A Fortune's Children's Wedding (3 page)

“Oh, it is,” Angelica assured him. “Never doubt that. And keep your hands up, Ex-Agent Corrigan.”

“We have a weapons permit, so you can't haul us in on that one,” added Casper rather gleefully.

Flynt heaved a sigh. “Look, I'm getting tired of this.” He slowly lowered his hands, taking heart that Angelica did not shoot him. But she did keep the gun pointed directly at him.

They were clearly at a standoff. Which might all too
easily escalate to a face-off, unless he managed to defuse the tension. Flynt ran his hand through his thick, dark hair, spiking it in a dozen different directions. Angelica, her mother, sister and brother resumed staring at him with their exasperatingly impassive expressions.

“Do you know who the Fortune family is?” he asked sternly, aware that he'd unintentionally lapsed into bad cop mode.

“Who doesn't?” Angelica replied, lifting one perfectly arched dark brow in a gesture of derision. She recognized his bad cop was back and wasn't at all intimidated.

“I don't,” said Casper.

“Neither do I,” said Sarah. “Who are they?”

“Keep still,” barked Romina.

Both children looked downcast, their coolly impervious air gone. Flynt had no trouble reading their young faces now. They regretted displeasing their mother. His eyes shifted to Angelica, who was watching him closely.

He frowned. How should he play this? Angelica would probably laugh in his face if he segued into the role of Good Cop. Did she already know who her father was? And if she didn't, shouldn't she have some sort of preparation for such a momentous disclosure?

He scorned himself for even considering her reaction, let alone caring about it. He should be hoping she'd be so stunned, she would drop the damn gun!

He glanced at Romina. Why didn't she say something? What was going on with these people?

Flynt felt his body churn with unaccustomed frustration. Never had he felt so clueless. He'd long prided himself as an expert in interpreting facial nuances and
body language, in gauging motive and reaction. Not now. In the Carrolls, he'd hit a human brick wall.

“Feel free to jump in at any time, Romina. Otherwise, I'll just go ahead and say it.” He looked at Romina. Who still didn't say a thing.

“So go on and say whatever it is, why don't you?” Casper taunted.

“Don't bother,” said Angelica. “We're not afraid of any threats you came here to make, so stop wasting our time—and your own—and leave. Now.”

Her finger lightly caressed the trigger in a gesture so obvious, Flynt knew she'd deliberately done it to goad him.

“This is ridiculous.” He sucked in his cheeks. “I don't know what game you're all playing—Family Stonewall, maybe?—but I've had enough.”

He took a deep breath and forged ahead. “I am not here to make threats. And I am not leaving until I tell you why I really am here.”

“Okay, let's hear it. And then get out,” Angelica commanded.

“I arrived in Birmingham today, accompanied by Brandon Malone Fortune. He is your father, Angelica, and he wants to meet you as soon as possible. I came here first as a kind of advance man, a facilitator, to, uh, help ease whatever initial awkwardness there might be.”

He thought it best not to mention the blackmail threat just yet.

Anticipating some initial awkwardness had been optimistic, Flynt thought grimly. The silent tension that blanketed the room reminded him of the eerie, thick still
ness that preceded weather phenomena, like killer tornados.

The silence stretched on for so long that Flynt himself felt the need to break it. “Somebody say
something.
” He made it a demand, not a request.

“Brandon in Birmingham.” Romina finally spoke. Her voice was cold and devoid of emotion. “Well, that's good for a laugh, I guess. And since there aren't any world-famous, luxury hotels in town, I'm sure neither of you will be staying. Brandon isn't one to compromise his standards and settle for anything less.”

“We're staying at the Premier Living Suites,” replied Flynt, naming a complex for business travelers. Romina's insight surprised him. Even after all the years spent apart from him, she had accurately pegged Brandon's reaction to accommodations lacking the prestigious five-star or diamond ranking. Brandon would have been satisfied to arrive and leave the city the same day that he squeezed in a meeting with his daughter, but Kate's determination that he stay and try to develop a relationship with Angelica nixed a quick exit. Besides he'd grown fond of Kate and didn't want to disappoint her. When their meeting had ended, the Fortune matriarch had drawn him aside and told him she had high hopes that having a daughter would give purpose and direction to Brandon's life.

“Brandon is willing to meet you at his suite or here in this house or wherever you say, Angelica. It's entirely your call,” said Flynt, hoping he sounded reassuring.

Unfortunately his irritation at Romina for placing him in the position of news breaker, gave his voice a harsher
edge. Worse, he could tell that the news he'd broken really was news to Angelica and the kids.

For Flynt had seen the flash of shock and something that might have been pain cross Angelica's face in the seconds before she composed her lovely features back into a mask of stoic cool.

“I'm well aware that Brandon Malone Fortune is my father, Mr. Corrigan.” Angelica sounded bored. “And I don't want to meet him—anytime or anywhere.”

But Flynt was alert to the almost imperceptible pauses before she'd spoken her father's name. Before she'd said the word
father.
She was covering well, but he perceived that the news had made an emotional impact upon her.

Angelica had not known Brandon Fortune was her father; every instinct Flynt possessed told him so.

Her next action confirmed it. Angelica silently walked to the bookcase in the living room, just off to the right, and placed the gun on the top shelf. Flynt watched her, his eyes fixed on the gentle sway of her hips as she walked. On the smooth white skin of her midriff, exposed when her shirt rode up as she stretched to stand on her toes to reach the highest shelf.

Tension hummed in his body. He continued to stare as she rejoined them in the small vestibule.

Angelica looked up at him, as if surprised to still find him there. “I told you I didn't want to meet Mr. Fortune. Now why don't you go back and tell him so, like a good, loyal lackey?”

That stung. Flynt scowled. “I'm nobody's lackey, little girl. Remember that.”

“Only if you'll remember not to
ever
refer to me as ‘little girl' again.” Angelica's eyes were flashing.

“You can reveal a lot in anger, Angel,” Romina warned. “Far too much.”

“I don't mind revealing that I do not appreciate sexist comments about my height or my gender, Mama.” Angelica was ostensibly speaking to her mother, but her dark gaze was fastened on Flynt.

“Your uncle Gabe calls his wife, that's your aunt Rebecca, ‘Shorty,' and she doesn't seem to mind,” Flynt said conversationally. “Of course, she's not actually short so maybe it doesn't seem to be that big a deal to her.”

“Angelica, just think, you have aunts and uncles!” exclaimed Sarah. “Tell us about Angelica's father, Mr. Corrigan!” The girl was clearly astounded by the revelation and didn't bother to conceal it. “Is he my dad, too?”

“And mine?” echoed Casper, who looked so hopeful that Flynt felt an overwhelming urge to throttle Romina.

Why had she let it happen this way? Why had she permitted her children to hear such personal, sensitive news from a stranger?
From him!
He felt like a purveyor of sleaze for the lowliest tabloid.

“Brandon Fortune is Angelica's father, kids, but not yours,” Flynt said, when it became clear that Romina wasn't going to answer them.

Was that the shine of tears in Angelica's dark eyes? Flynt stared at her, watched her struggle to maintain her facade of control. He wanted to break through it, to get an emotional reaction from her. And wondered why.

After all, his own wall of reserve was as strong as a
fortress. If he'd been in Angelica's position, he would have responded exactly the same way she had. By concealing any pain. Controlling it by denying it. So why did he care?

“W
hy did her father come here to Birmingham?” quizzed Casper. And then his eyes widened and his mouth formed a round, shocked
O.
“Does he want to get back together with Mama?”

“Of course not, Casper,” Romina finally said. “I haven't seen Brandon since I was sixteen years old. I'm amazed he knows about Angelica.
If
he really does know, that is,” she added darkly.

“You think I'm making this up?” Flynt was exasperated. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Casper has asked a very good question.” Romina's dark eyes were intense as lasers as they bored into Flynt. “Why did Brandon come to Birmingham to meet Angelica? After all these years, why bother now?”

“Maybe he wanted to give her some money,” Casper suggested ingenuously. “Wouldn't that be cool, Angel?”

“We don't need money from Brandon Fortune, Casper.” Angelica's voice was shaky. She'd either abandoned her attempt at feigning indifference or else she was unable to keep up the pretense. “Or from anyone else.”

“We do, too, need money,” protested Casper. “We never have enough. There's lots of stuff I don't have and the other kids do. Like a computer. I learned everything about them in school. I know more than anybody in my class, but I don't have my own computer. And I don't have any video games, either. Everybody has them but me.”

“You have plenty of games,” countered Romina crossly, looking defensive.

“Games that nobody wants to play!” Casper's thin face was flushed. “A deck of cards and a chess set. Chinese checkers. Clue and Monopoly—and not even the deluxe editions.”

“You should be thankful for what you have, not greedy for what you don't have, young man!” Romina glared at her son.

“Mama, I think Casper is—” Angelica began, attempting to make peace between the pair.

“You know how hard I've worked to make things better than they were for you at his age, Angelica. But you never complained. I never heard one word of self-pity out of you. From the age of nine, you went out and earned money baby-sitting, and you always watched the little kids for me while I worked nights. You were a perfect child.”

“Not this again!” Casper howled, his temper flaring anew. “I'm sick of hearing about how perfect Angel and
Danny were when they were kids. You don't even try to understand.” He burst into tears and ran out of the room.

“Mama, don't.” Angelica laid her hand on her mother's shoulder as she saw her mother brush aside a tear. “This is a hard age for him. He's going through a rough time at school and he—”

“Oh, Angelica, don't give me that psychology junk you learned in nursing school,” Romina said impatiently, before turning on her heels. Sarah followed, leaving Angelica and Flynt facing each other in the vestibule.

“Mama tries her best.” Angelica looked forlorn. “She always has. But she and Casper—well, they just—just—”

“Rub each other the wrong way?” suggested Flynt. “Believe me, I've been there.”

“You don't get along with one of your children?” Angelica asked, her dark eyes wide as saucers.

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I don't have any kids. Or a wife, either, for that matter. I meant that, growing up, I played Casper's role. I always managed to do or say exactly what would get on poor Mom's last nerve. She always claimed she was doing her best, too.”

He felt Angelica studying him, and a peculiar warmth began to spread through him. “I'm waiting for you to express your deepest sympathy for my mom. To say that an obnoxious adult like me could've only been a hellacious kid, one that would drive any well-meaning mother into a frenzy.”

“Do you get along with her now?” Angelica said
instead. “Did things between you and your mother get better when you grew up?”

“After I left home, things between us definitely improved. Because I wasn't there.” Flynt was glib. He wanted to drop the subject; Corrigan family history was not something he ever cared to dwell upon.

“Do you keep in touch with your mother?” Angelica pressed. “Do you phone or visit her often?”

She was watching him, both curious and determined. As a dogged interrogator himself, Flynt realized that she wouldn't let up till she got some answers. Well, he was willing to provide some, but if she was hoping to hear about a fractious mother-son relationship turned harmonious, she was out of luck.

“There is the occasional phone call,” he admitted. “But I limit my visits to one afternoon a year, on Christmas Day. My aunts, uncles and cousins are around to keep the conversation, and the eggnog, flowing. The TV set is on all day and that helps, too.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry I can't paint a more glowing picture for Casper's future relationship with your mother, but who can tell? Maybe it will be better for them, maybe they'll end up the best of friends. Now, about Brandon—”

“What about your sisters and brothers?” Angelica dismissed his attempt to switch topics. “Are you close to them? Are they—”

“There aren't any,” Flynt said tersely.

He felt the familiar ache that struck whenever anyone posed casual, innocuous questions about siblings. If he replied that he had none, he felt he was denying that Mark had ever existed at all.

But mentioning his younger brother often led to more questions, ones that inevitably culminated in the pain and dread that had shadowed his childhood. And his adult life, too. How could it not?

“You look strange,” Angelica observed. She'd moved to stand closer to him and was eyeing him intently.

She was close enough for him to inhale the subtle scent of her perfume, a fresh citrusy aroma that reminded him of sunshine and… Flynt gulped. And sex.

The sexual arousal was based strictly on his strong attraction to her, not the perfume, Flynt conceded. Because never before had the delicate scent of orange blossoms turned him on.

He was definitely turned on now. Heat streaked through him, from the top of his head to his feet, pooling sensually, deliciously,
inconveniently,
deep in his groin. If she were to lower her eyes, she would notice that the fit of his jeans had been altered quite visibly by his arousal.

Flynt fervently hoped that she wouldn't see.

“Of course I look strange.” He retreated a few steps, desperately needing to marshal his defenses against her all-too-potent allure. “I've just been held at gunpoint, and then got stuck witnessing a nasty family quarrel,” he said flippantly. “It would be strange if I didn't look strange.”

“You didn't look strange till I asked you about sisters and brothers,” Angelica persisted. “I can tell that's obviously a sensitive subject with you.”

She took a step closer, and Flynt shifted under the
intensity of her gaze. That laser stare of Romina's seemed to be a genetic trait.

“Don't give me that psychology junk you learned in nursing school, Angelica.” Flynt did a rather credible imitation of Romina's rebuke.

Instead of taking offense, Angelica smiled. And Flynt felt as if he'd been struck by a bolt of sensual lightning. He'd thought she was enticing from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, but when she smiled like that, her eyes bright, her face alight, she was well-nigh irresistible.

“Nice dodge, but it won't work, Mr. Corrigan,” Angelica said, tilting her head.

She was still smiling, and he gazed at her, transfixed.

“You've had a firsthand look at the Carroll family, now it's your turn to cough up some personal information about the Corrigans.”

Was she flirting with him? Flynt clamped his teeth together to keep his jaw from hanging agape like a starstruck idiot.

And then her words filtered through the sensual clouds and abruptly quashed every amatory feeling. An abrupt transition, akin to being thrown into an icy lake. Which was a good thing, he concluded. He had been too distracted by her appeal, he'd lost his focus on the job at hand. That was unacceptable.

“I'm here to talk about your father, not me.” His lips thinned to a hard, straight line. “To set up the initial meeting between the two of you, and the sooner, the better.”

Angelica stared at him. His transformation was startling. For a few moments there, his mood had been light, almost playful, now he was strictly business.

Fortune business. She flinched. “I have no desire to meet—”

“You didn't know Brandon was your father, did you?” Flynt lowered his voice and she leaned in closer to hear. “You don't have to don the family mask, no one is here but me. Be honest, Angelica.”

“No, I didn't,” she confessed. “I guess there's really no harm in admitting that.”

“Any particular reason why you pretended that you knew?” He sounded almost amused.

“I just did, that's all.”

“Because you were raised to automatically lie when faced with the unknown, according to your mother's ‘trust no one' philosophy?”

Bingo! He'd hit it. Not that Angelica was about to tell him so. “
Now
who's overindulging in psychology, Agent Corrigan?”

“Ex-agent, remember?” he corrected. “And call me Flynt.”

Their eyes met again, and Angelica felt her pulses jump queerly. He had an unnerving effect on her. A most unusual one. Because when she'd been holding him at gunpoint, when she suspected him of being sent here to investigate them, of being one of the enemy, she'd felt an unexpected, unwelcome sexual awareness of him.

That
had never happened to her before. Being attracted to a man who could bring their lives crashing down on them? Good Lord, it was something her mother might do! But not perceptive, practical Angelica, who had been blessed with an abundance of common sense. And a steely self-control dating back to her nursery school days.

It occurred to her that somewhere along the line she'd begun to trust Flynt Corrigan, at least a little. Enough to believe he was telling the truth about why he'd come, that he actually was here representing her newfound father.

If he were one of
them,
he wouldn't have lingered so long talking in the vestibule;
they
liked to burst onto the scene like a SWAT team. Time was always of the essence in
their
hateful surprise searches.

Most convincing of all, her mother didn't view him as a threat, and her mother's instincts in such cases were impeccable.

“You're a million miles away.” Flynt's voice, deep and male, broke into her thoughts. “I know you must have plenty of questions about Brandon and how he found you, so just ask, Angelica. I'm here to give you the answers.”

She was standing way too close to him, Angelica realized with a start. They were in each other's personal space, within easy touching distance, and the longer she looked into his light blue eyes, the less clearly she was able to think.

He had beautiful eyes, the palest of blue, a distinctive contrast to his dark brown hair and brows. Taken separately, his features were too irregular for him to be categorized as handsome, yet his face was one of the most interesting, arresting ones she'd ever seen. Masculine and unyielding, with the kind of virile sex appeal that probably caused a lot of women to throw themselves at him.

He had said he wasn't married. Angelica's guard, so briefly dropped, was back in full force. He was probably
one of those jerks who bounced from woman to woman, unwilling or unable to make a commitment. The type of man her mother was drawn to, with hapless moth-to-a-flame predictability.

And from what she'd heard via media gossip, exactly the type of man her father Brandon Fortune was.

Angelica's stomach clenched and she took a sudden deep gulp of air. She felt like she'd been sucker punched.
Her father!
As if life weren't complicated enough, now she had a father to deal with!

“Are you okay?” Flynt was practically hovering over her now. Too close. Way, way too close.

Angelica was excruciatingly aware of his vastly superior height—he was a couple of inches over six feet, effectively dwarfing her—and of his broad shoulders, his muscular frame not at all disguised by his jacket.

He was tough and strong and looked it. She didn't like tough, strong men. She remembered too well how one swat from a big man's fist had sent her flying across the room. More than once.

“Now you're the one who looks strange.” Flynt cupped his hands over her shoulders to support her. “You've gone so pale, you look ready to faint.”

Angelica jumped. His touch seemed to tripwire every nerve in her body. She felt her hair stand on end. “Don't touch me!”

She roughly jerked away from him and made a wild dash to the living room.

Flynt's reflexes were on red alert status this time. He easily beat her to the bookcase and retrieved the gun from the top shelf, tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Give that to me!” Angelica demanded thickly.

“So you can shoot me with it? Not a chance, Miss Fortune.”

“Don't call me that!”

Flynt folded his arms in front of his chest. “You're going to have to deal with it, Angelica. You've been found, and your father's family wants to claim you as one of their own.”

“Oh, sure! I just bet they do,” she said sarcastically. Standing across the living room from him, with distance safely between them, her fighting spirits were revived…even if he did have her gun.

She had no fear that he would use it, but it was annoying to be bested so easily by him after she'd done such a splendid job of holding her own earlier.

“That's why I'm here, Angelica,” Flynt said with commendable patience. “If you'll allow me to explain the circumstances surrounding your father's—”

“Spare me. I remember when Monica Malone was murdered and the news broke that her son Brandon was really the missing Fortune child who'd been kidnapped as an infant,” Angelica interjected. “It was one of those sensational stories the media hyped to excess, especially since they wrongly believed Jake Fortune had killed Monica. A person would've had to be living in a cave in the remote Himalayas not to have heard about it.”