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"I was saying the other day, how often the most vulnerable area for goalies is between their legs."
Andy Gray, former Scottish national player
Abby served lemon cake for an amused Flynn, excused herself and headed for her bathroom. Where she was currently hiding. It wasn’t mature and she wasn’t proud of her behaviour. She also didn’t plan to leave the room until Flynn ate his cake and went home. Yes, she was that pathetic.
She sat on the toilet seat with her head in her hands. She didn’t even know where to begin sorting out her evening. She’d let Flynn... She couldn’t even think the words. And worse than letting him was the fact she’d wanted him to do it. No. She’d been desperate for him to do it. And. It. Had. Been. Mind-blowing.
She groaned at her own stupidity. What about focusing on Victoria’s visit? What about waiting? Where was her common sense? Heck, she’d settle for any kind of sense at all. Common or otherwise. But no, there had been no sense. No protest. No nothing. He’d touched her, she’d melted and minutes later she was screaming his name. In. Her. Kitchen. With her baby asleep upstairs. With her sister in town to assess her. What kind of mother did that make her?
No. She couldn’t think like that. Just because she was a mother didn’t mean she didn’t have needs or desires. It didn’t mean she stopped being a woman. Right? Yes. That sounded good. But on her kitchen counter? She let out another groan.
“Are you going to stay in there all night, sugar?” Flynn’s lazy drawl made Abby jerk up straight. “As flattering as it is to listen to you wail and groan after I rocked your world, it’d probably be more productive if we talked about whatever crazy thing is going on in your overactive head.”
Her elbow hit the porcelain sink and she gasped. Could this get any more mortifying? Maybe if she was really quiet, he would think she was somewhere else? Maybe.
“Abby, I know you’re in there. Pretending you’re invisible isn’t going to work.”
It was as though he could read her mind. She stared at the door. Panic made her mouth dry.
“Abby? This is putting a serious dent in my ego. Usually woman run to me, not away from me. Especially when there’s screaming in ecstasy involved.”
She gaped at the door. Could his ego get any bigger? It was then she heard the chuckle. He was teasing her by making fun of himself. That was...kind of sweet. She cleared her throat.
“I think you should go home.” Her voice was strong, confident, unwavering. It would have been really impressive if it hadn’t come from within a locked bathroom.
“And I think you should come out of the bathroom.” He sounded amused. “Do you think that’s going to happen anytime soon?”
Abby thought about it for a good long minute. “No, I think I’ll stay in here, thank you very much.”
“Afraid you can’t keep your hands off me? I get it. It’s the same reaction a lot of women have. Trust me, I can fend you off if I have to. It’s safe to come out.”
She heard the grin in his voice. “Stop being nice to me. I can’t handle it right now. I’m trying to figure out how we managed to break our agreement in under twenty-four hours. I’m trying to figure out how you talked me into letting you kiss me. There’s no space in my head for anything else.”
“You let me do a whole lot more than kiss you, sugar. Do you need me to remind you what we did?”
“No!” Her cheeks began to heat at the thought. The last thing she needed was him saying naughty things in that deep, husky voice of his. His voice was partly to blame for her current mess in the first place.
He chuckled. “Come out of the bathroom, Abby. This is crazy.”
Great, his reasonable attitude made her feel even more foolish. But she still couldn’t face him. She hung her head and closed her eyes.
“I need time, Flynn. You’re the first man I’ve been physical with since my husband died. I thought he would be the last man I kissed. The last man who made me scream. The last man who held me in his arms while I came back to earth. This is a lot for me to process—even without adding the whole let’s-have-a-secret-affair thing.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know I’m being an idiot, but I need time to think. Can you give me some time?”
“Aye, Abby, I can give you time.” His voice was soft, low and unbelievably understanding. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
♦♦♦
Abby sat on the toilet for a long time after she heard his footsteps fade into the distance. She wondered who the real Flynn was. The egomaniac who oozed confidence, or the sweet man who reassured her? The guy who teased her or the man who seduced her? Maybe he was all of them? Maybe she’d underestimated Flynn Boyle? Maybe everyone did. She rubbed her temples before heaving herself to her feet and exiting the bathroom.
The house was quiet. Flynn was gone. One small lamp lit her bedroom. Abby padded on bare feet to her dresser. She picked up the photo that had pride of place on top of it. It was framed in silver. A wedding gift. Abby traced a finger down the smiling face of her husband. While she’d been with Flynn she’d forgotten David. For the first time in years he’d been gone from her mind. She knew it was normal, part of the process of moving on with her life, but it still felt wrong.
She ached as she thought of two very different men. They were night and day. David was all sunshine and gentleness. Flynn was darkness and power. And maybe that was part of the attraction—the fact Flynn was nothing like her husband. She didn’t want a replacement for David. There would never be another man like him. Her heart clenched at the thought.
Part of her was angry at him. Angry that his dying had put her in this situation where she was physical with another man, where she was moving on from him. Part of her hurt because her actions still felt a little like betrayal. David wasn’t there, but the promises she’d made to him were still alive within her. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get past them. At the same time she knew she had to. Living without David hurt. Moving on without him would hurt even more.
“I’m so confused,” she whispered to his image. “How can I touch someone else and still love you? How can I move on? How can I let someone else make me feel good? It feels right and wrong. It feels good and bad. I wish you were here to tell me what to do.” She snorted as tears escaped to run down her cheeks. “How twisted is that? Wishing you were here to give me advice on Flynn.”
Still holding the photo, Abby climbed fully clothed onto her bed. She hugged the frame to her stomach, letting it lie over the ache that never seemed to ease. The ache residing in the place David used to fill. The place Flynn had stirred with his kisses and touch. The place that made her want, at the same time as making her resent herself for wanting. As silent tears fell, Abby let exhaustion claim her. She fell asleep thinking of kisses filled with passion. Kisses, not from her husband but from the bad boy next door.
♦♦♦
Brian Flannigan stubbed out his cigarette in Abby McKenzie’s roses. He’d watched, helpless, as Flynn had walked into the house hours ago just to avoid the cameras. He’d listened in the darkness of her garden while Flynn got the widow off. The guy was screwing with him, by doing what he normally did—exactly what Flynn wanted. It didn’t matter to Flynn that Brian was on a deadline. Or that he needed some decent material for his programme. No, all the asshole cared about was getting the pussy he wanted, when he wanted it. Rich bastard never had to work a day in his life. And yeah, he didn’t count chasing a ball as work.
Time was running out and the project was sinking. Brian thought bringing Abby’s family into the mix would stir up some drama, but so far there was nothing. He knew the mother wanted to take her grandkid back to the homestead, and he’d heard murmurs in town that the sister was giving Abby a week to prove her case. Which explained Flynn’s sudden good behaviour.
It made him sick. How was he supposed to get any decent material when Flynn was mooning around and acting like a Boy Scout? Brian stilled. He narrowed his eyes at the house. Unless...
The sister wanted evidence Abby was hanging out with a reprobate. And Brian could definitely help her see the real Flynn Boyle. The guy might have fooled everyone into believing he’d turned his back on his bad behaviour, but his bad behaviour was about to come calling on him instead.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts and found the number he wanted.
“Peaches,” he said when the woman answered. “You still looking for a father for that baby of yours?”
The woman was a football slut. She must have slept with Flynn at some point. Why not make it work for her? She might even manage to squeeze some cash out of the bastard if she was lucky. If not, the publicity would help her burgeoning career as a reality star.
He finalised his plans with the woman, then dialled the next name on his contacts.
“Ray? Hey, man, got a job for you. Flynn Boyle wants to throw the party of the century in his hometown. Nothing formal, just a few hundred friends, lots of women and plenty of booze. You know the hip-hop band you booked for the rave in Sheffield last year?”
“The one that got arrested?” You could practically taste Ray’s excitement at the prospect of letting them loose again.
“Yeah, Flynn likes their sound. Thought they got a bad deal. Wants to give them a second chance. Can you arrange it?”
Ray hesitated. “When we talking about?”
“Saturday.” Two days wasn’t a long time to get everyone to Invertary. But it had to be Saturday—it was Victoria Montgomery-Clark’s last day in town. If he wanted to show her Flynn’s true colours, it had to be then.
“It’s gonna cost him,” Ray said.
“Name your price. Just be here.” Brian would figure out the money later. He was pretty sure his boss would authorise it as an expense once he saw the footage Brian got from the band’s appearance. Last he checked, the boys were banned from most radio stations and those feminist groups were camped outside their every gig. One song about rape was all it took to rile them. Couldn’t those women take a joke?
“I’ll sort it. Send me the details.” Ray hung up.
Brian grinned widely as he walked back to his car. It was going to be a busy night. He had a lot more calls to make.
Saturday was going to bring a party the likes of which Invertary had never seen, one even Victoria Montgomery-Clark couldn’t excuse.
Saturday was the day Flynn Boyle’s charmed lifestyle would come to a crashing end.
Saturday was going to put Brian Flannigan on the map.
And he couldn’t wait.