All They Need

chapter TEN



MEL WAITED FOR FLYNN to say something—anything—to dispel the sudden tension in the room, but he remained silent. It was going to be up to her, then, to get them past this moment. This moment that had been heading their way for weeks now.

“You take sugar, right?” Her voice sounded a lot huskier than she would have liked. Almost sultry.

“I do.”

He was barely an arm’s length away, one arm propped on the counter as he watched her. Panic—excitement?—sent adrenaline surging through her bloodstream. She took a deep, calming belly breath.

“Is it that scary, Mel?”

She met his eyes. She intended to cover, to protect herself, but the truth popped out. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He sounded disappointed. “Then perhaps I should go. If that’s what you want.”

She stared at him, the right words forming in her mind but somehow not making it out her mouth.

“The thing is, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on you. Even when I shouldn’t have.” He said it lightly, but his words hit her low in the belly.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I’ve always loved the way you laugh. The way you smile. The way you hold yourself. Your body.”



She blinked. “I had no idea.”

“Then I guess I’ve picked up a few tricks since I was fourteen.”

“I think you might have.”

He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. He was waiting for her to answer him. To tell him to go—or to stay.

“I don’t know what I want,” she said.

“Don’t you?”

His gaze was steady on hers as he took one step toward her, then another. Her heart clamored against her breastbone as he stopped a scant few inches away. She could feel his body heat, could smell his aftershave and the faintest hint of good, clean sweat. She could see his five-o’clock shadow and the small scar at the very tip of his left eyebrow.

Her gaze slid to his mouth, tracing the sensuous curve of his lower lip. She’d been too confused, too conflicted to allow herself to even think about kissing him before. Now she let herself go there, wondering how it would feel to press her mouth to his, to feel his tongue inside her mouth, to taste him and breathe the same air as him.

Hot desire unfurled inside her, foreign and familiar at the same time. It had been so long since she’d kissed and been kissed.

“You have the most watchable face,” Flynn said, his voice very low and deep. He laid his hand on her face, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone, his fingers cradling her jaw.

She swallowed, awash with nerves and lust and anticipation and fear as his gaze slid to her mouth and he drew closer. She closed her eyes and forgot to breathe as his lips met hers and his free arm came around her, pulling her close.

He was strong and warm and male and his mouth moved gently against hers, his kiss provocative and soothing at the same time. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers gripping muscle and bone. She felt the brush of his tongue against her lips, then he was inside her, hot and wet and demanding, and a part of herself she’d pushed down deep inside came roaring to life.

It had been so long. Too long. And he felt good.

She angled her head to deepen their kiss, her fingers clenching into the fabric of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. She slid her tongue along his, tasting him, giving as good as she got. Her other hand slid down his back, exploring the broad planes and angles en route to his waist. When she arrived, she fumbled blindly for the hem of his T-shirt, sucking on his tongue, pressing her hips forward, desperate to touch him skin-to-skin. Finally she slid her hand over his belly. She made an approving sound in the back of her throat as she felt the flex of his stomach muscles beneath her hand. She needed more from him. Much more.

She caught the hand cupping her jaw and pulled it to her breast, closing her own hand over his. He took the hint, his thumb sweeping across her nipple, and she let out a low moan.

She’d forgotten how good this felt. How needful. How beautiful and powerful a man’s body felt beneath her hands, how different the textures of his skin were from her own.

Wet heat throbbed between her legs as he plucked at her nipple through the layers of her sweater and bra. She wanted him. She wanted him very badly.

The press of his hips against hers, the silken rasp of his tongue in her mouth, the beautiful friction of his fingers at her breast, the feel of his hard body beneath her hands, the smell of him, the taste of him—she was overwhelmed by sensation, utterly lost.

Her shaking hands found the waistband of his jeans. She popped the stud free and had his zipper down and her hands inside his boxer briefs in seconds. His erection was thick and hard and hot in her hand, his shaft silky smooth. She stroked him, rubbing herself against his thigh at the same time.

She imagined what he would look like naked, how he would feel on top of her, sliding inside her.

She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t.

She started pushing his jeans down, her hands frantic. He smiled against her mouth.

“Slow down, babe. We’ve got all night,” he murmured. His tone was light, but his words hit her like a slap.

Suddenly she could hear Owen’s voice in her head, cold with condemnation and disgust.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’d like to take the lead now and again?

It’s not a porn shoot, Mel. Do you have to make so much noise?

Could you at least try to pretend you’re not always gagging for it? And you wonder why I don’t like you talking to other men.

She jerked away from Flynn’s kiss, her whole body tense. She tried to turn away from him but he caught her shoulders.

“Mel. What’s wrong?”

“Let me go.”

She couldn’t look at him. Was too afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. After a few beats he loosened his grip and she pulled away from him.

“Mel. Talk to me. What just happened?”

She could hear the confusion in his voice. The concern. A part of her understood that he hadn’t been criticizing her, not really. He’d simply been trying to slow things down. And she had been rushing.

She’d been out of control.

But the greater part of her was running for cover, desperate to protect herself. Desperate to pretend she hadn’t exposed herself so completely and left herself so open to his judgment and condemnation.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “This was a mistake.”

“Then it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made. Up until about twenty seconds ago, anyway.”

His words surprised her so much she looked at him. His face was filled with concern, his gaze worried.

“What happened, Mel?”

There was no way she could answer his question, so she simply shook her head.

He sighed. Then he reached for the fly on his jeans. She looked away while he pulled up his fly and rebuttoned the stud, humiliated color burning its way into her cheeks.

He must have thought she was mad—tearing his clothes off one minute, then pushing him away the next. He must have thought she was completely demented. The moment he was decent she turned and led the way to the front door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him once she’d unlocked the door, so she aimed her gaze at his chin instead.

“I’m sorry. That was… I’m sorry.”

He stood on the threshold, his body tense.



“Mel. I wasn’t criticizing you. In case you couldn’t tell, I was having a damned good time. It was meant to be a joke.”

“I know.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it wasn’t about him, it was all about her—about how screwed up she was—but she didn’t want to start a conversation that she was never going to finish. It was bad enough that she knew how ugly her marriage had become, she didn’t need to share the grim details with this man she’d grown to admire and respect and like so much. She didn’t want to watch his lust turn to pity. She didn’t want him to know how little she’d valued herself.

“Okay. I’ll see you later, Mel.” Frustration was rich in his voice but she didn’t blame him. Why would she? She’d led him on then pushed him away and now she was kicking him out of her house.

Mel shut the door behind him and allowed herself one small moment of weakness as she leaned her forehead against the cool wood. Then she straightened and walked to her bedroom. The sight of her bed made her lip curl. If she wasn’t such a head case, she might have been on that bed with Flynn right now, having what had been shaping up to be some of the best sex of her life.

Angry and embarrassed and deeply sad, she stripped off and walked into the en suite to wash away the day’s labors. She stepped beneath the shower and washed herself with a businesslike thoroughness. It was impossible to ignore the sensitivity of her breasts and the sense of heavy fullness between her legs, however.

She’d wanted Flynn. Very badly.

She closed her eyes as she remembered the thick length of his erection in her hand, reexperiencing the rush of longing and lust and need. If he hadn’t said anything…

But he had, and the bad old stuff had reared its ugly head.

She turned off the water and stepped out. She dried herself briskly, almost roughly, before walking naked into her bedroom. She was crossing to her chest of drawers when she caught sight of her reflection in the free-standing mirror in the corner.

She stilled, then slowly turned to face herself.

She lifted her hands and covered her breasts, pressing them tightly against her body. Once, Owen had told her that her breasts made him believe in the divine—and yet in the final months of their marriage, he’d told her to lose weight, claiming her curves made even expensive clothes look tacky and cheap.

He’d also told her that she had no idea how to dress or act modestly and that if she couldn’t “behave like a lady” he’d have to start attending social functions on his own.

He’d accused her of humiliating him with his peers and colleagues with her overfriendly manner and kept a constant, censorious eye on her whenever they were out together.

And yet he’d never stopped wanting her once they were alone. The moment they were safely behind their bedroom door, he’d always turned to her with desire. It had confused her for so long, the disparity between what he said and what he did—and she’d hated herself for wanting him in return, for clinging to the last good, functioning, life-affirming thing between them because she’d seen it as evidence that their marriage wasn’t beyond repair.



Then things had deteriorated even further and he’d started to run her down in the bedroom, too. By that time she’d been so punch-drunk from years of criticism and disapproval that it had taken the night of the Hollands’ party and the ugliness of Owen’s anger afterward to awaken her to the fact that her marriage was over.

Well and truly.

Not long after that she’d walked out altogether. The smartest thing she’d ever done in her life.

She turned away from the mirror and crossed to her bed. Last night’s pajamas were under the pillow and she pulled them on and climbed beneath the covers. She was tired, but instead of turning off the light she lay frowning at the ceiling, her body as rigid as a board.

She’d ruined things with Flynn. All these weeks they’d been dancing around one another, an invisible question hanging between them. Would they, wouldn’t they? She’d answered the question tonight, unequivocally. No. A resounding, screwed-up, messy no.

She wouldn’t see him as much now. Against the odds they’d become friends, but tonight would change all that. Sex always did—even if it was only half-assed, abortive sex that didn’t quite come off.

No more drop-in visits. No more gardening sessions. No more laughter.

If only she’d met him seven years ago. If only—

She closed her eyes. Then she reached out and switched off the bedside lamp.

“If onlys” were a pointless waste of time. She was who she was, and he was who he was, and she had ruined things. Nothing was going to change that.



SUMMERLEA WAS COLD and dark when Flynn let himself in. He turned on the lights in the living room and built a fire. There was a bottle of shiraz he hadn’t quite finished from the previous week and he poured himself a glass and sat to one side of the hearth, waiting for the fire to start throwing out some heat.

He had no idea what had happened with Mel tonight. Not a single clue. One minute she’d been insatiable, tearing at his clothes, so hot she’d almost blown his mind—and the next she’d been pushing him away, her body tense, her face pale.

And the look in her eyes…

He tossed back the wine. If there was more, he would have drank it, too, but there wasn’t so he stripped to his underwear and unrolled his sleeping bag. Lying on the hard floor, he forced himself to face the fact that he’d badly misjudged things with Mel. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t listened to his own judgment, because he’d always known she was wounded and still recovering from her marriage, hadn’t he? He’d acknowledged that right from the start—and yet he’d pushed and pushed until they’d gotten to the point they’d reached tonight.

Which was, effectively, nowhere.

A part of Mel might want to be with him, but a big part of her also didn’t—and Flynn wasn’t in the business of forcing his attentions on women. Even ones he liked as much as he liked Mel.

Even when he thought he was falling for them.

It took him a long time to fall asleep and he woke with a sore back. Standing under the shower in the cold and drafty main bathroom, he made a mental note to have a bed delivered during the week. He didn’t need or want anything else yet—he’d only have to move any furniture out again once renovations were under way—but the romance of sleeping rough was starting to fade.

So much for a boy’s own adventures. He walked naked up the hallway and dressed in the chilly living room. Then and only then did he allow himself to think about Mel again. In the light of a new day, what had happened between them last night didn’t seem quite so dire. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not quite as end-of-days as he’d let himself believe last night.

After all, there had been almost five minutes of blazing-hot intensity between them before she pushed him away. That had to count for something, and definitely it had to count in his favor.

He was on his way to the garden, still mulling things over, trying to work out what his next step should be where she was concerned, when he opened the front door and almost stumbled over a bag that had been left on the doormat. Frowning, he picked it up and glanced inside. His gray sweater lay neatly folded in the bottom, while his sunglasses rested on top. Vaguely he remembered leaving both items on the rear porch at Mel’s place yesterday.

He walked to the top of the steps and looked down the garden path, but there was no sign of Mel. Which made sense. She’d probably dropped by at the crack of dawn in order to avoid running into him.

So much for things looking better in the light of a new day.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. There’d been so many things against him falling for someone at this ridiculously difficult and stressful time in his life, but for whatever crazy reason he was here, in this place, with his feelings and hopes very firmly engaged—and Mel didn’t want a piece of him. There was no other way to interpret this morning’s gesture.

He walked into the living room and tossed the bag onto the floor. The urge to kick something was so powerful he didn’t even bother resisting it, simply aimed and left fly, sending the old wooden crate flying across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack.

It didn’t change anything. He still didn’t know what to do. Common sense told him to back off and cut his losses. If it were any other woman, he would. But this was Mel, and last night she’d been in his arms…

Frustrated beyond measure, he spun on his heel and went in search of something sweaty and exhausting to do. At least when it came to dirt and plants he knew what was what.



IT WAS RIDICULOUS, but Mel missed Flynn. Ridiculous because she never usually saw him during the week—last week being an exception—and because she was the one who had pushed him away.

The urge to text or call or email him gripped her most of Monday and Tuesday. She ignored it. For starters, she had no idea how she would even begin to start a conversation with him after what had almost happened. She’d groped him then rejected him—she couldn’t now call him and pretend nothing had happened.

Could she?

She toyed with the notion all Tuesday night and was still undecided on the subject when she arrived at her parents’ place on Wednesday morning. She’d been pressed into service to help prepare the yard for the big anniversary party on Saturday night and she spent the morning weeding the flower beds along the fence line before making a run to the garden center to get some annuals—“instant loveliness,” as her mother called them—then planting them. All the while the question of Flynn whirled in her mind. Could she call him? Should she? If she was going to play it cool and pretend nothing had happened, what would she say?

She started scraping the rust and flaking paint off the garage wall in the afternoon in preparation for painting, and by the time she’d reached the halfway mark she still hadn’t come up with a single decent conversational gambit with which to break the ice with Flynn.

“You know why? Because you’re an idiot,” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

Mel looked over to see her mother crossing the patio, a glass of water in hand.

“Just talking to myself,” Mel admitted.

Her mother passed her the glass. “It’s when you start answering back that you really have to worry.”

“Too late.”

Her mother grinned and shaded her eyes to inspect her progress. “You know, your father promised he’d do this for me so many times over the years, but it’s taken this party before it finally happened.”

“Yeah, and he still isn’t doing it.” Mel couldn’t help pointing that fact out.

“True,” her mother said reflectively. “But he is paying for the party, which is why I’ve been able to guilt you into doing this, so, by extension…”

“You should be in politics. You have a sneaky mind.” Mel took a big swallow of water then turned back to the garage wall.

“Sing out if you need anything else,” her mother said as she headed inside.

Mel’s phone rang as she bent to pick up the wire brush she’d been using. She straightened, leaving the brush where it was, and pulled her phone from her pocket. Her heart did something strange in her chest when she saw it was Flynn calling.

“Hi,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as pleased—and relieved—as she felt to hear from him.

“Hey. How are things?” His voice sounded so good, so familiar.

“Things are good. Mom’s got me on slave duties for the big party on Saturday night. Although I’m beginning to suspect that this is all a ploy to get a freebie renovation.”

She waited for him to pick up the conversational ball and run with it the way he usually did, but there was a small, awkward pause before he spoke again.

“Actually, I was calling about your parents’ party. Your mother sent me an invitation, and I wanted to check with you before I responded.”

Mel blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“Your mother sent me an invitation to her party.”

“Holy—” Mel swallowed a curse, turning to glare at the house. She could see her mother moving around through the kitchen window. If she could have, she would have grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her until her teeth rattled. “I’m really sorry she did that, Flynn. Believe me, if I’d known… I’ll tell her to cross you off her list right now.”

“Right. Well, I guess that answers my question,” he said slowly.

“What question was that?”

“Whether you knew if she’d asked me or not.”

She was so embarrassed she could feel heat radiating off her face. It took her a moment to register the disappointment in his voice and longer still to comprehend what it might mean.

“Don’t tell me you want to come?” she blurted.



“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Why?” The question came from her gut, fueled by all the doubts and regrets that had been plaguing her since she’d pushed him away on Saturday night.

“You really need me to spell it out?”

There was a faintly exasperated note to his voice, but she knew that if he was standing in front of her that there would also be a smile in his eyes. A wave of relief washed over her, so strong that she felt a little dizzy in its wake.

“I thought the next time I saw you was going to be when we bumped into each other accidentally in the village,” she said.

“Did you? And here I was, under the impression that we were friends.”

Her heart was going nuts in her chest. She lay her hand over her left breast to try to contain it.

“I thought that maybe, after what happened, I mean, after what didn’t happen, that it might be too weird—”

“Because we kissed?”

“Because we almost had sex and I freaked out and kicked you out of my house like a complete psycho beast.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“What’s the other way?”

“We kissed.”

Inexplicable tears burned the back of her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop herself from saying any of the things that were crowding her throat.

“Mel? Are you still there?”

She closed her eyes. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

“Good. I’d like to buy your parents something for their anniversary. Any suggestions?”

Mel opened her eyes and glanced toward the house again. “My mother loves those little porcelain dogs and cats. The ones you can buy at the jewelers. Get her as many of those as you can. Half a dozen should do it.”

There was a small pause. “So she hates porcelain. Any other nonsuggestions?”

“Just buy her some flowers. She loves flowers.”

“Okay. I’ll see you on Saturday, Mel.”

“See you.” She ended the call then stood for a moment, her head bowed. Flynn was coming to her parents’ anniversary party. She was going to see him again. And he hadn’t given up on her or decided she was too hard or not worth the hassle.

After a long beat, she lifted her head and took a deep breath. “Mom!”

Her mother appeared in the door like a jack-in-the-box. “Are you okay?”

Mel marched toward the patio, the better to loom over her parent while she gave her a piece of her mind. “Why did you invite Flynn to your party without telling me?”

Her mother had the grace to look guilty. “I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.”

“Did it occur to you at some point that I might prefer not to be surprised? And that if I had wanted him to come I would have invited him myself?”

Her mother reached for the necklace at her throat, pulling the faith, hope and charity charms back and forth across the chain. A sure sign she was nervous.

“Why don’t you want him to come? You obviously like the man. And he obviously likes you. Why wouldn’t you want him there?”

“You of all people know why,” Mel said.

Her mother shut her jaw with a click and dropped her hand. After a long moment she nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We just want you to be happy again, Melly Belly.”

“I know, Mom. But you can’t make me happy, especially not by pushing me into something I have no idea if I’m ready for or not.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought maybe you just needed a little nudge.”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll cross him off the list, then,” her mother said.

Mel turned and walked back toward the garage. “He’s coming.”

“But you just said—”

Wisely, her mother didn’t complete her thought. Mel picked up the wire brush and resumed her attack on the garage wall. After a few seconds her mother reentered the house.

Mel spent the next hour trying not to feel like the world’s biggest hypocrite—because, of course, she was over the moon that she would be seeing Flynn this weekend. But her mother didn’t need to know that just yet.