All They Need (10 page)

“You still haven't answered my question about railway ties.”

She wanted to ask more questions about the business, about him. She wanted to understand, because suddenly he was a lot more than a handsome face and a hard body to her. Suddenly he was a person with depth and flaws and unimagined character.

But he was clearly uncomfortable with her probing, so she dropped her gaze to the paper between them.

“I have absolutely nothing against railway ties. In fact, I'm rather fond of them.”

“Good. How about we think about something like this…?.”

He filled in detail, describing his ideas so she could see it the way he obviously did in his mind. She asked questions, made suggestions, and at some point realized their lasagna was stone cold. She heated both portions in the microwave while Flynn finessed his design and they both studied his finished sketch while they ate.

“You're really good at this,” she said after he'd explained the simplest way to construct the raised beds.

He shrugged modestly.

“I mean it. This is actually going to be beautiful, and not just some utilitarian jumble.”

“I'm glad you like it.”

“You're a dark horse, Flynn Randall.”

“Thank you. I think.”

She studied him. He studied her in return and slowly it dawned on her that neither of them had spoken for a while. The nervousness that always seemed to dog her when he was around returned, all guns blazing, and she pushed her chair back with a screech of metal legs on linoleum.

“Dessert,” she said. “Would you like dessert?”

He checked his watch. “Actually, I need to think about heading to Melbourne. What's the best taxi service to use down here?”

“I'll get you a number.”

She kept a card from a local driver in the business-card holder beside her phone and she started rifling through it. She could feel him watching her and self-consciousness turned her fingers to thumbs. She almost jumped out of her skin when the phone rang on the wall beside her.

She reached for the receiver while continuing to search. “Mel speaking.”

“It's me,” her sister said. “I need a favor. Rex just dropped the phone charger down the toilet and Jacob's got a big job tomorrow and his phone is practically dead. Can we borrow your charger?”

“Sure. Want me to drop it by?” Mel's sister's husband, Jacob, was a plumber, and she knew he needed his phone when he was out and about during the day.

“I'm already in the car. I'll come grab it,” Justine said.

“Okay. See you soon.”

Mel put down the receiver and glanced at Flynn. “Sorry. That was my sister, Justine. She's got a toilet-bowl-meets-phone-charger emergency.”

“I hate it when that happens.” He sat with one elbow on the table, his big body relaxed, his blue eyes watching her. She dropped her gaze to the holder and gave a silent sigh of relief when she spotted what she was looking for.

“Bingo.”

Now he could call his taxi and she could stop feeling like an idiot.

“Thanks.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as she passed the card over.

She cleared away their dishes while he spoke to the cab company, giving herself a stern talking-to all the while. Yes, he was an attractive man. A surprisingly
good
man. Yes, they'd had a nice hour or so together and there seemed to be a buzz of mutual attraction between them. But that didn't mean anything was going to happen. It was stupid to let herself get so jumpy over something so small and everyday.

“Ten minutes,” Flynn said when he ended the call.

She wiped her hands dry and folded the tea towel over the oven handle. “Good. Great. I'll go put the porch light on so they know which house it is.”

“I should probably wait outside, anyway,” he said.

“Sure.”

She led him to the front door, flicking on the outside light before opening the door and stepping outside.

It was chilly and she automatically crossed her arms over her chest.

“You don't have to wait with me, it's too cold,” Flynn said with a frown.

“I'm fine.” For some reason she was having trouble maintaining eye contact with him.

“Thanks for tonight, Mel. For everything. I really appreciate it.”

“Thanks for my new garden design.”

Two sets of headlights cut through the night as the taxi and her sister arrived from opposite directions. Her sister turned into the drive while the taxi parked out front.

“That was fast,” Flynn said.

“A new record,” she agreed. Her shoulders relaxed a notch. Sixty more seconds and he would be gone.

“Before I forget, don't buy any plants for your garden without talking to me first, okay?” Flynn said. “I know a few guys who can help you out with wholesale plant stock.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. That'd be great.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, sliding a business card from one of the slots. “Email me with a list of anything you're thinking of and I'll run it by my contacts.”

“I will.” She looked at his card, running her thumb over the raised lettering of his name. When she glanced again Flynn was watching her, a warm, intent look in his eyes.

“I'll see you later, Mel.” He leaned close, aiming a kiss at her cheek.

She was so startled by the unexpected gesture she flinched and his mouth dragged across her cheek an inch or so before winding up somewhere near her ear.

“Sorry. I wasn't expecting…” She laughed, the sound high and horribly nervous.

For God's sake, Porter, it's just a kiss on the cheek.

“Then I'll give you fair warning this time.”

She went very still as his hands landed on her shoulders and he leaned forward again. This time his kiss landed square in the middle of her left cheek.

“Look after yourself, Mel.”

She watched as he stepped away. Justine was coming up the walkway and they crossed paths, Flynn giving her a small smile as he passed her by.

“My God. Who was
that?
” Justine asked the moment she hit the porch. Her sister shared the same slim, slight build and straight dark hair as their mother and her grin was wide and curious as she waited for Mel to answer.

“His name is Flynn Randall. He's the guy who bought Summerlea.”

The interested, speculative look dropped from her sister's face like a rock. “The rich guy?” She said
rich
as though it was a dirty word. “What was he doing over here?”

“Something came up for him today and I helped him out.”

Justine's mouth thinned. “Don't do it, Mel. Don't get sucked in by another one of those I-own-the-world assholes.”

Mel frowned at her sister's motherly tone. “I'm not getting sucked in by anyone. He's moved into the area, I was helping him out. He's interested in gardening, I'm interested in gardening. That's all it is.”

“Gardening.”

“Yes. Gardening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just, if you'd seen me scuttle away from his house the other night when he told me he'd broken up with his girlfriend, you would know exactly how ridiculous this conversation is.”

“What were you doing at his house?”

“My God, you're nosy. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I'm protective. There's a difference.”

“You don't need to protect me. That's my job.”

“Okay. Just make sure you do it this time.”

Mel flinched. Justine's face creased with instant contrition.

“Jesus. Sorry. I'm not sure where that came from.”

Mel did. Her sister had urged her to walk away from her marriage half a dozen times before Mel had finally bitten the bullet and done it. But it was always easier to make big, brave calls from the sidelines. Especially when you hadn't been demoralized by years of put-downs and criticisms.

“I need to dig that charger out for you,” Mel said, pivoting on her heel and heading into the house.

Her sister followed her, watching from the study doorway as Mel stuck her hand down the back of the desk to try to pull the charger from the outlet. She could just reach it with her fingertips.

“I'm sorry,” Justine said after a moment.

The plug was wedged in too tightly and Mel couldn't get a good grip on it. She dropped to her knees and crawled under her desk, yanking the damned thing free. When she emerged, she looked at her sister.

“I know I made mistakes, Just. If I had it to do over, there are about a million things I would change. But I don't need you judging me as well. I've got enough of that going on in my own head, without you joining in.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I just get so angry on your behalf sometimes.”

Mel stood and handed the charger over. “I know. And I appreciate your concern. But you don't need to
worry about me. I've learned my lesson. Believe me. No one will ever do that to me again.”

Mel had made a vow to herself in the early weeks of her separation. It had been a painful time as she'd struggled to come to terms with how much of herself she'd given away during her marriage. Sitting with her new self-awareness, looking back over the past six years with wiser, sadder eyes, she'd made a promise—never again would she put herself in another person's power the way she had during her marriage.

Never.

Justine nodded. “I believe you.”

They walked to the door. Justine put her arms around Mel and gave her a hug. “I really am sorry.”

“Forget about it. It's okay,” Mel said.

And it was okay. Her sister had been a rock in the aftermath of her marriage; she could hardly blame Justine for wanting to protect her from future hurts, even if the only person who could ever really do that was Mel herself.

“Thanks for the charger. I'll pick up a new one tomorrow and get this back to you ASAP,” Justine said as she started down the steps toward her car.

“No worries.” Mel stood on the porch in the cold for a while after her sister had driven away. It was strange, but out of all the things that her sister had said, the two things that lingered were Justine's comment about Mel not protecting herself and the disparaging reference her sister had made to Flynn, calling him an “I-own-the-world asshole.” Standing in the cool darkness, Mel felt…not
guilty,
but close to it for not correcting her sister's assumptions. Flynn had shared a meal with her as well as offering her a window into matters that were clearly deeply important to him. He might be wealthy,
but he wasn't an imperious asshole. He was open and interested and friendly and talented and creative and incredibly generous, given what he'd sacrificed for his father, and she felt as though she'd betrayed him by letting her sister's disparaging comment slip by.

I like him.

It was a fairly obvious realization, but it hit her like a slap. It was one thing to be attracted to him—she figured that was simply about being female and having eyes in her head—but to
like
the man behind the gorgeous face…that was a different matter entirely. It felt much more dangerous and threatening, especially after the conversation she'd had with her sister.

Unsettled, she reentered her house, heading for the kitchen to check the possibilities for dessert. Instantly, she spotted Flynn's keys, sitting on the counter. She'd forgotten to give them back to him.

Oh, well done, Porter. Well done.

T
HE FARTHER HE GOT
from Mel's place, the more Flynn felt like a dick. He couldn't believe that he'd elbowed his way into her home and proceeded to dump all his crap on her. Every time he thought about how he'd almost cried he squirmed in his seat. Sure, he'd redeemed himself a little with the garden discussion afterward, but still…

She'd been great about it, hearing him out and offering her thoughts and feeding him, but that was beside the point. He felt as though he'd rolled over and displayed his soft underbelly to her like a beseeching puppy dog.

Was he really that desperate for a little comfort and companionship? This was the sort of behavior that had wound up with him hurting Hayley. He needed to get a grip.

Although, in all fairness, it had taken him a long time to tell Hayley what was going on with his parents. They'd been sleeping together for well over a couple of months before he'd shared his father's diagnosis with her. It wasn't information that he bandied about, out of respect for his father's privacy and dignity. But with Mel, he'd let it all hang out. He wasn't sure why.

Staring out the taxi window, he thought about the calm, serious way she'd watched him as he'd told her about his parents. She had a very warm, real pres
ence. He'd felt…safe with her. Maybe that was why he'd spilled his guts so unceremoniously.

Or maybe you wanted her to hold you to that spectacular bosom of hers and offer you a different kind of comfort.

He shifted again, but there was no denying the fact that he was very attracted to Mel. His mouth thinned into a grim line. He'd like to think he had a little more finesse than to try to whinge and whine his way into a woman's bed, but the evidence was definitely stacked against him.

He was still brooding when the taxi pulled up in front of his town house in Kew. He handed over the fare and was sliding out of the cab when his phone rang. He took the call as he pushed the car door shut.

“Hi. I feel like such an idiot— I forgot to give you your keys.”

It was Mel, her voice low and slightly breathless over the line. “Keys. Right.” He patted his pocket, and sure enough there was no telltale bulge beneath his hand.

Damn.

He was vaguely aware of the taxi driving off into the night as Mel spoke again.

“You left them in the Aston Martin and I locked it up and brought them home with me and meant to give them to you…?.”

He turned and considered the locked door to his town house. “Don't worry about it.”

“But you'll need your house keys, won't you? I can bring them up to you. Give me your address and I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“You're not making a two-hour round trip to bring me my keys. I've got a spare with the neighbors, and it wasn't as though I was going to be able to drive the
Aston Martin into work tomorrow, anyway. I'll organize a courier to pick them up in the morning.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I'm the one who ran off like a moron. I'll give you a call tomorrow to let you know when to expect the courier, okay?”

“All right.”

He hesitated, tempted to apologize for the gut-spilling and associated other self-indulgences of the evening. Then he decided that he should quit while he was ahead.

“I'll see you later, Mel,” he said.

He ended the call and glanced at his neighbor's window. There was a light on downstairs. With a bit of luck they'd be home. Otherwise he'd be forced to catch a cab to his parents' place for the night.

Luck was with him and he was soon letting himself in with his spare key. He sent Mel a quick text, just in case she was worrying. She responded immediately:

Phew. Load off. Will get keys to you tomorrow.

He started composing a return text and then caught himself. He'd imposed himself on her enough for one day. Time to give the woman a break.

It didn't stop him from thinking about her as he got ready for bed.

The way she'd thrown her car keys at him with no questions or caveats.

Her sympathetic patience as he'd talked about his father.

The admiration in her gaze as she looked over the design he'd sketched for her.

That moment this morning when she'd been adjusting the harness on the cutter and her fingers had
brushed his belly and she'd looked up, straight into his eyes.

Mel Porter was one out of the box. Funny, smart, kind, generous—and, of course, sexy as hell.

Last night he'd decided that she wasn't fling material because there was a vulnerability in her that demanded patience and commitment that he simply didn't have to offer at the moment. But it hit him suddenly that he'd gotten it completely ass-about. The reason Mel wasn't fling material wasn't because she was vulnerable, it was because she was a keeper.

One night with her would never be enough.

It was the last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep.

 

M
EL WOKE IN
muffled darkness, covered in sweat. Her legs were bound, she couldn't breathe…?. She flailed and kicked and suddenly was fully awake, in her bed, the sheets wrapped around her legs, the quilt over her face. She batted it away, kicked her legs free and reached for the bedside light. Golden light shone up the wall and she blinked. Her heart was pounding away, her pulse vibrating in her neck. She moved to the edge of the bed and stood, shivering in the cold with her clammy skin. She grabbed a towel from the ensuite, stripped off her pajamas and rubbed herself down. She found a fresh pair of pajamas in the chest of drawers and pulled them on. She straightened the covers, then got into bed on the opposite side, where the sheets weren't damp from her panicky sweat.

She lay on her side, legs curled up, doing her best not to read too much into the nightmare. She'd had a lot of them in the early days after she and Owen separated, and she'd thought she was past them.

Apparently not.

Fragments from her dream floated back to her: Owen sitting beside her in the car, hands tight on the steering wheel, his silent, oppressive anger pushing her into her seat; Owen yelling at her, again, for getting it wrong, pacing up and down in their bedroom; her standing in a ballroom full of beautiful, glittering people, yet feeling utterly isolated and alone.

A delightful highlight reel from her marriage, although she'd left out a couple of doozies. Maybe they were still lurking in her subconscious somewhere, waiting to disturb the rest of her night. Lucky her.

She wondered idly what had come first—her becoming entwined in the bedclothes, or the dream with all its attendant memories of how trapped she'd felt in her marriage. Chicken or egg, dream or entanglement.

It probably didn't matter. And perhaps it was timely for her to remember exactly how bad it had been, given the arrival of Flynn in her life and the conversation she'd had with her sister tonight. Perhaps it was a damned good thing for her to revisit exactly how powerless and trapped she'd felt. She'd been bound to her marriage in so many different ways—by expectation, by her vows, by pride, by her inability to fully comprehend how ugly things had become between them, by crippling self-doubt that had been fed by years of her husband's criticisms, large and small.

Like water on a rock he'd worn her down until she'd started to believe the things he said to her. That she was stupid. That she was responsible for his failure to make headway with his political ambitions. That she deliberately went out of her way to anger him. That she'd never even tried to learn how to fit in with his world.

She sighed heavily. So much anger and unhappi
ness. For both of them, really. She wondered if Owen was any happier now that he was free of the wife who had “done nothing but hold me back.” She doubted it, because he would always have his rapaciously ambitious mother's voice in his ear, urging him to be better, do better, and Diana Hunter would never be satisfied. Ever.

Mel almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Finally she drifted off to sleep. When she woke again it was morning. Judging by the state of the bedcovers, she'd barely moved. She showered and wrapped herself in her Thai silk dressing gown before making her way to the kitchen. She was trying to decide between porridge or peanut butter toast when the doorbell rang. She answered the door to find Flynn standing there.

“Flynn,” she said, her voice high with surprise.

“Hi. I hope it's not too early.”

His gaze drifted over her dressing gown. She was instantly acutely aware of the fact that she was naked underneath.

“No. Of course not. You're here for your keys, right?” she said, one hand instinctively lifting to the neckline of her robe to ensure it wasn't gaping immodestly.

“Yeah. When I thought about it again this morning I realized there was no point sending a courier when I needed to get the car sorted out, too, so I grabbed a couple of hours to make it happen.” He gave her what could only be described as a polite smile.

She stepped away from the door, waving him inside. “Come in.”

She led him to the kitchen and grabbed the keys off the counter, handing them over. “Would you believe
they were sitting there all night and I forgot to give them to you?”

“Thanks.” He offered her another polite smile.

She frowned. Maybe she was reading too much into things, but he seemed different. More distant. Less warm. Not that that was a bad thing, all things considered, but it seemed out of step with the way they'd parted company last night. The way he'd kissed her cheek. The way he'd looked at her.

“Also, I was hoping there was a mechanic you can recommend locally. My regular guy's in the city and I don't particularly want to have Gertie towed all that way.”

“There are a couple of workshops in the village. Barry Cassidy has a good reputation. And the other guy is my father.”

“Well, that makes it easy. Obviously I'll go with Barry Cassidy.”

Her mouth curved up at the corners. “Naturally. That seems like the obvious choice.”

“That's what I was thinking.” His smile was more genuine this time and some of the stiffness had gone from his face.

“You want Barry's number?” she asked.

“Sure. But I guess I might as well speak to your father, too.”

“Good plan. I don't know why I didn't think of that.”

Flynn pulled his phone out and took her father's number down as she reeled it off.

“In all seriousness, my dad is a good mechanic. He does a lot of work with classic cars—he and my brother restore them as a hobby. I would have mentioned him to you earlier but I figured you probably had some NASA-trained mechanic in the city somewhere.”

“As I said, I do have a guy but I believe he may have skimped on the NASA training.”

“It's so hard to get good help these days.”

“Tell me about it.” His gaze dipped below her face for a second and she crossed her arms over her chest, conscious of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra.

“So, um, how did you get down here this morning?” she asked. She could feel her heart beating out a hectic, nervous rhythm against her breastbone.

“I borrowed Dad's car. He doesn't drive anymore. I've been putting off selling, so at least it's earning its keep this week.”

She nodded, thinking about what he'd said in relation to the conversation they'd had last night. “It's what you were talking about last night, isn't it? Taking away his freedom. I guess selling his car would really drive home the fact that part of his life is over, wouldn't it?”

The tight look came back to his face. He cleared his throat. “Listen. About last night.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I wanted to apologize for dumping all that stuff on you…?. That was really uncool.”

It took her a second to process what he'd said and another second to put it in context with his behavior this morning. The polite smiles, the distance, his general awkwardness.

He was embarrassed for having let down his guard with her last night.

She propped a hip against the kitchen counter and studied him. “Let me get this straight. You're apologizing for caring about your father?”

“No. I'm apologizing for spilling my guts all over your kitchen table.”

“Yeah. See, I happen to think they're the same thing.
You're allowed to feel upset, Flynn. You're only human.”

He shrugged uncomfortably.

“This is one of those male things, isn't it?” she asked.

“I feel a little uncomfortable talking on behalf of my entire gender, but it's definitely a Flynn Randall thing. I don't generally go around blubbering.”

“You didn't blubber last night.”

“Sure.”

“You know, if you were my brother, I'd punch you right now.”

He looked a little startled. Then a slow smile curled his mouth. “Then I'm glad I'm not your brother.”

“You should be. I pack a mean punch. The bruises last for days.”

“Now you're just trying to scare me.”

“How am I doing?”

“Might need a little more work.”

“Okay. I'll get back to you.”

“You do that.”

His phone beeped. He pulled it out to check it. She could tell by the way his face shifted into more serious lines that it was work.

“I need to keep moving,” he said. He sounded tired.

“Busy day, huh?”

“They don't really come in any other size these days.”

They walked to the door and faced each other across the threshold.

“Good luck with the car,” she said.

“Thanks. And thanks for these.” He indicated the keys.

He turned away.

Before he could leave, she took a step forward and touched his arm. “Flynn.”

He paused, half turning toward her.

“Everyone has tough stuff, you know? Everyone. I don't even want to think of all the times I've lost it over the past year or so. It's called being human. And I certainly don't think any less of you because of it. Okay?”