All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,80
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.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MEL 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