All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,54

The stretch knit fabric hugged her breasts and belly, flaring out over her hips. With her cheeks shiny from exertion and a handful of loose curls forming a fuzzy nimbus around her face, she looked like an advertisement for the great outdoors. Full of life and sexy as hell.

His gaze gravitated to the thin strip of bright orange satin visible on her left shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed Mel’s bra strap today—it had been playing peek-a-boo with him on and off all afternoon—and it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d gotten a little lost inside his own head as he imagined her generous curves cupped in tangerine lace and silk.

He suspected he should probably be trying to rein in his schoolboy fantasies, but sometime during the past few days he’d decided to accept the inevitable where Mel was concerned. He was falling for her—hard. He’d tried in the past to make himself fall for women and failed, and he figured it was probably just as futile to try to stop himself from falling, too.

So here he was. Falling.

Where he was going to land was anybody’s guess because Mel was still a closed book to him. Sometimes he was sure they were on the same page. Others he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. To say it was driving him crazy was something of an understatement.

“How you going with that last piece?” Harry called.

Flynn jerked his attention to the here and now. “Ten seconds.” He pulled on his gloves before lifting the shortened tie from the twin sawhorses and carrying it to where Harry and Mike were using a plumb bob and spirit level to line up the final wall of the last garden bed. They worked together to ensure it was in line and level, fixing it in place with big coach bolts that had been weather-treated to resist corrosion.

“Excuse me, fearless leader,” Harry said to Mel once they’d finished. “When might your faithful servants expect to be fed?”

“Mom said she’d make sandwiches. I’ll call and let her know we’re ready to eat.” Mel pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed.

Flynn admired the length of her athletic legs as she propped her butt against one of the completed walls while she waited for her call to connect.

“The eagle has landed, Mom,” she said into the phone.

She listened for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. As always, the rich, full sound made Flynn smile in response. Mel shot a mischievous look at her brother. “Mom says you’re more of a vulture than an eagle, Harry.”

“Tell Mom she’s a riot. And if I’m a vulture, she’s a turkey.”

Mel dutifully relayed his message to their mother. She was grinning fit to bust when she hung up. Flynn had a sudden image of her as a kid, mischievous and full of beans, more than ready to give as good as she got.

It struck him suddenly that this was the first time that he’d seen Mel truly carefree, her habitual wariness completely absent. Clearly, she felt safe with her family.

And, perhaps, with him?

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Mom said she’s going to accidentally drop all the cheese-and-pickle sandwiches on the floor as payback,” Mel said as she pocketed her phone.

“Are we talking Mom’s floor? Because everyone knows you could perform surgery on Mom’s floor. Your floor, on the other hand…”

They continued to bicker cheerfully, Jacob and Mike throwing their two cents in when the mood struck them. Flynn watched from the sidelines, enjoying the interplay and this rare insight into Mel with her guard down.

“What’s this I hear about me being a turkey? Harold Neville Porter, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

A slim woman of average height entered the clearing bearing a tray piled high with sandwiches. He guessed she must be in her early fifties, although she was dressed like a much younger woman. Her sweater was red and tight, the V-neck cut low, and her jeans fitted snugly from thigh to ankle. Her hair was a color somewhere between caramel and blond, and she was wearing the kind of makeup his own mother usually reserved for big occasions. Large gold hoops dangled from her ears, while a series of chunky metal bracelets clanked at her wrist.

“Easy with the Neville, Mom,” Harry said with a grimace.

“Easy with the ugly poultry references, Harold,” she said.

“You started it with the vulture thing,” Harry said.

“Now, now, children. Let’s not argue when there are sandwiches to be eaten,” Jacob