All They Need (19 page)

Because she was worth it. A million times over.

 

T
HE NEXT DAY
they both woke early. After a quick shower, they walked into the village and bought croissants and
pain au chocolat
from the local bakery and ate them during the walk to Summerlea. He still had her brush-cutter in his garage, and Mel insisted on borrowing her brother-in-law's machine as well so they could tackle the blackberry brambles in tandem. By the time they were finished they had a huge pile of severed canes and a large collection of cuts, scratches and splinters between them. Walking to the house with Mel at his side, his muscles aching pleasantly from a day of physical activity, Flynn had a vision of how the rest of his life could look—the two of them working here at Summerlea, restoring the garden to its former glory, restoring the house, growing together. It felt so close, so achievable, as though he could almost reach out and touch it.

“I was thinking of inviting my parents down next weekend to show them around the place,” he said as they stored the equipment in the garage.

Mel shot him a quick, startled look before her expression smoothed into polite interest. “I didn't realize they hadn't seen it yet.”

“Between one thing and another, I haven't had the chance to have them down yet. I was thinking we could
do a bit of a tour here, then go to one of the local wineries for lunch. What do you think?”

“It sounds lovely. I can recommend a few places for you if you like. I always get good feedback from guests who try the restaurant at Paringa Estate, and I've been hearing good things about La Pétanque, too.”

“So which day would suit you better? Saturday or Sunday?”

She gave a funny little shrug. “Sorry, but next weekend isn't great for me. Rex has got this thing at his school and I promised to help out.”

“How about the following weekend?”

She pushed her thick plait back over her shoulder. “Don't change your plans on my account. I'm sure your parents are keen to see this money pit that you've bought.”

“Sure. But I'd like them to meet you, too,” he said.

Her smile was forced. “They can meet me any old time. Seriously, don't put them off for my sake.”

He studied her a moment, tempted to push. Then he had a flash of her standing naked and shivering in his bathroom last night, fleeing from a bad dream she wouldn't share with him.

“Okay, sure. Why not?” he said easily.

Her shoulders dropped visibly with relief. Just as well he'd already had a conversation with himself about being patient, otherwise his ego would be in the gutter right about now.

They went inside the house together and, because he couldn't resist, he slid an arm around her shoulders. The tight feeling in his gut loosened as she leaned readily into the contact, resting her head briefly on his shoulder as her arm slid around his waist.

Slow and steady wins the race,
he reminded himself.

Slow and steady.

 

G
UILT ATE AT
Mel for the rest of the weekend. No matter how many times she told herself she hadn't technically been lying when she said she was busy the following weekend, the reality was that if she'd wanted to, she could have made time to meet Flynn's parents.

And Flynn knew it, too. He hadn't said anything, but she had seen the knowledge in his eyes as he'd accepted her feeble excuse. The urge to tell him that she'd changed her mind, that she'd find a way to be available, gripped her half a dozen times, but each time she balked.

She didn't want to meet his parents. And not only because she didn't have the greatest track record as far as parental approval went, although that was definitely a part of it. She didn't want to meet Flynn's parents because it felt like the first step toward something she didn't want to even think about.

The man is besotted with you, Mel.

Her sister's words kept echoing inside her head. She pushed them away again and again, but every time she looked at Flynn and saw the warmth and tenderness in his eyes her heart did a little backflip in her chest and she knew that he cared for her deeply.

This was serious for him. It was serious for her, too. More and more so. But that didn't mean she was ready to meet his parents. It seemed…too much. Too fast. Too heavy. Too real. The ink was barely dry on her divorce papers. She needed time to adjust, for her head to catch up with her galloping, reckless heart.

She almost felt relieved when he left on Sunday night. She waved him off from her front porch, grateful that she was going to have a few days' reprieve from the intensity of her own feelings when she was around him. Then she went inside and immediately registered
how cold and empty her house felt without his warm presence.

Great. He's barely been gone five minutes and you want him back already. Way to keep a grip on things, champ.

She didn't call him the next day, to prove to herself that she could. But on Tuesday she caved and called and wound up agreeing to meet him at his place again that evening. She was pulling up in front of his town house when her phone rang.

“Mel, I'm really sorry. I've had a problem come up here at work. I'll do my best to hose things down, but it's going to be another twenty minutes minimum before I can get away,” Flynn said.

“No worries. I'll go for a walk and check out your neighbors.”

“I'm really sorry about this.” He sounded frustrated and more than a little angry.

“Flynn. It's okay. I get it. You have a big, big company to run. I'll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Okay.”

She killed the time by driving around until she found the local supermarket. She knew from conversations they'd had that he was a sucker for pasta so she bought ingredients for one of her favorite dishes, then threw in a bar of fruit and nut chocolate because she knew he liked that, too. She returned to his town house and had just turned on the radio to listen to talkback when she heard the distinctive rumble of the Aston Martin's engine. Flynn gave her a wave as he drove past and she grabbed her groceries and her overnight bag and walked over.

“Hey,” he said as he emerged from the garage.

His tie was pulled loose and he looked pale. Her
chest tightened. More than anything she wished there was something she could do to lighten his burden.

“Hey, yourself,” she said.

They kissed, his five-o'clock shadow rough against her face.

“I bought makings for dinner, in case you didn't feel like going out anywhere,” she said as they drew apart.

“You don't have to cook for me.”

“It's hardly cooking. Spaghetti with garlic bread crumbs. It's more assembling than anything else.”

“Mel. How am I supposed to stick to my guns when you offer me spaghetti with garlic bread crumbs?”

“Give in gracefully. It's the only way to preserve any dignity.”

He dropped a quick kiss onto her mouth. “Deal.”

He unlocked the door and she followed him into the kitchen.

“Give me five to get out of this suit,” he said.

“Show me where your knives are and I'll get started while you're gone,” she suggested.

He grabbed a chopping board from beside the oven and opened a drawer to indicate a selection of knives.

“Great. You go do your thing,” she said, waving him away.

By the time he reappeared she'd peeled the garlic and was chopping it as finely as possible.

“Olive oil?” she asked, glancing at him.

He'd changed into jeans and a navy hoodie and his feet were bare, his hair even more ruffled. “Naturally.”

He grabbed a tall bottle from the pantry and slid it onto the counter beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. He leaned close and dropped a kiss onto the nape of her neck.

“It's good to see you,” he said, his voice very deep.

Heat bloomed between her thighs. “You, too.”

He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her as she sliced a lemon in half. She smiled as she felt the nudge of his erection against her backside.

“Behave yourself or we'll starve,” she said.

He pressed another kiss to the nape of her neck, his whiskers sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

“I'll try, but I can't make any guarantees.” He released her then and moved to the wine rack beside the fridge.

“Red or white?”

“I'm not sure. What would you recommend with bread crumbs?” she asked, tongue very firmly in cheek.

“Hmm. Tough call. Something light, something cheeky. A shiraz, perhaps?”

“I bow to your superior knowledge.”

He was smiling as he pulled a bottle of wine from the rack. A warm, expansive feeling filled her chest. It was good being here with him like this, knowing that the whole evening stretched ahead of them. Knowing that she would sleep in his arms tonight and drive home to her own house tomorrow.

“Before I forget…”

She waited for him to finish his sentence, and saw that he was lifting a key ring from the hook stuck to the side of the fridge.

“The spare key. So next time you can let yourself in instead of trawling the streets in search of spaghetti,” he said.

He held his hand out, the key dangling in the air between them.

M
EL STARED AT THE KEY
for a long beat before shifting her focus to the cutting board.

“I don't need a key,” she said, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible as she chopped the remainder of the parsley.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Flynn's hand drop to his side.

“You don't think it would make life easier?”

“I didn't mind waiting. Besides, this is your place.”

“Sure. But I'm happy to share it with you.”

She put the knife down and turned to face him, a part of her recognizing that this conversation had been inevitable. Her expectations and Flynn's had always been on a collision course.

“I'm happy to share it with you. But it's always going to be yours,” she said carefully. “Just as my place is always going to be mine.”

He was twisting the cork out of the bottle but he stopped with the cork only half extracted, setting the bottle on the counter.

“Why do I feel as though we're suddenly have a much bigger conversation?”

“Maybe because we are. And maybe because we should, before this thing between us goes any further.”

He frowned slightly. “
Thing.
I didn't realize we were a
thing.
”

“Relationship,” she said. It was hard to get the word past the tightness in her throat. “This relationship.”

“Okay,” he said. “I'm happy to lay my cards on the table. More than happy. This is serious for me, Mel. I want you to be a part of my life.”

His gaze was steady and very serious and her heart seemed to expand and contract at the same time. Was it possible to be both thrilled and terrified simultaneously? Because that was how she felt—enormously gratified, and yet also scared to death.

“I feel the same way.” Anxiety was making her feel light-headed and she swallowed noisily.

“But you don't want my key?”

“I made myself a promise after Owen and I separated that I would never let myself get trapped in a situation like that again. That I would never put myself in another person's power in that way. That no matter what, I would always hang on to who I am.”

“I know your marriage was unhappy. But I'm still not sure how that relates to you having a key to my place.”

“Because if I take your key, you'll expect mine. And then the next thing I know your things will be at my place and my things will be here, and then suddenly we'll be living together…?. And I don't want that. I can't do that again.” It came out in a garbled rush.

He took a moment before he responded. “I know this has been hard for you, Mel. I know that you weren't looking for a relationship so soon after your divorce. I get that, and I'm willing to wait as long as it takes for you to feel safe about us. Whatever it takes. We don't have to rush into anything.”

“Time isn't going to make any difference, Flynn.” It was hard to make herself say the words but she had
to. Had to make him understand that if things were going to continue between them, there would be certain limitations. “I don't ever want to live with a man again. And I definitely never want to get married.”

He didn't move, didn't say a word, but she could see she'd shocked him. It took him a moment to respond.

“Like I said, I'm willing to wait as long as it takes. We can take things one day at a time,” he finally said.

“It's not going to change anything. I know what I want, and what I don't want. I don't want to lose myself to a relationship again.”

He stared at her, and she could see the dawning understanding in his eyes as he realized that she was serious. That this was a deal breaker for her.

His gaze dropped to the floor and he lifted his hand to rub his forehead, masking his expression from her for long seconds.

“It doesn't change the way I feel about you. I love spending time with you. I'd like to keep spending time with you,” she said quietly.

He nodded but didn't drop his hand. Something big and heavy was sitting in the pit of her stomach. She'd hurt him. Shocked him. He wanted her to have his key. He was serious about her. And she'd hurt him.

“Flynn, I'm really sorry,” she said helplessly.

Her gaze fell on the chopped parsley and garlic. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She liked this man so much. But she understood that what she'd said may have killed off any possibility between them, including the ones that scared her.

“If you want me to go, I can go. If you need time to think… I understand,” she said.

“I don't want you to go, Mel. That's pretty much the point, really, isn't it?” He lifted his head and looked
at her, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. “I'm crazy about you. I don't want you to go anywhere.”

Even though she was half-afraid she wouldn't be welcome, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him. His arms came around her at the same time and they held each other tightly.

“Mel…”

She cupped the back of his head and pressed her cheek against his. He was such a special man. So beautiful, inside and out. But she simply could not risk herself again the way she had during her marriage. She'd already come so much further so much faster with Flynn than she'd imagined she could, but she didn't have it in her to go further again. The thought of it alone was enough to push her into genuine panic.

She never wanted to feel as weak and helpless as she had during her marriage, and the only way she knew to do that was to protect herself against everyone. Including Flynn, and including herself.

“I know you don't like talking about your marriage, but you have to know that I would never hurt you, Mel,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

“I know. And I trust you. But I have to look after myself. That's what I learned from my marriage—that I can't expect anyone else to do that for me.”

They drew apart. Flynn still looked shell-shocked. Maybe even a little shattered. She ached for him, wishing she could find the one thing to say that would make everything okay between them.

“Look, if you need time, I can go. I really don't mind,” she offered again.

He shook his head. “I just need to get my head around this.” He picked up the bottle and yanked the cork out, but he didn't pour the wine into the glasses
he'd set out. Instead, he looked at the bottle as though he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

“I guess what I'm trying to understand is how you see this working between us, if living together and marriage are out of the question,” he said after a moment. “What do you see happening between us?”

His gaze was piercing, searching as it met hers.

“We keep doing what we've been doing,” she said. “We spend weekends together, nights during the week. It doesn't change anything, it doesn't change what we have together.”

“It changes a lot of things, Mel. What about children, for starters?”

She blinked in surprise.

“Or hadn't you even gotten that far yet?” He sounded sad.

She shook her head. “I hadn't. I guess— I hadn't.”

She hadn't allowed herself to go there. When she'd first married Owen she'd wanted children, but at a certain point in her marriage she'd become profoundly grateful that she hadn't gotten pregnant.

But Flynn was not Owen, and if she'd stopped to really think about it she would have anticipated this question because Flynn was a man made for family life. The way he cared for his parents, his bone-deep nurturing instincts… He would make a great father.

“I need to check on the garden. Make sure the timer tap is working…”

It was the feeblest of excuses, but she let him go, watching him walk from the room, his shoulders very square. She let her breath out in a rush and pressed her hands to her stomach.

She felt sick. In protecting herself, she'd hurt a won
derful man. A man she cared for a great deal. A man who had become very important to her very quickly.

You may have lost him. You know that, right?

The possibility reverberated inside her, grim and very real. Flynn had had plans for them, hopes. Expectations. She'd seen it in his eyes. He'd even said it—
I want to share my life with you.
And she'd fenced off a lot of those hopes and expectations. She'd corralled him into a relationship that operated on her terms, for her protection.

She closed her eyes, thinking about the confusion and hurt she'd seen in his face. He didn't understand that she had reasons—good reasons—for her decisions. He said he did, but he couldn't, not really, because she'd never told him the truth about her marriage. She'd been too ashamed. And he'd never asked, because he was too good a man to push her into something he knew she found uncomfortable.

She opened her eyes. Then she walked to the counter and poured herself a glass of wine. She swallowed it in one big gulp. The wine warmed her throat before it hit her stomach. She stared into the glass, thinking about what she needed to do.

After a few seconds she put down the glass and went in search of Flynn.

 

H
E DIDN'T UNDERSTAND
. That was the bottom line. Flynn knew Mel was scared and wary, but he hadn't understood that her resistance to a relationship ran so deep, and he didn't understand how anyone could close herself off to the future so comprehensively.

Mel had always struck him as being brave and bold. Her laughter, her smile, her earthy sexuality—he'd
always thought she was the sort of person who took life by the scruff of the neck and shook it.

Yet she didn't want to live with him. She didn't want marriage. And she hadn't even thought about children.

He sat on the sandstone bench on his rooftop garden and put his head in his hands. He felt as though he'd had the rug—the world—pulled from beneath his feet. All his life he'd waited to feel this connected to another human being, yet Mel didn't want the connection. Or, more accurately, she wanted parts of it. Neatly apportioned parts. The friendship. The sex. The companionship.

She didn't want shared responsibility and domesticity and the sort of deep, abiding knowledge of another person only gained through sleeping in the same bed night after night and sharing both the highs and lows and the grand and the not-so-grand challenges of life. She didn't want children. She didn't want to truly share herself and her life with him.

The worst thing was that he'd known, on some deep, instinctive level, that she wasn't as committed as he was. And yet he'd still fallen in love with her. Hadn't been able to stop himself.

He heard the scratch of dirt beneath a shoe and knew that Mel had come in search of him. He didn't lift his head immediately, unsure that he could keep the disappointment he felt from showing in his face.

“I want to tell you something, but it's really hard for me to talk about because it's not something I'm very proud of,” she said.

Her words surprised him into lifting his head. He met her gaze.

“You can tell me anything, Mel.” He meant it, too. He loved her.

She sat beside him on the bench and took a deep breath.

“People always say that it's impossible to understand a marriage from the outside looking in. I never really appreciated how true that was until I left Owen, because looking back over the six years we'd been together, even I couldn't understand how things had gotten so ugly between us. How I'd let them get so ugly. Intellectually, I understand that it happened in increments, that one thing led to another, which led to another. I know that by the time we got to the end of the line, I was so worn down by his disapproval and anger, and his parents' lack of acceptance, and by my own feelings of inadequacy and failure that I believed the things he said to me. My brain can see all that and process it and join the dots. But there's a big part of me that still doesn't understand why I let him treat me so badly.”

He drew breath to speak but Mel's hand landed on his thigh.

“Please. Let me get this out. I want you to understand where I'm coming from. Why this is so important to me. And if I stop, it'll take me ages to find the courage again.”

He nodded, then realized that perhaps she couldn't see him in the dark.

“Okay.”

“Thanks.”

She was silent for a long moment after that and he started to think that maybe she'd changed her mind.

“You were there the night of the Hollands' party. You saw what happened with the fountain. In case it wasn't obvious, Owen was furious with me afterward.
He didn't talk all the way home in the car, not a single word, and when we got home he made me strip in the front hall. He said it was in case the carpet got wet, but it was really because he wanted to humiliate me the way I'd humiliated him.

“The whole time, he stood there and told me how stupid I was. How I'd shamed him. How every man at the party had seen my body and knew how cheap I was. He told me that I was a laughingstock and that I'd made him a laughingstock. Then he told me to go into the living room and take off my underwear.”

He stirred beside her. His whole body was hot and tense as he guessed what was coming next.

“He told me to bend over the arm of the couch, and he screwed me from behind. Then he told me I was lucky he still wanted me.”

She'd been staring at the tiles on the terrace, her expression blank, but now she lifted her gaze to his. “And I let him. I let him treat me like that, Flynn.”

“Mel—”

“I know what you're going to say. That it wasn't my fault, that he was emotionally abusive, that I was a victim. It's all true. But I still allowed it to happen. I allowed him to talk to me the way other people talk to their dogs. I let him use my body. I accepted his parents' judgment of me. I turned myself inside out trying to please him. Me, Flynn. No one else. That's why I won't live with you. And that's why I will never marry again. Ever.”