All They Need(73)

“How does your schedule look?” she asked, throwing the ball back into his court.

“I’ve got a work thing tonight, but Thursday and Friday are free at the moment.”

She stepped into her panties and reached for her bra.

“Friday night is good for me,” she said.

“Then I’ll call you and we’ll tee something up.” He pulled a coat from the closet. “I have to run, but just pull the door shut behind you when you go, okay?”

“Okay.”

They kissed, the feel of his fine wool suit against her mostly naked skin very erotic. His gaze was hooded when he stepped away from her.

“Hold that thought,” he said.

She smiled.

He left the room. She was tidying the rumpled bed when she heard the automatic door on the garage rumble to life. She crossed to the window and a few seconds later the Aston Martin cruised out of the garage and down the driveway.



The town house seemed unnaturally quiet as she sat on the end of the bed to put on her socks. She glanced around Flynn’s room as she pulled on her jeans and sweater, feeling a little as though she was invading his privacy but curious about the man who was becoming an increasingly important part of her life.

A scary thought in and of itself.

The quilt cover was a dark charcoal pinstripe, the sheets snowy-white. The bed featured an upholstered headboard in a neutral café-latte color and there was no art on the off-white walls. In fact, the only giveaway that anyone lived here was the pile of books on one side of the bed—a couple of thrillers, and a stack of colorful gardening books, including a biography on Edna Walling.

Mel smiled to herself. Like herself, Flynn was far less passionate about the inside of his home than he was the outside. She went in search of the real Flynn and found it in the rooftop garden, an oasis of potted palms and cabbage trees and other tropical foliage plants, set off with colorful floral displays in hot pinks and oranges and yellows. A sandstone garden seat sat along one wall, and a potting bench held pride of place in the far corner.

She admired the simple yet striking arrangement before reentering the town house and collecting her jacket and handbag. She double-checked that the door had locked behind her and was on the road ten minutes after Flynn had left the house. Traffic was light leaving the city and she pulled into her own driveway an hour later.

She felt an odd sense of relief as she let herself into her house, as though some part of herself that she hadn’t even known was on the alert had relaxed. Which made sense—this was her territory, her space. She felt safe here. Not that she’d felt unsafe at Flynn’s place, but definitely she’d been aware that she was on his turf. One of the many reasons why no matter what happened with Flynn, she would never give up her house or her independence.

She was checking her email for bookings when the doorbell rang. She opened it to find Justine on her doorstep.

“The mountain has come to Mohammed,” her sister said.

Mel waved her inside. She’d been dodging her sister’s phone calls since Sunday so she’d been half expecting this. “You want a coffee?”

“Sure. I brought muffins. The better to bribe you with,” Justine said as she followed Mel into the kitchen.

Mel turned the kettle on and grabbed a couple of mugs. Her sister propped her hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

“So? What’s going on with Flynn?”

“If I said none of your business would you listen to me?”

“No.”

Mel sighed. “We’re seeing each other. In case you haven’t already guessed. There’s not much else to tell.”

Justine frowned. “Are you in love with him?”

“It’s way too early for that kind of talk,” Mel said, even though her heart did a nervous little shimmy in her chest.

“Not for Flynn it isn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The man is besotted with you, Mel. If you could have seen the way he was looking at you at Mom and Dad’s party, you’d know what I was talking about.”



“Justine, can we please not read too much into any of this? I’m seeing a man. A really nice, great, lovely man. It feels like more than enough to be happening without piling the labels on.”

“So, what, you’re winging it?”

“Yep. Taking each moment as it comes.”