our day.”
He grinned and the blush spread all over her body, notching her temperature up to unbearable levels. “You’re an expert on the subject?”
She stifled a snort. Considering he’d been her one and
only lover, her theory was definitely more accurate than her practice.
Desperate to bring the conversation to an end, she jingled her car keys.
“Every teacher needs to have a solid grasp of their subject matter to impart knowledge to their students.”
His grin widened and she almost cringed at her pompous answer.
“With an opening like that, the predictable response would be me asking you for private tuition. But I guess you already know I’m far from predictable?”
He leaned against her car, braced by his arms and she could hardly tear her eyes away from his bulging biceps. She may hate the army and all it stood for but it sure bred toned, muscle-bound guys.
“What do you want, Flynn?”
She would’ve loved to flirt with him, to fall back into their old, easy-going camaraderie but couldn’t do it. Too much had happened between them, too much at stake and the longer he hung around the higher the risk.
He had to leave, before it was too late.
“I want us to catch up. Is that too much to ask?”
Hell, yeah. Catching up would involve talking and she’d never be able to hide the truth from him, not in some cozy, intimate setting with him using those darn eyes to pin her down.
“Hey, Mom. Who’s this?”
Ah hell. Not now. Not like this.
Her stomach roiled with nerves, protectiveness making her want to grab Adam and shove him behind her, away from Flynn’s astute stare as Adam ran up to them and dropped his school bag at her feet.
This was what she’d wanted to avoid. A confrontation she hadn’t prepared for, a confrontation she would’ve avoided at all costs.
Forcing a contorted smile that made her face ache, she placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder.
“Adam, this is Flynn. I used to know him back in high school.”
“Cool. Was my mom a nerd back then?”
The boy looked up at him and Flynn almost reeled back, shock peppering his body like enemy gunfire.
Lori had a son.
And staring into the boy’s eyes was like looking in a mirror.
Gray. Gunmetal gray, the same peculiar color as his own, the color he’d inherited from his grandfather, the man who had raised him, the man he owed.
No freaking way.
It couldn’t be …
He blinked, squared his shoulders, fighting the growing realization filling him with a confusing jumble of dread and shock and anger.
The kid had eyes exactly like his.
The kid looked old enough to be his.
What the hell was going on?
As the boy continued to stare at him with open curiosity, Flynn recovered enough to say, “Your mom loved school, so do you think that made her a nerd?”
Adam pondered the question for a moment before answering. “Nah, it probably made her smart. She knows everything.”
Not everything.
She should’ve told him about this child.
If she was so damn smart, why hadn’t she trusted him enough to tell him he had a son?
Torn between wanting to bend down and wrap the boy in his arms — which would scare the hell out of him — and wanting to wring Lori’s neck for denying him the opportunity to be a father, he settled for somewhere in between.
He stuck his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Adam. I’m an old friend of your mom, so would you mind if I hung around a bit? Had a chat with her, caught up on old times?”
He watched Lori’s eyes widening, glimpsed fear. Good, she deserved to be frightened because by the time he finished she’d be clear on his exact feelings regarding this whole fiasco.
Adam only hesitated a moment. “Mom doesn’t have lots of friends, so yeah, if you wanna hang out for a while that’d be cool.”
Flynn filed away that bit of Intel for dissection later. Lori had been Miss Popularity back in high school; he’d been the recalcitrant nerd. Why had she turned into a hermit?
Glancing at the boy who found everything “cool,” he probably had his answer. “Thanks, champ.”
“Honey, I forgot my jacket. Do you mind getting it for me? Charlie should be cleaning so the classroom will be open.”
“No worries.”
Adam started to scamper off before remembering his manners. “Bye, Flynn. See ya round.”
“Sure thing.”
Something in Flynn’s hardened heart fluttered, unfurled, came alive as he watched the boy he’d helped create run toward the school building, scuffing his shoes in the process.
“Listen, Flynn, I — ”
“No. You listen to me.”
He lowered his voice with effort, clenching and unclenching his hands, before ramming them into his pockets.
He’d been raised in an emotionless home, taught to be a man far too early by a grandfather prone to terrible mood swings, a grandfather who blamed him for giving up a distinguished army career to raise his only daughter’s brat, so he had little clue how to deal with the solid lump wedged in his throat. A lump that swelled as he watched Adam duck into the school building, a lump that signaled an emotion he couldn’t recognize let alone acknowledge.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
CHAPTER THREE
Flynn dragged in a breath, another, shook his shoulders loose, rolled them, tried to ease the fierce tension gripping his body before he said something he’d regret.
He’d learned to master his emotions at a young age, had honed his impassivity through years of fighting the enemy, often a faceless, insidious, malignant enemy. But right now, rolling on the balls of his feet, trying to hold his fury in check while Lori scrambled for excuses and platitudes, his detached front splintered and threatened to expose how raw and emotionally bruised he was inside.
“Answer me, damn it.”
He didn’t need her reluctant nod to confirm what he’d known the instant he’d first laid eyes on the boy. Confusion jagged through him. He should be happy he had a son, proud, but all he could think about was he didn’t have a clue how to be a father let alone have room in his hardened heart for a child.
“He’s mine.”
A statement, not a question, and unable to contain his frustration any longer he thumped the top of the car, cursing as she jumped and took a few steps back.
Hating the uncontrollable rage sweeping through him he braced against the car, hung his head, closed his eyes and focused, a technique he’d used countless times over the years when faced with the unthinkable.
With every breath he deliberately blanked his mind, clenched and relaxed his rigid muscles, willed the anger away before it consumed him.
He had no idea how long he stood there, regaining control, and thankfully she didn’t speak, giving him time to pull together before he straightened, finally able to see through the haze fogging his brain.
“Why you didn’t tell me?”
Was what they’d shared so meaningless? So trivial?
He’d never forgotten her or the night they’d finally acknowledged the undeniable spark between them. She’d walked away and he’d let her, focusing on his career, on settling old scores.
Maybe he should be thanking her for not involving him in an emotional entanglement that would’ve screwed up his career before it had begun?
Then why the pain clamped around his heart, squeezing it like a vice at the thought he’d missed out on watching his boy grow up?
“Because the timing was all wrong.”
“Bullshit.”
Her expression wavered between pity and regret and fear, and he hated he made her look that way.
“We can’t talk about this now.”
She darted a quick glance toward the school building as he belatedly realized this wasn’t about the two of them and how they’d botched things, there was an innocent third party involved.
His son.
Damn, he had a son.
“When?”
“Soon.”
He shook his head. “Not good enough. I let you take the easy
way out once. Not going to happen again.”
She gnawed on her bottom lip, eliciting a visceral reaction he had no hope of controlling, the familiar slap of desire something he’d learned to subdue around this woman as a teenager.
“I’ve been interstate on a professional development course the last few days. This is my first night home. I need to spend it with Adam.”
He heard her unspoken plea: she needed time with her son.
Fine, but so did he. Five years worth to make up for all he’d missed. Thanks to her.
“Dinner. Tomorrow night. No excuses.”
Her lower lip wobbled as she took a step toward him and for one crazy moment he thought she might collapse into his arms, she looked that fragile. Instead, she reached out a trembling hand, briefly touched his chest before letting it drop.
“Okay,” she said, with a reluctant nod.
She wouldn’t look at him, her gaze firmly fixed on his t-shirt and he tipped her chin up, the gold flecks in her eyes sparking familiar amber fire as he scrutinized her, looking for answers, searching for an explanation that would ease the bitterness gripping him.
He didn’t want to hate her, didn’t want to blame her, but as he caught sight of his son running toward them, he came close to both.
Lori couldn’t move, the shock of the last ten minutes finally seeping through her body, rendering her powerless to do anything but stand and take whatever Flynn dished out.
She deserved it, all of it, for the moment he’d laid eyes on Adam and learned the truth every logical, sane reason she’d used to justify her silence blew sky-high.
Pain, raw and undiluted, had ripped across his features, twisting his stoic mask into one of devastation.
And she was responsible.
Biting the inside of her cheek to stop from blubbering she scrambled in her handbag for a pen and paper and scribbled down her details.
“You can reach me on any of those numbers.”
He took the piece of paper, glanced at it. “You still live on Riversdale Drive?”
She nodded. “But not at Dad’s place. He bought the cottage up the road for us after I … ”
“Got knocked up? By me?”
He spat the final word and she’d bet a brave, honorable guy like him wished he’d been the one to buy them a place.
