A Fortune's Children's Wedding (13 page)

“I wasn't
implying
anything, I said it flat-out,” Flynt corrected. “And why would I want to rile you, Angelica?”

“Because—” She looked at him. Because the unresolved sexual tension between them was so thick it was practically a tangible force, and arguing somehow made it easier to deal with, she thought, but didn't dare say. She wasn't ready to deal with the ramifications of such candor.

“Because you're a jerk,” she said instead.

Instead of being insulted, Flynt laughed, as if he knew exactly what she had avoided admitting.

Angelica scowled. “Give me the baby, Flynt. I want to take him up to his mother to nurse.”

He could hardly refuse that order. Flynt placed the child in her arms. The exchange made it necessary for them to come closer together. He towered over her, his body not quite touching hers.

Angelica clutched the baby tight. Instead of intimidating her, Flynt's masculine size and strength were exciting her. The warmth of his body heat and the musky aroma of his aftershave filled her senses. Her head began to spin.

“You have to go.” Her voice quavered.

Flustered and aroused, she automatically backed away. The wall was four short steps behind her, and her back came up against it. Flynt moved directly in front of her, trapping her between him and the wall.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” But instead of leaving, he leaned his lower body into her.

Angelica felt his hardness and caught her breath. The fierce, fast pounding of her heart roared in her ears. “Flynt, we can't do this, we—ohhh!”

Her voice broke on a gasp as his mouth brushed hers.

“We probably shouldn't,” he agreed, nibbling on her lips between words. His hands settled on her hips and he stroked lightly with his thumbs. “But we're going to, anyway, aren't we?” He didn't lift his mouth, but kept his lips against hers as he spoke.

“No.” She tried to turn her head from side to side but he kept his mouth gently, lightly against hers, tantalizing her with teasing little kisses. The baby's small warm body between them only heightened the aura of intimacy.

“No?” he repeated. He slipped his knee between her thighs. “Do you mean ‘No, we can't,' ‘No, we shouldn't' or ‘No, we aren't going to'? Specify, please.”

She felt him smile against her lips. It was so hard to resist him; she was suddenly tired of trying. When her eyelids dropped closed, she made no attempt to open them. The tip of her tongue glided over his lips before she was fully aware of what she was doing.

He didn't deepen the kiss, the baby's presence precluded that, but continued to entice her with the staccato touches of his mouth on hers. Angelica moaned as desire rippled through her.

The baby made a soft snuffling sound and for those few moments, it was all too easy for her to pretend that this was their child, created from the passion burning between them.

What would it be like to be in love with a man, to give birth to his child? Angelica had wondered about
that before but always with trepidation and a certain clinical detachment. Not now. She was aroused and aching, sensually aflame.

Flynt moved his mouth from her lips to the sensitive curve of her neck and kissed her there, tasting her skin, savoring its texture and scent.

“This is crazy,” he rasped, nuzzling her. “I want you so much but we—”

“Holy Mother of God!” Romina's voice resounded around them. She repeated her stunned invocation in Spanish, then in Romanian.

By then, Flynt was on the other side of the wide kitchen counter, and Angelica had sunk into a chair, holding baby Sawyer. Both kept their eyes fixed steadfastly to the floor.

“I forgot to leave the dogs their little biscuit treats,” Romina said. “So I came back to—” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she recovered enough to demand, “Do you know how shocked I am?”

“I'm sure you're about to tell us,” muttered Flynt.

“I'm shocked. Shocked!” Romina exclaimed, ever louder.

Angelica hung her head. The small gesture touched Flynt; she looked so vulnerable. All his protective instincts were aroused, inspiring him to defend her.

“We were only kissing,” he protested. “It's hardly the crime of the century, Romina. Lighten up!”

At that moment Mara returned to the kitchen, carrying an overnight bag. She cast a wary glance at Romina's irate face. “What's going on?”

Romina glared at Flynt, then directed her laser eyes at the visibly bewildered Mara. “Do you know what I
saw when I came back to give the dogs their treats? Those two—” she pointed her finger accusingly “—kissing! And now
he
has the nerve to say it means nothing to him. Well,
he
might have casual flings that mean nothing, but he's not going to have one with my Angel!”

For a moment Flynt was too startled to speak. “I never said,” he began, and remembered what he'd said. Could he possibly have sounded a bit cavalier? Of course not! “Romina, you've completely misinterpreted the entire situation.”

“There's nothing to misinterpret. I know what I saw and what I heard you say!” insisted Romina.

Flynt noticed that Angelica was sitting stock-still, barely breathing. Was she mortified at being caught by her mother, or by Romina's overreaction? Probably a little of both. Poor Angelica! Life with a firecracker like Romina had to be tough.

“We'll talk later, Angel,” Romina announced. “I can't look at Mr. Anything Goes without wanting to burn him at the stake! Here, give these to the dogs!” She flung the biscuits on the table and stormed out.

Without uttering a word, Angelica fled from the kitchen with little Sawyer. Flynt started to follow her.

Mara stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Angel's taking the baby to his mother so she'll be in total midwife mode now. It'll be better if you leave and call her tomorrow. She might be more receptive then.”

“It was embarrassing to have Romina catch us, but Angelica looked—as if she felt she
deserved
to be burned at the stake.” Flynt frowned thoughtfully.
“Surely she doesn't think Romina was right to make such a scene over—”

“I guess you have to know Angelica pretty well to know how unbelievably out of character it is for her to be—kissing a guy she hardly knows,” Mara said quietly. “That's why Romina was so freaked. Angel, too, I'm sure.”

“I don't care about Romina, I—” Flynt stopped himself, cleared his throat. “I'll go up and say good night to Angelica.”

“Expect her to freeze you out,” Mara called after him.

Which was exactly what happened when he stepped into the bedroom where Angelica was putting the newborn to its mother's breast.

“She wouldn't speak to me, she looked right through me,” he told Mara as he passed her in the hall. “You were right, she was so cold I wouldn't be surprised if she inflicted me with freezer burn.”

He drove back to the hotel suites, a righteous ire growing stronger with each passing minute as he brooded over the undeserved treatment dealt him. Romina's character assassination, Angelica's shunning. Since when had kissing a woman—who'd responded ardently—become a capital offense? Romina and Angelica Carroll both needed to lighten up!

T
here was no response when he knocked at Brandon's door, and Flynt was tempted to retire to his own suite for the night. He could definitely use a cold shower before attempting to sleep.

But his professionalism wouldn't allow him to assume that his charge was in bed and asleep until he'd seen proof with his own eyes. He knocked on Brandon's door again and again, to no avail. Had he passed out? How much had he drunk tonight anyway?

Flynt picked the lock—it was a cinch, the security in this place left a lot to be desired—and entered Brandon's suite.

Brandon wasn't there, and his bed hadn't been slept in.

There was no cause for panic, Flynt assured himself. Brandon was an adult with a taste for women and nightlife. It was reasonable to assume that he'd instructed the
taxi driver to drop him at some nightspot in the city where he could seek some action.

A reasonable assumption, but he'd been trained never to assume anything, to consider and weigh all the possibilities. Automatically, he began to list the variables to his eminently plausible theory.

Brandon had been drinking and his judgment, even when sober, could be described as questionable
if
one was in a charitable frame of mind. If not, his judgment could be deemed downright atrocious.

And Brandon had been in an emotional state tonight. He'd seen his adult daughter for the first time, which meant facing his own age—certainly a difficulty for an eternal Peter Pan type like Brandon Malone Fortune.

Finally, there was that damn threat, and though every criminal-detecting instinct Flynt possessed told him that Brandon was not in danger and the blackmail note was meaningless, still, it would be foolish to dismiss it out of hand.

All of which meant he was going to start hunting for Brandon immediately.

Flynt sat down on the sofa in the suite's living room. He always began a case by trying to put himself into the head of the suspect.

So if he were Brandon, what would be a likely destination on his first night here in rain-soaked Birmingham? Especially if he were trying to prove that, father or not, he was still a hot guy. “A chick magnet” in Brandon's own words. Where would a self-described chick magnet go?

Flynt rubbed his temples and concentrated. But instead of envisioning Brandon dancing with a girl
younger than his daughter to techno-pop music in some club, he found himself remembering the way Brandon had stared at the Carroll family picture that Angelica had shown him as they sat in the booth at Swank.

What had he said to Angelica? Something like, “Romina still looks damn fine for a woman her age.” Could Brandon possibly have gone to see Romina, his first lover, the mother of his daughter? Seeking out a teenage sweetheart was one way of turning back the clock to one's youth, wasn't it?

Romina's surprising defense of Brandon tonight abruptly echoed in Flynt's head.
Who could blame poor Bran?
She had eagerly pressed Angelica for news of her long-ago love. Suppose both Romina and Brandon were not averse to rolling back the years?

Impulsively Flynt reached for the telephone directory, looked up Romina's number and dialed it. She answered on the second ring.

“Romina, this is Flynt Corrigan. Is Brandon there?”

“You!” Romina's tone made it clear she hadn't absolved him of the mortal sin of kissing her daughter. “As a matter of fact, Brandon is here, and he would like to speak to you.”

Brandon came on the line. “Romina and I won't let you use our daughter and then throw her away, Corrigan.”

Flynt's relief at having located Brandon—so easily, on the very first try!—was immediately transformed into outrage. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I saw you all over Angelica at Swank tonight, and then Romina caught you groping her later on,” Brandon said indignantly. “You leave our baby girl alone!”

“Listen to me, you ingrate,” growled Flynt. “I've never forced myself on any woman and I sure as hell wouldn't start with Angelica!”

“You're saying she wanted to make out with you? Both times?”

“Yes!” Flynt could hear some background murmuring, presumably Brandon and Romina discussing their baby girl. Him, use Angelica? The accusation deeply rankled.

“It did look mutual to me, okay?” Brandon was back. “That's why I left you two alone.”

“Thank you,” Flynt cut in quickly, before Brandon could extrapolate further. “And kindly tell Romina I was not
groping
Angelica.”

Another pause, while Flynt relayed the message. And then: “Hey, Flynt, I got another one of those threatening notes tonight. It was in my room when I came back from Swank. Must've been shoved under the door or something.”

The abrupt switch from the accusations about Angelica to yet another blackmail note was dizzying. Flynt, who usually made conversational leaps easily, had a hard time following this one.

His thought processes had been derailed, and his mind was filled with images of Angelica. The way she smiled, her warmth and competence while delivering the baby, the haunting vulnerability in her dark eyes. And of course, the seductive feel of her in his arms.

He hadn't forced himself on her; she'd wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was sure of it. Wasn't he?

Preoccupied, he hardly heard Brandon. “I called my mother and she wants to talk to you, but how about if
we wait till tomorrow morning? It's getting pretty late to call tonight.”

“Yeah,” Flynt said absently. He hadn't read Angelica wrong, he hadn't groped her.
Good Lord, what if he had?

“Romina and I are going to hang out awhile over here. Y'know, talking about the good old days at Venice Beach. Would you believe she still knows the words of all the Beach Boys songs?” Brandon sounded exceptionally cheerful for one who'd received another diabolical threat against him.

Flynt's head was beginning to clear. “Look, Brandon, if you received another threat right here in the city, you—”

“You don't have to worry about me, I'm handling everything, Flynt. I really am. Oh, and uh, don't wait up for me. I'll catch a taxi back to the hotel.”

Flynt phoned the Rydells' house next.

Angelica sounded shocked to hear him. “How did you get this number? It's unlisted.”

Not a warm greeting, but at least she was speaking to him, a definite improvement. “I didn't know it was unlisted, I copied it down from the phone while I was at the house. Just an example of my attention to detail that has served me so well in my career.”

“I'm impressed,” Angelica said in a tone that implied the opposite. “Why did you call?”

“Angelica, did I force myself on you tonight at any time?” He held his breath, half expecting her to hang up on him. But he had to ask, he had to know if he'd badly misread her.

“I'd rather not talk about tonight,” she said coolly.

“Well, your parents are talking about it, even as we speak. They seem to think—”

“My
parents?
” Angelica echoed, aghast.

Flynt was sure she wouldn't hang up on him now. “Romina and Brandon are at her place talking about old times and singing Beach Boys tunes. And sharing news, too. Brandon saw us together tonight, Angelica, and your mother told him about—”

“They're together?” Angelica sounded truly horrified. “Oh, no!”

“You never answered my question, Angelica.”

“I don't remember it.”

“Brandon and Romina warned me not to grope their baby girl again. Is that the way you see it, Angelica?”

“I am not their baby girl! And no, you didn't force yourself on me or grope me. Are you satisfied now?”

“No. Far from it. I'll be taking an ice-cold shower tonight.” He smiled broadly. “But I am relieved. It's been such a long time since I was with a woman I'd started to second guess myself at interpreting your response.”

“A long time?” Angelica sounded suspicious. “I'm sure a guy like you has women hanging all over you.”

Flynt chuckled. “I suppose I'm flattered you think so, but it's not true. When your mother accused me of having lots of casual flings, she couldn't have been more wrong. The truth is, my social life has been less than zero for quite some time.”

“Why?” Curiosity had replaced some of the suspicion in her tone.

“I'm a workaholic, particularly since starting my company and getting it off the ground. Dating has never
held much appeal for me, anyway. The getting-to-know-you chatter, the feigned interest in each other, the whole forced scenario. I get nothing out of it and put nothing into it. I'm sure I'm the world's most boring date.”

“No, you're not!” Angelica said quickly. Too quickly, she realized. She blushed and was glad he wasn't there to see. “But I—I know what you mean about dating. I feel the same way. There are so many more interesting ways to spend your free time.”

“Like watching The Weather Channel with your cat?”

“Absolutely. Rascal is great company and what's more fascinating than weather?”

They both laughed.

“Angelica, your mother got something else wrong tonight, too,” Flynt said slowly, “when she said that—what went on between us in the kitchen meant nothing to me. It did, Angelica. What happened, counted.”

She wasn't ready to admit that it mattered to her, too. But she liked hearing him say so.

“How is Madame X and little Sawyer X?” asked Flynt, filling the brief silence.

Angelica appreciated his tact. “Both resting comfortably.” She trusted him enough to ask the question that was plaguing her. “Flynt, what—what's your take on my mother and Brandon spending time together?”

“Since each of them strikes me as two of the most unpredictable people on the planet, I can't really say, Angelica. But—” he paused “—Brandon sounded sober, if that helps.”

“No, that's worse because if he'd been drunk, Mama would've thrown him out. She hates drunks. Finally.”

There was a wealth of meaning in that one word, Flynt mused. The more he heard, the more he understood Romina's motives for helping women escape into the underground, away from allegedly abusive men. He would bet his company that Romina had had genuinely abusive men in her life, that her kids had been subjected to them, too.

He burned at the thought of Angelica at any age at the mercy of some violent drunken bully. Her mistrust of men in regard to women and children seemed depressingly logical.

Well, whatever Brandon Fortune was or wasn't, he had never been violent toward women or children. Which made him one of Romina's worthier choices. But would Angelica ever see it that way?

“Angelica, Brandon mentioned that he'd received another of those threatening notes tonight.” Flynt made a stab at engaging her concern. “I didn't see it, he must've taken it to Romina's house.”

“He probably made it himself.” Angelica was scornful. “If he showed it to Mama, she'd…uh-oh! This could be disastrous. Mama has a soft spot for people in trouble. If Brandon pretends he's terrified, she'll want to do whatever she can to help him.”

“Well, Brandon isn't terrified and doesn't act like it. But I just don't believe he is the one behind the notes, Angelica.”

“That's right, you thought it was my mother—or me.”

“Not anymore, not since I met you. But I do think it might be time to go to the police with this.”

“Oh sure, go to the police!” Angelica actually
laughed. “And why stop there? Why not call in Agent Weatherall too? Maybe Brandon's family could even hire Searcy to track down the evil note sender.”

“Hire Searcy?” There was a smile in Flynt's voice. “That's a low blow, Angelica. They've already hired me, remember? And I intend to make sure that both you and Brandon are safe.”

“Then go over to Mama's house and get those two away from each other. I can't imagine anything worse than them deciding to rekindle their old flame.”

“Worse would be something happening to you or Brandon. Put the security alarm on in the house and let the dogs run loose downstairs, Angelica. I'm going over to your mother's place now to bring Brandon back to the hotel. Or would you like us to come and stay there with you?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Absolutely not!”

“Somehow I knew you were going to say that,” he murmured wryly.

Angelica swallowed. “It's not you. It's Brandon. I've seen enough of him for one night.”

“Will you see him tomorrow?”

“Flynt, there's no point, I—”

“Will you see me tomorrow?” Flynt interjected.

Angelica felt trapped. Because she really wanted to see him. What was it about Flynt that stirred these feelings in her?

She was aware that it was more than physical, though she was certainly attracted to him. She liked him. There, she'd admitted it. He was honest and straightforward, intelligent with a sense of humor she could relate to. She'd observed him being kind to Sugar, gentle with the
baby, patient with her mother and sister and brother—and Brandon.

He had been all three with her, too. Warmth spread through her. “I—I guess I'll see you tomorrow. If you're hanging around my mother's house baby-sitting Brandon, I won't have much choice.” A lifetime of defensive reserve made her add that qualifier.

Flynt laughed, and she added another reason to the list of why she liked him. He didn't take offense easily. It was as if he
understood.

“Maybe we can make a real evening of it,” he drawled. “Put on The Weather Channel, track some storms. Will you bring the cat over for additional entertainment?”

“No, Casper's allergic to animals. Mama hasn't been able to have one in the house since he was a baby. Rascal is Mara's cat, and I'm the favorite aunt.”

“Angelica.” Flynt paused. “I don't want you to worry about these threats.” His voice was husky and deep. “I'll find out what's going on, and I'll take care of everything.”