All They Need

chapter TWELVE



MEL WOKE WITH A START, very aware of the heavy, warm weight of a male arm wrapped around her. Her first impulse was to roll away, to push him away. And then she remembered: this was Flynn lying beside her, not Owen, and she was in her own home, in her own bed, not trapped in an unhappy marriage.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and tried to enjoy the fact that it was Flynn, listening to his steady breathing, remembering last night. They’d made love three times, laughing and talking and teasing each other until need had taken over. Mel couldn’t remember ever laughing so much with a man in the bedroom. Not that there was anything laughable about Flynn’s body or his lovemaking—far from it. But he was playful and irreverent and self-deprecating and cheeky and—sometimes—daring. It was hard not to laugh and be engaged by and seduced by a man who was so beautiful, knowing, tender and funny, and she’d thrown herself into the experience—into his arms—with complete abandon.

And she’d survived. Lying in his arms the morning after, she had no regrets. Not a single one. But it had never been the sex she’d been worried about. It was what came after the sex that scared the hell out of her.

Flynn stirred behind her, drawing her closer. She tensed. Even though she knew it was completely irrational, she still felt hemmed in and suffocated. She needed some breathing room.

Moving slowly, she eased Flynn’s arm from around her waist and rolled away from him. She padded quietly into the en suite and shut the door. She took care of business, then washed her face, wishing she could wash away the shadows of the past so easily. She studied herself in the mirror. She looked tired, her mouth a little swollen. Her eyes were anxious. Worried.

She pulled her hair back from her face and took a deep breath, letting it out. She reminded herself that this relationship was new and fresh, untainted by the dynamics that had ruined her marriage. For starters, Flynn was a far more secure man than Owen had ever been. And, of course, she and Flynn weren’t married. They didn’t share a bedroom or a home, she didn’t answer to him, her fate wasn’t tied to him. She was her own person, and Flynn his.

These were all good things to remember, good things to remind herself of.

Drying her face, she opened the bathroom door, ready to slip into bed.

“Good morning.” Flynn was propped against the pillows with his arms behind his head, his hair mussed, his eyes heavy from sleep. He looked warm and sexy and interested, his gaze roaming over her body.

Her hands twitched with the instinctive desire to either cover herself like Botticelli’s Venus or grab something to hide behind. Last night, she’d ogled him shamelessly and he’d done his little catwalk thing, but she didn’t feel nearly as brave in the cold light of day. For starters, there was a lot more natural light in the room this morning than there had been last night. Then there was the fact that it had been a while since she’d done a sit-up or an ab-crunch and even longer since she’d subjected herself to a bikini wax. A few hours ago, none of that had mattered, but with Flynn staring at her so openly, every flaw, every feature, felt as though it was under the microscope.

Somehow she resisted the impulse to scuttle into bed. Instead, she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Good morning,” she said. “Would you like coffee?”

He dragged his gaze to her face, looking rather gratifyingly distracted.

“You should probably know that if you told me you had an invisible jet parked around the corner right now, I’d totally believe you,” he said, his tone bordering on the reverential.

She laughed, even as her confidence skyrocketed. “Aren’t you a little old for Wonder Woman fantasies?”

“No one is too old for Wonder Woman fantasies.” He flipped the quilt back on the empty side of the bed. “Come back to bed and I’ll let you use your golden lasso on me.”

“Make a girl an offer she can’t refuse, why don’t you.”

She approached the bed, aware of him watching her every move with focused avidity. There was so much admiration and lust in his gaze that it was impossible for her not to be flattered. She climbed onto the bed and began a slow crawl toward him. His eyelids dropped to half-mast as he watched her gently swaying breasts.

“You didn’t have plans today, did you?” he asked as she drew closer.

“Nothing concrete.”

“Good.”



He abandoned his casual posture and reached for her, pulling her into his lap.

Two hours and a shower later, she watched Flynn get dressed as she fastened the back clasp on her bra.

“You know if men had to wear bras they’d have electromagnetic catches and Kevlar cups, right?” he said as he zipped up his jeans.

“Sure. You guys would probably sneak a phone transmitter in there somewhere, too. Maybe even a miniature TV screen.”

“Now you’re talking. Not that I have anything against black lace, for the record. I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea on that one.”

“Noted. Thanks.”

She pulled her red sweater from her chest of drawers.

“So, where am I taking you for lunch?” Flynn asked. “We seem to have skipped breakfast altogether. Not sure how that happened.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I have a few ideas, but it’s all just a blur, really. I may need a play-by-play reenactment later on to refresh my memory.”

“Poor you.”

He was grinning shamelessly as he pulled her close for a quick kiss. “So, where am I taking you?”

“It’s the first Sunday of the month, so the market is on in the village if you want to see what’s happening?”

“Great. I’ve been meaning to hunt down the driftwood guy you mentioned.”

They took Flynn’s car and were forced to park on a side street because the shopping center lot was full to overflowing. A series of stalls were set up on the village green and they paid the small entry fee to the Lions Club volunteer at a makeshift booth on the walkway then began a slow trawl of the stalls. A few minutes in, Flynn slid his arm around her shoulders. A rush of emotion welled up inside her as her hip bumped his and they automatically adjusted their gaits to suit.

She’d forgotten how good it felt to spend time with someone who genuinely liked her, someone who treated her with respect and warm affection. Crazy to think that toward the end of her marriage the only place she and Owen had touched voluntarily had been in the bedroom.

The driftwood man wasn’t at the market this month for some reason, so they settled on buying a loaf of sourdough bread, a jar of homemade jam and a bag of crisp red apples before finding a table at Pop and Selma’s Café. They ordered an omelette and pancakes and ate half each—another couple pleasure she’d forgotten—then walked slowly to the car, talking and laughing.

They sat on the back porch at her place and ate apples and drank coffee, then Flynn drew her into his lap and she discovered how talented he was at getting inside her clothes with the least fuss possible. They tumbled back into bed and it was late in the evening by the time Flynn dressed and left for Melbourne. Mel stood on the porch huddled in her dressing gown long after his taillights had faded into the night, feeling dazed, her body a little tender.

Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she entered her house. It felt empty now that he was gone—a dangerous acknowledgement. She saw the light was flashing on the answering machine as she passed the study on her way to the bedroom. She stepped into the room and hit the play button.



“It’s me. Call me when you get a chance, okay?” It was Justine, her voice carefully neutral.

It was too late to call now, thank God. Mel didn’t particularly want to fend off her sister’s well-intentioned inquisition. Not right now, anyway. She was still coming down to earth after twenty-four hours of amazing sex.

It was more than amazing sex and you know it.

She did, but she didn’t want to think about any of that right now. She was already edging her way toward a precipice she’d promised never to approach again. It was enough that she’d let Flynn into her life. The rest she would deal with later.

Much later.



FLYNN COULDN’T GET the smile off his face as he took the freeway back to Melbourne. Mel was…

He didn’t have the words. Beautiful, sexy, funny, warm, earthy, challenging, smart, adorable. Okay, he had a few words, but none of them felt adequate to the task of describing how he felt when he was with her. She made him feel more. More alive. More aware. More present. She made him want more, too. But he was smart enough to know not to push things with her. Not in that way. Not yet.

So he resisted the urge to call her just to hear her voice before he went to bed, and he resisted the urge to call her first thing the next morning. His self-discipline failed at lunchtime, however, when his inbox chimed and he saw he had a message from her.

Just checking that you got back okay and that Gertie behaved herself.

He pushed aside the marketing brochure he was reading and pulled his keyboard toward himself.



Gertie behaved. I arrived. When can I see you again?

There was a short pause before she responded.

What suits you? I can come up to town if it’s easier for you.

With his crazy workload it was easier, and they settled on the following evening—dinner out then back to his place for what he hoped was the night. He booked the local Thai place and made a mental note to change the sheets. Then he dove into work with renewed enthusiasm.

Mel was coming. She was going to stay at his place. She was allowing him in.

He left work on time for the first time in months the following evening. His assistant stared at him as he walked past, coat over his arm.

“Do you have a dinner meeting?” She started checking his diary, a frown on her face.

“I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mary.”

Mel’s car was parked in front of his town house when he arrived. He pulled into the garage and collected his briefcase. She was waiting for him on the front doorstep when he exited the garage. He frowned when he saw she was only carrying her handbag.

“You’re not staying?”

“I’m not sure.”

He wanted to ask what she wasn’t sure about, but decided to concentrate on the positive instead of the negative. She was here, and once he had her on the other side of his front door he could get her naked.

He proceeded to do just that and they were nearly an hour late for their dinner booking. Fortunately it was a Tuesday night and the restaurant wasn’t overly busy so they weren’t forced to go hungry. Afterward, they went back to his place and had coffee before he made love to her on the sofa with the late-night news playing in the background.

He slipped into a doze afterward and woke to find Mel collecting her clothes from the floor.

“Where are you going?” he asked drowsily.

“You should be in bed.”

“Come with me and it’s a deal.”

She hesitated a moment before nodding. He led her upstairs to the bedroom, where he watched, amused, as she pulled her toothbrush from her handbag and proceeded to brush her teeth.

“Prepared for any contingency, Ms. Porter?”

“I like to keep my options open.”

It was an offhand comment, but it stuck in his mind as they got into bed together. He curled his body around hers and kissed the nape of her neck and told himself that he needed to chill a little. It was early days with Mel—very early days—and he needed to stop reading so much into everything.

Right now, right this minute, life was good. Only an idiot would throw that away in order to worry about some nebulous future.

He kissed the nape of Mel’s neck again, savoring the feel of her in his arms.



MEL WOKE TO THE SOUND of running water. It took her a moment to orient herself to Flynn’s town house. She rolled over and pushed her hair away from her face as she remembered last night—Flynn hustling her inside so he could make love to her, Flynn urging her to try his favorite entree at his favorite Thai restaurant, Flynn kissing the nape of her neck before she drifted off to sleep.



She smiled a cat-that-ate-the-cream smile. It had been a good night. And, better yet, she hadn’t woken with that horrible, suffocating sensation again. Maybe she was starting to get the hang of this having-a-man-in-her-life-again thing. “You’re awake.”

Flynn stood in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped low on his hips. She took a moment to appreciate his sheer masculine beauty before responding. “I am awake. I can’t believe I didn’t wake up earlier. I never sleep in.”

“It’s only seven-thirty, so don’t get too carried away. And I was sneaky getting out of the bed. Like a ninja.”

She threw back the covers. “I’d better get going. I’ve got some errands to run this morning and a guest checking in this afternoon.”

She was very aware of him watching as she got out of bed. Like sleeping together, she was getting used to being naked with him. Slowly but surely.

“Do you mind if I have a quick shower before I go?” she asked.

“Help yourself. To anything,” he said.

She dropped a kiss on his shoulder as she brushed past him on her way into the en suite and he slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her back for a more thorough kiss. She felt him grow hard against her thigh and smiled, breaking their kiss.

“Someone’s going to be late for work if he isn’t careful,” she said.

“If I didn’t have an eight-thirty meeting on-site…” he said regretfully.

She rubbed her cheek against his and kissed his neck before slipping from his grasp. She took a quick shower, and by the time she emerged he was fully dressed in his suit, looking as crisp and elegant as a GQ advertisement.

“Look at you, Mr. Perfect,” she said as she watched him strap on his watch.

“Says the sexy naked lady.” His gaze seemed very bright and very blue as he eyed her across the bed. “What are you up to for the rest of the week?”

She knew what he was asking—when she was free to see him again. She bought herself a few seconds of breathing room by searching in her handbag for the spare pair of panties she’d tucked into the side pocket, just in case her desire for more of Flynn’s lovemaking had proven more powerful than her misgivings regarding staying the night.

“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.”

“And when he gets down on his knee and proposes, how are you going to take that?”

Mel blinked, startled by her sister’s comment. “Wow. You are really pushing the boat out today.”

“That man is crazy about you, Mel.”

Mel shook her head. “We’ve barely started seeing each other. Stop trying to make this more than what it is.”

“It took me an hour to work out that I was going to spend the rest of my life with Jacob. Sixty minutes almost exactly from the moment we met.”

Mel shook her head again. “It’s not like that between us.”

She could hear the strain in her own voice as she tried to convince her sister. The truth was that she didn’t want to think about any of the things her sister was pushing her to consider. She was coping—barely—with being intimate with a man again. Being naked with him, trusting him with her desire and her needs. Both big steps after the way Owen had abused that trust. She wasn’t up to worrying about bigger-picture stuff, like where her relationship with Flynn might be going, what it might mean.

“Okay,” Justine said, nodding. She pushed away from the counter and pulled a white bakery bag from her purse. “You want chocolate chip or blueberry or halvies?”

Mel watched her warily, not convinced her sister would back off so easily. “Halvies sounds good,” she said cautiously.

Justine cut the muffins in half and divided the bounty between two plates. She took a big bite of muffin, then fixed Mel with a contemplative gaze as she chewed and swallowed. “For what it’s worth, I like him. He seems like a decent guy.”

“He’s more then decent. He’s a great guy.”

“But he’s still a rich guy. He’s still got lots of rich friends and rich parents and all that bullshit hanging over him.”

“And?”

Justine shrugged. “Nothing. I just want you to go in with your eyes open this time.”

Mel took a deep breath, reminding herself that Justine had been the one she called the night of the Hollands’ party. She’d seen Mel at her worst, seen the marriage at its ugliest. She had a right to dislike Owen and all he stood for.

So instead of telling her sister to butt out, she crossed the kitchen and gave Justine a big hug.

“I’m doing okay. I think Flynn is good for me, and I’m smarter now.”

Justine’s eyes were swimming with tears when Mel let go.

“I want you to be happy so badly, Mel. He seems like a nice guy, but he’s not like us. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have the heating break down and know you’re going to have to live on baked beans for the next month to pay for the repairs. He’s never had to call the bank to explain why the mortgage repayment will be late. He’s used to the best of everything, to having the world at his feet.”

Mel thought about what Flynn was going through with his parents, the career he’d given up to take over the family business. “His life isn’t perfect, Justine. Far from it. Money doesn’t make everything better, and it doesn’t turn people into dicks. They do that all on their own.” She paused for a beat to give her words a chance to sink in. “Now, can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

Justine sniffed inelegantly and used her sleeve to blot her tears. Then she pushed the plate with Mel’s share of the muffins on it toward Mel.

“Eat something. You’re making me feel like a pig over here.”

Mel dutifully picked up half a muffin, and her sister dutifully recounted a story about Rex and Eddy. The kettle boiled and Mel made them both coffee, and an hour later her sister left, her doubts apparently assuaged.

Mel went into the garden afterward, wishing she could say the same. She’d meant every word she’d said to her sister, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The garden had always been her sanctuary when she was troubled and she tackled the weeds encroaching on the path with a vengeance, deriving a certain amount of satisfaction from restoring order.

She couldn’t stop Justine’s words from echoing in her head, however. Her sister thought Flynn was crazy about her—besotted had been the word she’d used. She’d even made a crack about him proposing, of all things.

Both notions made Mel feel a little ill. She didn’t want Flynn to be besotted with her. She wanted him to like her and to enjoy spending time with her, and she wanted him to desire her—but she didn’t want any of those wants or likes or desires to become too messy or demanding. The same as she didn’t want her own wants, likes or desires in regard to him to take on a life of their own. She wanted to feel in control, and she wanted a sense of separation between her and him, a clear demarcation line that allowed her to maintain her life and him his while allowing them both to meet somewhere in the middle.

She certainly didn’t want him to propose. Even the thought of getting married again made her dizzy with anxiety.

Calm down, Miss Melodrama. You’ve barely been seeing the man a week. You are getting way, way, way too far ahead of yourself. Remember what you said to your sister? You’re taking it as it comes. Moment by moment, day by day.

Mel refocused on the pathway, shifting along a few feet and tugging at the weeds, tossing them into a pile. After a few minutes, her heart rate normalized.

Her sister may have had good intentions, but Mel could definitely have done without her probing questions and unsolicited observations this morning. She’d already decided not to obsess over what might happen with Flynn, and she needed to stick to that undertaking if this was going to work for her. For both of them.

Resolute, she pushed her sister’s and her own doubts away and concentrated on her garden.