All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,60

she couldn’t “behave like a lady” he’d have to start attending social functions on his own.

He’d accused her of humiliating him with his peers and colleagues with her overfriendly manner and kept a constant, censorious eye on her whenever they were out together.

And yet he’d never stopped wanting her once they were alone. The moment they were safely behind their bedroom door, he’d always turned to her with desire. It had confused her for so long, the disparity between what he said and what he did—and she’d hated herself for wanting him in return, for clinging to the last good, functioning, life-affirming thing between them because she’d seen it as evidence that their marriage wasn’t beyond repair.

Then things had deteriorated even further and he’d started to run her down in the bedroom, too. By that time she’d been so punch-drunk from years of criticism and disapproval that it had taken the night of the Hollands’ party and the ugliness of Owen’s anger afterward to awaken her to the fact that her marriage was over.

Well and truly.

Not long after that she’d walked out altogether. The smartest thing she’d ever done in her life.

She turned away from the mirror and crossed to her bed. Last night’s pajamas were under the pillow and she pulled them on and climbed beneath the covers. She was tired, but instead of turning off the light she lay frowning at the ceiling, her body as rigid as a board.

She’d ruined things with Flynn. All these weeks they’d been dancing around one another, an invisible question hanging between them. Would they, wouldn’t they? She’d answered the question tonight, unequivocally. No. A resounding, screwed-up, messy no.

She wouldn’t see him as much now. Against the odds they’d become friends, but tonight would change all that. Sex always did—even if it was only half-assed, abortive sex that didn’t quite come off.

No more drop-in visits. No more gardening sessions. No more laughter.

If only she’d met him seven years ago. If only—

She closed her eyes. Then she reached out and switched off the bedside lamp.

“If onlys” were a pointless waste of time. She was who she was, and he was who he was, and she had ruined things. Nothing was going to change that.

SUMMERLEA WAS COLD and dark when Flynn let himself in. He turned on the lights in the living room and built a fire. There was a bottle of shiraz he hadn’t quite finished from the previous week and he poured himself a glass and sat to one side of the hearth, waiting for the fire to start throwing out some heat.

He had no idea what had happened with Mel tonight. Not a single clue. One minute she’d been insatiable, tearing at his clothes, so hot she’d almost blown his mind—and the next she’d been pushing him away, her body tense, her face pale.

And the look in her eyes…

He tossed back the wine. If there was more, he would have drank it, too, but there wasn’t so he stripped to his underwear and unrolled his sleeping bag. Lying on the hard floor, he forced himself to face the fact that he’d badly misjudged things with Mel. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t listened to his own judgment, because he’d always known she was wounded and still recovering from her marriage, hadn’t he? He’d acknowledged that right from the start—and yet he’d pushed and pushed until they’d gotten to the point they’d reached tonight.

Which was, effectively, nowhere.

A part of Mel might want to be with him, but a big part of her also didn’t—and Flynn wasn’t in the business of forcing his attentions on women. Even ones he liked as much as he liked Mel.

Even when he thought he was falling for them.

It took him a long time to fall asleep and he woke with a sore back. Standing under the shower in the cold and drafty main bathroom, he made a mental note to have a bed delivered during the week. He didn’t need or want anything else yet—he’d only have to move any furniture out again once renovations were under way—but the romance of sleeping rough was starting to fade.

So much for a boy’s own adventures. He walked naked up the hallway and dressed in the chilly living room. Then and only then did he allow himself to think about Mel again. In the light of a new day, what had happened between them last night didn’t seem quite so dire. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not quite as end-of-days as he’d