All They Need(30)

That didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it. No matter how sexy her tall, athletic body was. No matter how compelling he found her soft gray eyes and wide, mobile mouth.

Someone had hurt Mel Porter. Quite badly, if he was any judge. She was vulnerable. Maybe even a little broken.

He was the very last thing she needed in her life. As he’d proven so thoroughly with Hayley, he was not a good bet in the romance department right now. He had too much on his plate, too much uncertainty in his world, and he didn’t want to set up expectations that he wasn’t going to fulfill again. At best, he was good for some no-strings sex and some laughs, but Mel was not fling material. Not by a long shot.

He took a long swallow of wine and told himself it was a good thing she’d gone home.

By the time he’d finished his third glass, he had almost convinced himself it was true, too.





MEL CHASTISED HERSELF the whole drive home. She’d known taking the lanterns to Flynn’s place had been a bad idea. From the moment she’d spotted them in her garden shed this afternoon she’d been at war with herself, going back and forth over whether she should drop by Summerlea and offer them to Flynn or not.

She’d been worried the gesture would come across as sucky or ingratiating, as though she was desperate for Flynn to like her. In the end she’d convinced herself that if she dropped them off and didn’t try to parlay the brief contact into anything further, there was no way he could misconstrue her intentions as anything other than what they were—a friendly, neighborly gesture.

Then he’d asked her to show him how to light the lanterns, and the next thing she’d known she had a glass of wine in one hand and a piece of brie in the other.

Not what she’d anticipated, although she’d be lying if she pretended that she hadn’t enjoyed their conversation—until the moment he’d revealed he and Hayley had broken up.

A hot flush of embarrassment washed over Mel as she remembered the way she’d bolted for the door after he’d made that crack about jumping her bones. With the benefit of hindsight it was clear to her that he’d seen her tension and had been trying to put her at ease—and she’d responded by behaving like a scared rabbit.

Very sophisticated and adult. God, she was an idiot. She should have listened to her first instincts and simply stayed away from Summerlea and Flynn Randall.

She threw her keys onto the kitchen counter as she entered the house and crossed to the sink. Pouring herself a glass of water, she drank deeply. The empty glass thunked loudly against the counter as she set it down with too much force. She stared out the window past the dim reflection of her own features.

The world outside was dark and still. In contrast, she was buzzing with adrenaline, her head filled with mixed-up thoughts and half-acknowledged emotions.

She’d read the self-help books. She knew this was all standard fare for a woman recovering from psychological abuse. Knew, too, that it would take years for her to regain her confidence fully. If she ever did. It was a day-by-day battle to recover herself. Hour by hour.

Weariness washed over her. She was so sick of feeling anxious and uncertain. So sick of always doubting herself and second-guessing her every move.

Once upon a time, she’d been fearless. She’d been brave and confident and bold. She’d set off for London with two pairs of jeans, a pair of boots, half a dozen T-shirts and less than a thousand dollars in her bank account. She’d thrown herself into the adventure of travel—picked fruit, pulled beers, cleaned houses, packed boxes—done whatever it took to make enough money to live and move onto the next new place. She’d made great friends, had amazing experiences. Then she’d met Owen and fallen in love. The ultimate adventure. Or so she’d thought.

She’d come home and become Mrs. Melanie Hunter, and bit by bit, Mel Porter had slowly ceased to be, thanks to a concerted campaign by her husband to try to turn her into something other than what she was.

I want her back. I want to be that brave and confident again. I want to laugh without looking over my shoulder to see who is judging me. I want to just be.

She’d been trying. She’d been silencing the voice in her head whenever it started in on her—the voice that sometimes sounded like Owen, and sometimes like his mother. Mel had been doing her best to reconnect with her family and her old friends. She’d even been making a point of doing something impulsive every now and then, the way she used to before second-guessing herself had become a way of life.