All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,84

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.”

Flynn wasn’t a violent man. He’d been in exactly one real, knock-down, drag-out fight in his life. But if Owen Hunter walked through the door right now, he would take him apart with his bare hands. No hesitation. And he wouldn’t stop until the other man was begging for mercy.

The thought of Mel living with someone who spoke to her that way, who used her that way… It literally made him ill. She was so funny and generous and loving and beautiful and sexy. How anyone could fail to love her he didn’t know—and how anyone could take her love and turn it against her that way…

It beggared belief.

“It’s not your fault.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. How to explain the gut-wrenching sympathy he felt for her? How to acknowledge the shame he could hear in her voice? How to even begin to express the sadness and anger and regret he felt on her behalf? “Anyone who would treat someone they purportedly love like that is a freaking head case and doesn’t deserve to walk the streets. He’s an abusive asshole, Mel. And you were his victim.”

She nodded, but he wasn’t entirely sure that she really believed him. Never had he felt so inarticulate. So out of his depth.

“It’s okay, Flynn. You don’t have to convince me or fix this for me. I know what it is. I know it better than anyone. I just wanted you to know, to understand. This isn’t about you. This is all me. All of it.”

He gave in to his instincts and twisted to face her, wrapping her in his arms. She came willingly, her breath leaving her on a little shudder. She rested her chin on his shoulder and he could feel her working hard to control herself.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I know I hurt you tonight. I know I can’t give you everything that you want. But I care for you so much, Flynn. So much.”

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. For the first time since he’d known her, she felt fragile in his arms. Funny how a shift in perception could do that. All this time, he’d known she was wounded, but he hadn’t understood how deep the wounds went, how profound the damage was. And, also, how strong she was to have rescued herself and rebuilt her life.

I love you, Melanie Porter.

The words filled his mind and his chest but he was smart enough not to let them pass his lips. Now was not the time to burden Mel with his feelings.

He finally understood what he was up against. He’d been so certain that he had only to be patient, to give Mel time to get past her wariness, but her instinct to protect herself went far deeper than wariness. She’d learned a powerful, visceral lesson, and she was determined to never forget it.

Even if that meant keeping him at arm’s length.

If he accepted her rules, if he decided to continue with their weeknights and their weekends, he would be condemning himself to enormous frustration. Among other things.

But it wasn’t as though he had a choice.

He kissed her temple again. “We should probably make dinner, yeah? Otherwise we’ll be gnawing our arms off sometime soon.”

She pulled back enough to see his face, her gaze searching. He held her eye.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mel,” he said, answering the unspoken question in her eyes.

How could he? He loved her.

“A thousand men would.”

“Not this man.”

He stood, tugging her to her feet as well. “Let’s finish making dinner.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, Mel lay in bed beside Flynn listening to his steady breathing. Now that it was safe, she let the tears she’d been holding in all night slide down her face.

She was glad she’d told him, glad that he knew now, but a part of her felt small and ashamed and wrong and incredibly exposed. Flynn had always looked at her with admiration in his eyes. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want him to see her as weak or helpless or a victim. She knew it was inevitable that he would, to a certain extent, because she had been a victim, yet a part of her—her pride? her ego?—wanted