Modern Romance May 2016 Books 5-8. Дженнифер Хейворд
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I wish I hadn’t agreed to that paternity test. But I wanted to know for sure.’
‘At least you know who your father is. Lots of people never find out.’
Kat looked at him again. There was a slight frown pulling at his brow, as if he was thinking about something that pained him. Twice now she had tried to draw him out about his birth parents but he had shut off the conversation. Why was he being so stubborn about it? Lots of relinquished children managed to conduct loving relationships with their biological parents once contact was made. ‘If your biological parents ever came looking for you would you want to meet them?’
His eyes didn’t meet hers. ‘I can’t see it happening now. Not after thirty-four years.’
‘It’s never too late to give up hope.’
He gave her a movement of his lips that was almost a smile. ‘That’s exactly what your father keeps saying.’
Kat didn’t want to think about the father she didn’t want, and Flynn’s father, whom he might never meet. In her mind the two situations were completely different. ‘Is your foot troubling you?’
‘Not much.’
She rose from the bed. ‘I should let you have your food and go back to sleep.’
He captured her hand again, giving it a light squeeze that was perfectly timed with his on-off smile. ‘Thanks.’
Kat bit her lip again as she looked at their joined hands. His skin was deeply tanned, as if he had been somewhere warm recently. She could see the paler band where his watch usually rested. His fingers were almost twice the thickness of hers, making her feel more feminine than she had in years. If she could just grow her nails instead of biting them back to the elbow she would feel even more feminine. ‘I’m really sorry about your foot.’
But, when she looked back at him to see why he hadn’t said anything, she saw he was soundly asleep.
* * *
Flynn swore as he came out of the shower the next morning. Not only had he overslept, which was going to make him late for his first client, the plastic bag he had wrapped around his foot hadn’t done the job of keeping his bandage dry. And his foot was hurting. Badly. He limped out of the en suite to his bedroom with a towel around his hips to find Kat at his bedside collecting his tray from the night before.
She swung around and then quickly averted her gaze. ‘Sorry. I thought you were still in the shower. I knocked but—’
‘It’s fine.’ He reached for a pair of boxers and a shirt. ‘I’m going to be late for work. Has Cricket been out yet?’
She kept her back turned to him as she straightened his bed, smoothing down the covers with meticulous precision, as if she did it for a living. ‘Yes, I took him out first thing.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I wasn’t aware being an alarm clock was on my list of duties,’ she said in a crisp tone.
‘I got my bandage wet.’
She turned to look at him, her eyes giving a little flash. ‘Poor baby.’
He clipped on his watch, snapping the catch in place. ‘I haven’t got time for breakfast. I have to brief a client before court. Can you hand me those trousers?’
‘These?’
‘No, the grey ones.’
‘Here you go.’
Flynn winked at her. ‘You’d make a great wife.’
She gave him an artic look. ‘I have other ambitions.’
He slipped his belt through the lugs on his trousers whilst balancing on one crutch. ‘You don’t want to get married and have kids some day?’
‘I want to establish my career first,’ she said. ‘Husbands have a way of getting in the way of career aspirations; kids even more so.’
Flynn wondered if she was being completely truthful. He had only met a handful of women who didn’t want the whole package. He had wanted it himself until having it snatched away had made him reassess. But after he had come back to London on Christmas night after the usual palaver with his family—having rescued Cricket from being ignominiously dumped at the nearest dog shelter for almost certain euthanasia—the Carstairs family had invited him in for supper.
The difference in households had been nothing short of stunning. There was none of the stiffness and formality of his family, pretending to be comfortable with him when clearly they weren’t. The Carstairses’ kids, Josh and Bella, had run up to him and hugged him around his legs, grinning from ear to ear, excited beyond bounds he had come to join them. To see such unabated joy on their little faces had sent a rush of unexpected emotion to his throat, making him feel like he was choking on a pineapple. He had watched in silent envy as Neil and Anna had exchanged loving glances over the tops of the heads of their children who were miniature replicas of them.
It was fine now, being single and free to do what he liked, but what about in a few years’ time? Would he still feel the same? Or would he feel a deep cavern of emptiness inside him where the love of a wife and family should have been? He was already tired of the dating scene. The thought of coming home to someone who wanted to be with him because they loved him, not because he was rich or well-connected, was something he couldn’t stop thinking about lately.
It was like a door inside his mind he had thought he had closed and bolted had been prised open. A crack of light was shining through, illuminating the possibilities. Possibilities like kids to go with the dog he already had. He loved coming home to Cricket. Seeing that funny little face beaming with excitement at seeing him had shifted something inside him. It made him see what an alternative life could be like. A life where not just a scruffy little dog would bolt up the hallway to greet him but a couple of grubby-faced kids like Josh and Bella. Kids who looked like him. Who carried the same DNA. Family was something he had seen as something other people had, not him. He was alone. Unattached. Without a blood bond.
But what if he made one?
He dismissed the thought, pushing it back behind the door in his mind, leaning his resolve against it to make sure it was closed.
‘Can you choose me a tie?’ Flynn said.
Kat went back to his wardrobe and selected a tie. ‘Will this one do?’
‘Perfect. Can you put it on for me?’
Her lips pursed. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re making the most of this situation?’
He smiled as her hands looped the tie around his neck. This close he could smell her winter flowers fragrance as it danced and flirted with his senses. The temptation to press his mouth to hers was like a tug of war inside his body; every organ strained at the effort of keeping his willpower under control. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’d like to strangle me?’
Her gaze went to his mouth. Her fingers worked on his tie but he could feel them tremble as they inadvertently touched the skin of his neck. His blood leapt at the contact, pulsing through his veins like rocket fuel. She took her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration—or was it because she was fighting an urge, the same urge he could feel barrelling through his body? She completed his tie and gave his chest a quick pat. ‘There.’ She gave him the briefest flash of a smile. ‘All done.’
His gaze locked on hers, watching as the dark ink of her pupils in that sea of bewitching green widened. Watching too as the tip of her tongue came out and darted over the surface of her lips, the top first and then the bottom, leaving them moist, shining and tempting. His blood headed south, his groin swelling and tingling with the promise of contact. Any contact. He couldn’t think of a time when he had wanted a woman more than her. But he wanted her to make the first move. She was oscillating; he could tell. The same battle he was fighting in his body was being played out over her features. Her gaze slipped again to his mouth. Her tongue did another