Flynn's Kiss (Disarmed & Dangerous) (5 page)

As he took his own seat, his gaze swept around the table and caught Ethan’s steady contemplation. Perhaps the deputy sheriff was right, maybe she could rock his world. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have his world rocked.

Flynn frowned down at his empty plate and squinted over at the kid’s. Five pieces of fried chicken, a mountain of mashed potatoes, a ton of corn bread, and a pile of green shit. He wasn’t bothered about the green shit, but he could smell the chicken and potatoes, and his stomach gave a loud complaining growl.

The sound grabbed Liberty’s attention, her eyes widened as she glanced from his plate to hers to Jacob’s. A bright smile spread across her face once more, showing dimples he hadn’t yet had the time to study. She swapped her filled plate with his empty one, and as he opened his mouth to protest, she gave a small shake of her head and placed her delicate hand on top of his to stop him from swapping them back.

Her cool fingers sent electric pulses straight up his arm to spread like wildfire through his entire body, and he wondered if anyone would notice if he snatched the little woman away and took her back to his lodge. His stomach rumbled again, but he thought he could stave off hunger pangs if only he could get Liberty naked. He raised his head, met Sam’s quietly amused stare, and figured his thoughts might just have been a little too evident.

Sam gave a small nod at Liberty’s empty plate.

“Liberty. You have no food, pass your plate.” And before Flynn could blink, Liberty’s plate was whipped down the table, piled high with twice as much steaming hot food than had already been on the one she passed to him, and was placed back in front of her. The only thing the woman needed to do was smile and nod graciously.

He picked up his fork and wondered at the advantage of being dim and friendly instead of cerebral and brooding. The brunette certainly wore the former with great appeal. Fork poised, he watched as Liberty unobtrusively swapped the plates over once more so she had the smaller portion. His eyes met hers and she stilled completely. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and made him realize he was smiling. With a small cough, he looked away and caught Sam’s enigmatic smile before the guy directed his attention back to his wife Lydia.

He stabbed his fork into the potatoes, scooped it into his mouth, and concentrated on applying himself to the contents of his plate. Used to the buzz of Hollywood film sets, he blocked out the sound of voices, but Liberty’s voice filtered its way through, her lilting tones relaxing him.

Her light touch on the back of his hand grabbed his attention again.

“So, Flynn, I understand you’re a bodyguard.”

“Yeah.”

Silence filled the gap. He wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted from him. He’d answered her goddamned question.

Her cool hand rested on the top of his, and the urge to turn it over and clasp her fingers in his was strong enough to make him slide it away, letting hers drop to the table with a soft thud.

The small blink of insult had guilt rolling through him. Christ, no one made him feel guilt, except maybe his mother, when she’d been alive.

He grasped the neck of the beer bottle in a move designed to smooth the hurt. He didn’t want to upset the woman, he just wondered how long it would take to get inside her panties and if he had to be sweet to her. It wasn’t in his nature to be sweet. He swept a glance over at his nephew and saw his move hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jesus. They all knew him. He was a bad-tempered son of a bitch. Why did he need to try and be pleasant?

She’d removed her hand from the table and occupied it with her wine glass, taking dainty little sips with her soft pink mouth, and lust stirred again as he imagined what she could do with her wet, shiny lips.

Her ramrod straight spine, together with the fact she had now engaged his nephew in a very lively conversation about some computer game shit, indicated he was not likely to be forgiven any time soon.

Sam leaned back on his chair as his little girl climbed into his lap for a snuggle. Her small thumb popped inside her mouth, and soft sucking sounds came from her as she laid her head on her daddy’s chest and stared at Flynn, her wide eyes unblinking.

Flynn stared back, uncertain how to react to such intense attention.

She took a deep breath and spoke, her English voice surprisingly clear from around her sticky, wet thumb.

“My mummy says that isn’t a tattoo on your face.”

A hard knot formed in his stomach. Fuck. He could deal with the occasional kid, but the sudden silence from the nearby adults made him contemplate leaving. The food in his mouth turned to dust and his throat contracted as he tried to swallow. Lydia’s green eyes widened in horror at her daughter’s loud declaration and froze him to the spot. He was shit with women. If he got up and ran, sweet, quiet Lydia would be upset, and if there was one thing he hated, it was to upset women. Shit.

Liberty’s small cool hand touched his thigh and gave a gentle squeeze. The dust formed a hard lump in his throat, and he almost choked to death as she gave his leg a comforting follow-up pat.

Before he required the Heimlich maneuver, he grabbed his beer and gulped most of it down, the fizzing liquid backwashing up his nose. With little more than a splutter, he managed to contain it, but the tears filling his eyes were probably a dead give-away.

His blurred vision centered on the little girl’s serious face. Lydia never moved. Sam, calm as always, waited him out.

“I…” A sharp cough cleared his throat and gained another stroke of Liberty’s hand. Vibrations tore through his body, almost shaking it apart from inside with the plethora of mixed messages assaulting his system.

He raised his hand, rubbed his fingers over his lips, and blew out a laughing breath of disbelief. Shit. For someone who didn’t like to be the center of attention, he sure did seem to be gaining an audience. It was the brunette. It was her fault.

“Yeah, Rosie, mummy’s right. I don’t have a tattoo.” With an automatic gesture, he lifted his fingers to stroke along his scars. Rosie raised her head from Sam’s chest, popped her thumb out of her mouth with a loud suction noise, and leaned precariously away from her daddy, her eyes wide with wonder and her arms flailing toward him.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? The kid was about to impale herself on the corner of the table and Sam seemed oblivious, his head turned away while he murmured to Lydia.

The kid leaned out farther.

Beads of sweat popped out of Flynn’s skin.

Shit.

Her arms waved at him for a moment longer, and then with the confidence of her own immortality, Rosie launched herself off her daddy’s lap straight at Flynn.

Instinct had his arms shooting out to catch her. Terror had him snatch her to his chest. Not much made his heart rate soar. The ice man of the industry barely breathed heavy at the most challenging of stunts, but faced with a kamikaze kid, he’d almost died.

He clung to her little body. His hand, almost larger than her head, pressed her face into his chest, but she was not to be repressed.

She wriggled and laughed as though the world had not almost ended for her. She squirmed her knees into his groin and coaxed a pained grunt from him. His mind emptied as the small bundle came nose-to-nose with him, and her slippery wet thumb traced a snails trail across his cheek, her deep blue eyes filled with avid concentration as her fingers reached his ear and the intersection of his scars.

Other than rip her hand away, he had no choice but to sit and take it. Rapt fascination filled her tiny face. Hypnotized by her, his muscles relaxed, the pain in his groin subsided, and his lips twitched into a small wry smile. The little sweetheart on his lap fidgeted a little closer, pulled her thumb back along his jawline, up to the edge of his lips, and rammed her sticky thumb into the corner of his mouth, her fine nail scraping the edge of the scar.

With a hiss he jerked his head back. Rosie’s little mouth pursed into a rosebud, and she leaned in closer and touched her forehead against his cheek so she could get a closer look.

“It’s a very big ouchy.”

The air in his lungs huffed out. “Yeah.”

“I have an ouchy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Look.”

She brought her right hand up to his nose, and he almost turned cross-eyed in his attempt to focus on the small bandage wrapped around her little finger.

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what was expected of him.

“Did you have a plaster on your ‘ouchy’?”

Her attention zoomed to his face again, her little fingers once more on his scar tissue. A strange sensation tingled the back of his neck, the nerve endings around his damaged skin felt nothing, but the whisper of her fingers at the edges pebbled his flesh with small twitches of awareness.

“Yup.” His lips grazed her fingers as he spoke.

“Is it all better now?”

“Better than it was.” He had no idea what effect his grudging response would have on Rosie, until her eyes widened with huge sympathy and her long black eyelashes fluttered until her lids closed. She leaned in and touched her soft lips to the puckered skin at the corner of his mouth, and his insides convulsed in a feeling so unfamiliar, it sent spurts of panic into his chest and out through his throat, resulting in bear-like grunts.

“It’s okay…” she whispered. “I kissed it better.”

The hard prick of tears hit the back of his eyes, and he blinked fast and furious, wrapped his arms around the little girl, and kissed the top of her head, rocking her. He pulled away, gave a quick peck to her forehead, and the pull of a smile curved his lips.

“Rosie, are you coming to play?” Rosie’s twin Aaron stood by his side, completely unmoved by the scene.

“I will.” She cupped her tiny hands on either side of Flynn’s face and squished them together until his cheeks pressed in so hard against his lips he figured he might resemble a blowfish.

With one last wet kiss, she wriggled off his lap and chased her brother to the other end of the tables. He sucked a breath in to inflate his constricted chest and glanced up into Sam’s caramel eyes, crinkled at the edges with amusement. His cousin offered him another small bottle of beer.

“I think you deserve it.”

“I pity the man she chooses to marry.”

Sam passed a glance along the table at all their male cousins and nodded his head, deep dimples slashing through his cheeks.

“Yup, me too.”

With a deep suspicion Lydia was wiping a tear from her eye, he raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shook his head and grinned again. If there was one thing Flynn couldn’t bear, it was the thought of someone taking pity on him. He narrowed his eyes and shot a look at the woman next to him, but she was engaged in deep conversation with Jacob on her other side.

He sighed with relief and picked up his fork, aware of how hungry he’d become. The sweet kid had knocked him sideways, leaving him confused. Instead of engaging Liberty again, he concentrated on his food and took advantage of being completely ignored.

 She shouldn’t have consumed the additional half glass of bubbly white wine, but it had been so nice and refreshing and she’d been relaxed and comfortable with Flynn by her side. He’d been silent after the incident with Rosie, but it reinforced Liberty’s conviction that under his ice-chip eyes and controlled features there was a warm-blooded, compassionate man.

Small indicators pointed the way…the touch of his hand to reassure her, the stroke of his finger down her sunburned nose, but the whole Rosie business had blown any other theory out of the water. The man was a living, breathing,
caring
human.

It was a given fact she wanted to eat him alive, but she’d restrained herself so well, right up until the extra half glass of wine kicked in and she’d lost a few of her inhibitions. Luckily for her, it happened at about the same time she left the party with him.

It wasn’t the extra wine she’d drunk that compelled her to keep touching him. He’d sat with his arm draped over the back of her chair, and every so often, he’d touched the bare skin of her shoulder, looped one of her curls round his finger and given a gentle tug, and stroked her arm with the back of his forefinger.

While she’d chatted incessantly to everyone around, allowing him to remain silent and brooding, she ensured her leg brushed against his and leaned into his solid chest with her shoulder. When the sun started to dip beneath the horizon, Flynn took his plaid shirt off to wrap around her shoulders, leaving a simple black T-shirt to cover his broad chest. She snuggled into the spicy warm comfort of it and took the opportunity to pat his jean-clad thigh from time to time, her fingers dallying to give the occasional scratch across the rough material, eliciting soft grumbles from the silent man beside her.

Flattered that he’d agreed to walk her home when Kate suggested, Liberty said her farewells with plenty of laughter and kisses while he stood, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He grunted and nodded until she was ready to go.

Out of sight of everyone, she slipped her hand into his warm, large one, and her heart thrilled that he didn’t pull away.

His fingers tightened on hers as she stumbled, letting out an embarrassing girly giggle, which she knew she was going to fret over in the morning. The second time she faltered, she blew out an impatient sigh.

“Flynn, can you see? Because it’s really dark now.”

“Yup.”

She jerked him to a halt beside her and peered up at him through the dim light.

“You really don’t have a lot to say for yourself, do you?” She’d prized every word out of him as they’d been eating, and if it hadn’t been for his intent stare and continuous appraisal with those penetrating eyes of his, she would have believed he wasn’t interested.

Those eyes glinted down at her.

“Nope.”

He jerked her forward. She tripped, came up against his solid chest, and giggled again as they reached the edge of the clearing.

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He made to walk away, but she looped her arms around his waist.

“Wait. Wait. Have you seen the stars, Flynn?” He’d be hard pushed not to. The night sky was filled with them, layer upon layer glittered brightly with no light contamination from their surroundings to dim the effect.