A Fortune's Children's Wedding (18 page)

“Flynt, I—I didn't want to stop,” she whispered, her voice taut and breathless.

It was a disturbing admission, one she'd never expected to make to any man. But Flynt wasn't just any man. Until she'd gotten to know him, she hadn't thought a man like him existed.

Flynt Corrigan was honest and direct and didn't resort to lies and deception to get what he wanted. He was a man who got angry but never went crazy with temper, a passionate man with control over his emotions. He was reliable and dependable, but understood fear and pain. Perhaps even better than she did, for she'd never had to deal with a loss as profound as a missing brother.

And for the first time in her life, Angelica could say with certainty that she knew a man who would never hit a woman or child. Why, Flynt would clobber any other
man who did such a thing. She gazed at him, her dark eyes rapt.

Flynt smiled at her. “I didn't want to stop, either, Angelica.”

“But you did…and—and you didn't whine about it, either.”

He laughed at that. “I hope my whining days are over, Angelica.” He glanced around the garden. “Thank God those sleazy snoops aren't here.”

“When do you think they'll go away and leave us alone?”

“It should be soon, very soon.” His hand glided to her nape and began a sensuous massage. “After all, there's nothing new to report here in Birmingham. It's already been revealed you're Brandon's daughter, and the link was made to Romina and the underground. Now Ted Carson and Nancy Portland and the fugitive mothers and children are the main story. What's left to say about you or Brandon?”

 

Flynt tried to remember the last time one of his predictions had turned out to be so totally wrong. It seemed his once-infallible instincts, so valuable to him in his career, were no longer sufficiently attuned.

At least not when it came to gauging media ability to extend and recreate a story, which in turn extended and recreated interest in the newer version of the original event.

There was, it seemed, plenty left to say about Angelica and Brandon.

Flynt had not anticipated the furor caused by young Casper Carroll's TV interview with an
Insider
reporter.
Nobody did, just as no one had thought to warn Angelica's little brother away from friendly reporters asking questions.

Kieran Kaufman had waylaid Casper on his way home from middle school, treated him to many quarters' worth of video games at the local arcade plus snacks, and the boy repaid his new friend by telling him all about the extortion notes threatening Angelica.

Casper was eager and willing to retell the whole story in front of the TV camera, supplying details with relish: the pasted-letters spelling out Angelica's possible grisly fate, the additional threat to frame Brandon for murdering his daughter unless “big bucks” were paid. The boy explained that the Fortunes had taken the threat seriously enough to send a bodyguard for Angelica—some ex-FBI agent—but no money had been paid.

Whether done deliberately or not, the story was ultimately transformed into a tale of the wealthy Fortunes disregarding the safety and well-being of poor, hapless Brandon's only child. The bodyguard Casper so briefly mentioned was dismissed, and Brandon's life story was rehashed again in histrionic detail.

The latest chapter had the powerful-but-heartless Fortunes willing to ignore the threat to Brandon's daughter, the child he had only recently been reunited with after years of not knowing she existed. Somehow the Fortunes ended up being blamed for that separation, too.

And there was more publicity to come. The day after the Casper interview aired, Sugar and her baby, Sawyer, surfaced on the local evening magazine show, PM Birmingham. Sugar—also known as Debra Dawn
Springer—related a melodramatic tale of the clandestine delivery of little Sawyer.

“Your role as midwife was mentioned, but the real hero of Sugar's story was Brandon,” Flynt told Angelica who had missed the broadcast. “And by the way, Debra Dawn wasn't on the run from an abusive husband.”

Flynt wished he hadn't tuned the show in either. His memories of Sugar—aka Debra Dawn—had been fond ones inspired by their time together during the delivery of baby Sawyer. It was disappointing to see the young mother attempt to interject herself into the current Fortune media circus.

“Brandon?” Angelica was incredulous. “The rest of the story doesn't make sense either. Who was Sugar, uh, Debra, running from? And why wouldn't she tell us her name that night?”

“She ran off because she'd had a fight with her boyfriend, Sawyer's father, because she wanted to date another man.”

“She was nine months pregnant and she wanted to
date?
”

“I'm only repeating what she said on the program. Debra also explained that she wouldn't give her name because she sensed that Romina didn't want to know it. Of course Romina wouldn't want to know it, she makes a point of not knowing the names of women who are going underground.”

Angelica shrugged. “I wouldn't know about that.”

“Naturally not,” Flynt murmured drolly. “But in this case, Debra Dawn had no intention of going underground. She took Sawyer and returned to her boyfriend. They're now living together, and the boyfriend is so un
derstanding that he's agreed to baby-sit if she still wants to date other guys. And do you know who talked our Sugar into reconciling with her boyfriend for the sake of their child?”

“Not Brandon,” Angelica guessed hopefully, though Flynt's description of him as the hero of the story was certainly inauspicious.

“Bingo.”

“That's impossible!” spluttered Angelica. “Brandon wasn't there that night, he doesn't even know the woman!”

“Of course not, but she recognized you and Romina and heard about your connection to Brandon and decided she'd been close enough to go for her own fifteen minutes of fame. Think about it, Angelica, it happens all the time. The nuts come out of the woodwork to bask in the spotlight, no matter how tenuous their link to the person starring in the current media circus.”

“So she just made up a story about Brandon to get on TV?” Angelica groaned.

“You have to admit, she tied her story into the ongoing one fairly well. She has Brandon, the kid who was separated from his family as a child, the man whose child was separated from him, earnestly pleading not to keep a child away from its blood kin.”

“I can't believe the TV people fell for—for such a hoax!”

“Look at it from their point of view, Angelica. They have program hours to fill, nothing much of interest is happening anywhere, and this woman comes to them to talk about the only major news story going on at the moment. Of course they were receptive.”

“Do you think there will be others?” Angelica was appalled by the prospect.

Flynt didn't sugarcoat reality. “There is always that possibility as long as Brandon is in the news.”

 

Two days later, as if to swing attention back to the extortion threat, which had been temporarily displaced by Debra Dawn and her son and Brandon's surprising role as the couples' therapist, Angelica received another note with the same pasted letters, the same ugly threats.

It had been shoved under her apartment door, and the implications were clear. Whoever intended to harm Angelica and frame Brandon had easy access to her residence.

With the alluring threat of murder and extortion to report, the national mainstream press reentered the story in full force. The Fortune family was again under siege, and Kate called Flynt to tell him that she'd just sent the corporate jet to Birmingham to fly Brandon, Flynt and Angelica to Minneapolis, where they'd stay with her and Sterling at the estate.

 

“I don't want to go to Minneapolis! I can't go! I won't!” Angelica wailed the moment Flynt told her of her grandmother's edict.

She offered a plethora of reasons. Her patients—one was due to deliver within the next two weeks and she couldn't possibly leave at such a crucial time. Her family—she couldn't abandon Romina and the kids to the media hoopla currently surrounding them. Her lack of fear—if Flynt would kindly return the gun he'd confiscated on his first visit to Romina's house, Angelica could
protect herself against any letter-pasting jerk who made stupid threats.

And last but certainly not least, there was her unwillingness to meet the Fortunes.

“I don't even know them, but already I don't like them!” Angelica declared to Flynt and her mother, to her youngest sister and brother. To Mara and TJ. Even to Brandon on one of the rare times she encountered him at her mother's house.

“I kind of felt that way about them, too, at first,” Brandon confessed. “But now I get along great with all of them. It'll be that way for you, too, Angel.”

Nothing she said dissuaded anyone from the stand they'd uniformly taken. The Fortune corporation jet was arriving in Birmingham, and she was supposed to be on it for its return flight to Minneapolis.

“It's as if the whole world is conspiring to get me out of town!” Angelica told Flynt, and recounted how she'd been summoned into the office of the chief hospital administrator.

She was informed that two highly respected physicians in Minneapolis, Dr. Frank Todd and Dr. Stephen Hunter, had placed calls to the powers that be at MetroHealth. Angelica's patients were to be reassigned to obstetricians who assured her they were only stepping in on an emergency basis, that when it was deemed safe for her to return to the city, she could resume her midwifery practice.

“How dare those Minneapolis doctors interfere with me and my patients!” raged Angelica. “What are they, Fortune lackeys? Why would—”

“They're not lackeys, they're, uh, your relatives, An
gelica,” Flynt said. “Frank Todd is married to your aunt Lindsay, Brandon's twin, and Stephen Hunter is married to Jessica who is—well, she's sort of a fringe Fortune. Ben Fortune, your grandfather, had an affair while he was in England during World War II that produced Jessica's mother.”

Angelica gaped at him, nonplussed. “This would be the same man who gave my father away to that deranged witch? He also had a child with another woman while he was married to my grandmother?”

“From what I've heard, those war years were pretty much an anything-goes time, Angelica.”

“It seems like Ben Fortune was pretty much an anything-goes type no matter what the times were! My poor grandmother!” Angelica was irate on her behalf. “She and my mother could share their own war stories about their rotten luck with bad men.”

Flynt tried to picture Kate Fortune sitting down with Romina Carroll to deplore their rotten luck with bad men. It was a mind-boggling scenario.

“Well, Kate is now married to a great guy named Sterling Foster,” Flynt assured Angelica. “He was her longtime friend and the Fortune family's personal lawyer. The two of them are very happy. Of course, they'd be even happier if they knew you and Brandon were safe. You'd do that for them, wouldn't you, Angelica? Give an elderly couple peace of mind by—”

“Oh, stop! All that's missing is the violin music.” She regarded him sternly. “Don't manipulate me, Flynt.”

“Then don't make me have to resort to it, Angelica. Pack a bag and get on that jet.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It's just that I don't feel like I'm in danger, Flynt. And I really don't want to go to Minneapolis.”

He cupped her face in his big hand. “I know, sweetheart. But we can't take any chances with your safety. And I'll be with you, Angelica. I'm invited to fly back on the jet with you.”

“You are?” For the first time, her voice, along with her defiance, wavered.

Flynt nodded. “You, Brandon and I are supposed to take off tonight.”

“Tonight,” Angelica repeated. She could tell by the determination in his eyes, by the set of his jaw that Flynt was prepared to continue reasoning or arguing with her, whatever it took to get her on that plane to Minneapolis tonight. Odd, but suddenly she wasn't prepared to rebut every statement he made.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so odd. From the moment Flynt said he was coming with her, her opposition to making the trip had begun to dissolve like sugar in a cup of hot tea. She had a feeling that if Flynt were with her, she would go anywhere, Angelica mused. Even to meet the Fortunes.

That gave her pause. “I'll have to discuss this with my mother. And Mara.”

“By all means.” He smiled and she tried to keep from melting. It wasn't easy. “I hope you'll decide that a temporary respite from Birmingham might not be such a bad idea.”

“I'm not making any promises,” she warned.

“Duly noted,” said Flynt.

A
ngelica had never been on a private jet before. She'd never been on any type of plane. The Carroll family's travels across the Southwest to Alabama had been by either bus or car. This was her first flight, and her pulses raced with excitement, despite her reluctance to leave Birmingham.

But after her talk with Flynt, followed by another with her mother, Mara and a few other friends at the hospital, she decided that a temporary respite from the city might not be such a bad idea. After all, her patients were in good hands, assigned to well-respected obstetricians; she'd personally called and spoken to each expectant mother, explaining the circumstances.

Flynt was on board the Fortune jet with her, watching her as she walked around the spacious cabin. It was furnished like a luxurious living room with supple-leather oversize chairs and thick carpeting. There was an enter
tainment center with a movie screen and VCR and an elaborate compact disc player with a storage tower of CDs and videotapes.

An opaque dark curtain separated a small bedroom and a bathroom from the living room area. At the other end was a galley complete with stocked cabinets, a refrigerator and microwave oven and a few other small kitchen appliances.

“You could live on this plane,” Angelica marveled. “It's roomier and better decorated than my apartment.”

“It's sure beats flying coach,” Flynt said dryly.

A uniformed steward, who'd been busy in the galley when they boarded, came in to offer them wine and an assortment of hot snacks.

“Where is Brandon?” asked Flynt. “He left a message back at the hotel telling me to bring Angelica to the airport. He said he would join us on the plane.” Flynt glanced at his watch. “He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”

The steward chuckled. “We've learned that Mr. Brandon's sense of time doesn't necessarily jibe with the clock.”

“In that case we might as well indulge.” Flynt accepted a plate of food and a glass of chilled Chardonnay from the steward.

Angelica refused the refreshments. “How long do you suppose we'll have to wait for him?”

The steward shrugged. “I have no idea, Miss Angelica.” He departed, leaving the snacks, the bottle of wine and an extra goblet for Angelica.

“No idea?” She knelt on one big chair and peered out the oval-shaped window. “It's starting to get dark.
Where do you think Brandon is, Flynt? What is he doing?”

“I have no idea, Miss Angelica.” Flynt did a passable imitation of the laconic steward and reached for another mushroom cap stuffed with crab meat.

Angelica tried to divert herself with the selection of magazines in the tall oaken rack built into the wall. She should've been able to find something. Magazines covering every possible area of interest were available, from news to entertainment to business to fashion and health, and all the issues were current. But she couldn't concentrate on reading.

“Now he's over half an hour late.” She stared from her watch to the window. “And there isn't a sign of him.”

“This probably isn't a good time to tell you about the time Brandon was so late meeting me for lunch one day in Minneapolis, we ended up having to discuss the threatening note he'd just received at dinner instead.”

Her dark eyes flashed. “If he doesn't arrive within the next half hour—”

“Why don't you find a movie we can watch?” Flynt cut in, before she could issue her threat to leave. “It'll help pass the time while we're waiting.”

He poured himself another glass of Chardonnay and one for her, as well, handing it to her.

Angelica absently drank every drop. She was thirsty; the air felt dry in here.

“I don't feel like watching a movie.” She flopped down onto the roomy leather armchair beside Flynt. “I'm sorry. I sound as fractious as Casper on one of his moody days. I'm just…”

She searched for the words to describe how she felt. Anxious? That would work. Disgusted with Brandon? Definitely. Scared to death because she was leaving home and flying to a northern city to meet a wealthy clan who lived in a world light-years removed from her own?

She thought about the Fortunes, who happened to be related to her but undoubtedly wished they weren't and wondered exactly how much they would resent her—a little or a great deal?

“I think I'll have some more wine.” Angelica reached for the bottle and filled her crystal goblet to the top.

“This seat is more comfortable than any furniture I own.” Flynt sighed appreciatively and settled more fully back in the wide chair. “I feel like kicking off my shoes.”

“Let's.” Angelica's dark eyes were glowing as she set down her empty wineglass. She removed her sandals and flexed her toes in the plush carpet.

Flynt slipped out of his well-worn boat shoes that he'd worn without socks in deference to the warm Alabama weather.

He looked at her toenails, neatly manicured and painted a rather stunning aqua shade. He smiled, amused. “Sarah's been giving pedicures again. She's still set on her future career as a nail technician?”

Angelica nodded. “I don't now how long it'll last. Sarah's past career choices have been a princess, a rock star, an astronaut and a marine biologist. Her nail career is the first one she's been able to practice for. And you should see the color she used on Mara! A hideous purplish black. Sarah called it ‘goth.'”

“A shade favored by Dracula, no doubt. Thank God I didn't let Little Miss Sarah work on my feet. I can't believe TJ did.” Flynt shook his head. “The poor guy will go to any lengths to make up for that search-and-seizure raid.”

“But I think letting Sarah practice her skills on his toes actually did win TJ some points with Mama.” Angelica laughed at the memory.

 

A short while later the steward appeared and asked them to fasten their seat belts, that the Fortune jet had to be moved from this particular gate. It was time for another plane that had been assigned to the gate to pull up for boarding.

The steward left them with an uncorked bottle of chilled Chardonnay, the same label as the one they'd just finished.

Angelica and Flynt complied and buckled themselves into their seats. The jet was already in motion.

“When Brandon finally gets here, he'll have to run all over the airport looking for the new gate.” Angelica sighed. “That means an even longer wait because he'll have trouble finding it.”

“True. Brandon is not the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Flynt said resignedly. He poured each another glass of wine.

They clinked glasses as the plane backed up and made a turn. Angelica nearly spilled her wine. She laughed, then hiccuped. And laughed again.

“How many glasses have you had? And with no food.” Flynt arched his brows. “I think you're about to be cut off, Angelica.”

“I've had three glasses—or four? Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit of a buzz.” She tilted her head. “Do you hear that whirring sound or am I
hearing
a buzz too?”

“I hear it.” Flynt's eyes widened. The plane began to move faster. “I think…we're getting ready to take off?”

“What?” The seat belt restrained her from jumping to her feet. Angelica fumbled with the clasp, but Flynt reached over and took her hand.

“Leave it fastened, Angelica. We are taking off.”

The plane sped down the runway.

“We can't take off. Brandon isn't on board!” cried Angelica, trying again to free herself from the seat belt.

Flynt's fingers closed over hers, preventing her from unclasping the buckle. “Honey, I've flown enough to know when we're about to take off, and we are. Right now.”

At that moment the plane lifted off the ground and began to climb.

Angelica was stunned. “We left without Brandon?”

“It looks that way. Unless he stowed away in the cockpit. Or maybe he stuffed himself in the refrigerator.”

“It's not funny, Flynt. What's going on?”

She posed that same question to the steward who reappeared a few moments later. Since he was walking around unrestricted, Angelica pushed Flynt's hand away and unbuckled herself.

She got up and went to peer out the window at the night sky and the lights sparkling on the ground below. They were in the air, all right, and were going higher.

“Why didn't we wait for Brandon?” she demanded. “Where are we going?”

“We're flying to Minneapolis, as planned, Miss Angelica,” the steward said calmly. “As for leaving without Mr. Brandon—well, he called to say that he intended to remain in Birmingham and for us to take off without him.”

“Brandon is staying in Birmingham?” Angelica's voice rose in a squeak. Her unexpected panic on hearing this news thoroughly confused her. She despised Brandon, so why would his non-appearance upset her so much? Bewildered and alarmed, she stared at Flynt.

Who was looking none too pleased with the steward's announcement.

“He told you he wasn't coming, and you listened to him?” growled Flynt. “I didn't think anyone employed by the Fortune Corporation took orders from Brandon.”

The steward cleared his throat. “Well, the pilot did check with Mrs. Kate before taking off. She'd apparently already talked with Brandon and agreed that he should stay in Birmingham and Miss Angelica should go on to Minneapolis. May I get you anything right now or—”

“I want a parachute,” Angelica said grimly. “Something weird is going on and I want off this plane.”

“I think we're fine for now,” Flynt assured the steward who swiftly departed back to his own small area.

Flynt stood up and joined Angelica at the window. He put his arms around her waist, clasping his hands to rest on her belly. “Don't be afraid, Angelica. You—”

“I've been hoodwinked!” She tried to wriggle away from him but he held firm and didn't release her. “And I'm not afraid, I'm furious!”

“At me?” Flynt nuzzled her neck.

Her eyelids drooped as she drew a shuddery breath as ribbons of sensual heat streaked through her. She forced her eyes open and tried to stiffen her already too-pliant body.

“Should I be, Flynt?”

“Absolutely not. I swear I expected Brandon to join us.” Flynt ran his hands over her hips. She was wearing a neatly pressed khaki jumpsuit that fit her slender but curvy figure well. Very well.

“Then I'm not mad at you.”

She gave up her half-hearted struggle against leaning into him and did exactly that, relaxing her body against his, her head lolling back against his chest, her bottom nestled in the hard cradle of his thighs. He was big and strong and he seemed to surround her completely.

But instead of feeling at risk and overwhelmed, she felt safe, protected. Flynt was the only man she had ever met who could comfort her, soothe away her anxiety. And right now he was her only ally in this strange new place she was being whisked away to.

She reached her hand up to stroke his cheek. “I'm glad you didn't decide to blow off the trip and leave me to face the Fortunes alone.”

“Never, Angelica.”

Flynt turned her around to face him. He gazed intently at her, his eyes drinking in the lovely features of her face. Her ivory-smooth complexion. Her luxuriant, almost ebony-black hair.

“You're so beautiful,” he blurted, his voice suddenly hoarse with emotion.

“The Fortunes are going to think I'm trash.”

Only to Flynt would she confess to feeling dread; she knew he wouldn't use her apprehensions against her. Her lower lip trembled a little, and she caught it between her teeth to still it.

Flynt stared, so turned on by the simple gesture that almost instantly his body was taut and straining.

“They can't, they won't, because you aren't, Angelica. You're as classy and elegant and smart as any Fortune anywhere.”

“When you say it,” she swallowed hard, her breathing quickening, “I can almost believe it.”

“Believe it, Angelica. I wouldn't lie to you.”

His hands were moving over her possessively, touching her everywhere, her breasts, her hips, her buttocks. She felt tension build inside her, swirling through her belly, making her nipples harden into tight little beads.

His erection surged against her, so male and foreign to her own body. So powerful. Yet no longer threatening but tempting instead.

Angelica felt oddly disoriented, as if her words, her actions—even her feelings—were being scripted, and she had been cast to play the assigned role. Which she did, with passionate urgency. Running her hands over his hard frame. Melting with sheer pleasure, quivering with excitement.

He covered her mouth with his and kissed her thoroughly. Angelica responded hotly, hungrily, need bursting within her like a flame swept by a gust of pure oxygen. All at once she was burning and shivering at the same time.

Her control faltered and then she willingly abandoned it, giving herself permission to tug at his blue chambray
shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans so she could slide her hands under to touch his skin. She was emboldened as she'd never been before, driven by her need to feel him, flesh on flesh.

When he lifted his mouth from hers, she nearly collapsed with frustration. She held on to the front of his shirt.

“No, Flynt.” She hardly recognized her own voice. It was husky and velvety thick with desire. “This time we aren't stopping.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, tousling it even more. “Angelica, you know how much I want you.”

“I think I hear a ‘but.'” Her heart jackhammered in her chest. She pressed her mouth to his throat and flicked her tongue against his skin, tasting him. “I hope not. I'd better not, Flynt.” She looked up at him, her dark eyes fierce and desperate.

Holding her, Flynt slumped back against the wall of the plane, taking her weight against him.

“I just need to know that you know what you're doing, Angel. The wine…are you drunk? Because if you are…” His voice trailed off and he touched his forehead to hers. “I'd never hurt you, Angelica.”