Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature

by Susan Johnson

  She smiled. “I’m sorry. Am I embarrassing you? I didn’t know it was possible.”

  “Very funny—and yes, you are. Stewart is about to speak. Calm down, Flynn, or Lillibet will complain to her father.” By this time, everyone at their table was staring at them. Regardless of the fact that their exchange was inaudible, clearly an argument was taking place. And neither Trey nor Flynn were known for their mild manners.

  “I would appreciate it if you would both conduct yourself like adults,” Jo murmured, silkily, as though she’d not been the cause of their grim expressions. “Have some respect for Stewart.”

  “Bitch,” Trey muttered, but he was smiling.

  A luscious, teasing little bitch, Flynn thought, wanting to pick her up and carry her off without a damn for appearances. But he knew better; his mother wouldn’t approve, he facetiously thought. She’d drilled good manners into his head with the same kindly tyranny that she’d controlled an eight-mule team. And while Stewart thanked everyone for helping him celebrate, offering kudos to all who had contributed to his cause, Flynn tried to make sense of his outrageous reaction to Jo Attenborough.

  By the time Stewart concluded his remarks and Clara ruined another good song, he’d talked himself out of any rash behavior. He wasn’t in the habit of acting like an adolescent in heat; he definitely wasn’t in the market for more than the most casual of amours. Which meant Trey’s sister was a highly inappropriate object of his lust.

  Pleased that he’d sensibly curbed his ill-advised urges, he took note of the nearest exit with an eye to flight. The minute he could politely leave, he would. As Clara’s last note died away, and the other guests began rising from their seats to move into the ballroom, he came to his feet, bowed to the table at large, and strode away.

  Exiting through the terrace door, he felt an immediate sense of relief. Moving away from the lighted windows, he stood on the flags imported from a quarry near Turin to match the elaborate fountain in the garden and marveled at Stewart’s tolerance for his wife’s expensive and flamboyant decorating taste.

  “Pink marble isn’t my favorite.”

  He spun around and the scent of violet enveloped him. “Mine either. Go back in.”

  She didn’t move. “I’m of age. I don’t take orders.”

  All he heard was, “I’m of age,” the simple phrase shocking license for his unbridled lust. “You really should go back in.” He spoke more kindly this time.

  “I don’t want to. You interest me.”

  “Why haven’t I met you before?” He didn’t dare consider the provocation of the words you interest me. Not yet. Not until he knew who she was and what she was and whether the Braddock-Blacks would skin him alive for what he wanted to do to her.

  “I just arrived from Florence last month.” Her gaze was unutterably direct. “Why haven’t I met you?”

  “I live up north.”

  “How far up north?”

  He smiled; you couldn’t say she wasn’t direct. “Not too far. A day away.”

  “Are you staying long?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “Maybe.”

  “You must not be familiar with women who ask questions.” His mouth twitched into a half smile. “You look like you’re more in the habit of giving orders.”

  “And you don’t like women giving orders?”

  He shrugged. “It depends.”

  “Why don’t we talk about it?”

  “Mostly because I don’t feel like talking.”

  “What do you feel like doing?”

  His smile flashed in the moonlight. “You already know.” “So?”

  “I’m trying to decide if your father will cut out my heart in the morning and eat it for breakfast.”

  “I can guarantee he won’t.”

  “You’ve done this before then?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Have you done this before?”

  “Yes”—he hesitated—“and no. Not like this.”

  His answer pleased her, perhaps he was feeling the same ungovernable desire. “I haven’t slept with anyone since I’ve come to Helena if that’s what you wanted to know. Apparently you do quite often according to Trey. He warned me off.”

  “You should listen to him.”

  “I don’t want to. Will you require written permission from my father? It might embarrass him, but I’m more than willing to get it if need be.”

  “Jesus,” Flynn breathed, wondering if anyone would notice if he fucked her standing up against the ivy-covered wall.

  “I was raised in Florence by a mother who was too busy with her own pleasures to worry about me. I didn’t run wild, but I’m not a virgin. I’m an engineer. I hope you don’t mind either. Some men do.”

  “Don’t say, some men, like that. It’s damned irritating.”

  “Look, mia cara.” She laughed. “My goodness, I frightened you. Don’t be alarmed, you may be mia cara just for tonight. And there weren’t any men if it makes you feel better. Now, don’t be cruel, Flynn, say yes.” Her smile was delectable. “I won’t make you say sweet things to me in the morning.”

  The way he was feeling right now, he might even be willing to say sweet things to her in the morning, provided he had the breath left to speak. “Let me talk to Trey, first.”

  “He can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I understand. But we’ve been friends for a long time. If you’ll wait, I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll go with you.” At his obvious hesitation, she added, “Do you mind?”

  “No.” Clearly he was losing his mind; he blamed it on his whiskey consumption, not wishing to acknowledge the fact that he might be losing his mind over a woman he barely knew.

  “Good, because I have this unaccountable need to flaunt you. I want to cling to you and show every woman in the room that you’re mine tonight.” Her grin lit up her eyes. “Obviously, I’m delirious.”

  “I wanted to pick you up and carry you away the moment I saw you. This delirium must be contagious.” He touched her for the first time, slipping his finger under her chin, lifting her face, trying to control the tremor in his hand. “I do have to talk to Trey,” he said, gently, his gaze very close. “You’re his sister.”

  Her hands came up and she lightly framed his face with her palms. “May I cling to you?”

  “You may do anything you want to me,” he whispered. They stood utterly still for a moment, lust electrifying their senses.

  More familiar with carnal sensation, Flynn overcame the stupefying shock first. “Let’s get this over with,” he murmured, lifting her hands away from his face. “Come. I’ll tell Trey I want”—he paused, choosing his words carefully—“would like your company tonight.”

  “And I, yours,” she murmured.

  He smiled. “Yes,” he said, husky and low. “I noticed.”

  But they were both more circumspect than to make a spectacle of themselves. Flynn was cautious out of respect for

  Trey’s sister, and Jo would never consciously embarrass her new family. But she did smile up at him once as they crossed the dance floor, a needful, perhaps unconscious gesture, quickly overcome. And when he smiled back those who saw the impatience, the striking and amazing longing in his eyes said later, the heat of that moment would have warmed every home in Helena the winter through.

  At Jo and Flynn’s approach, Trey excused himself from the group of ladies besieging him and drew them aside. “Thank God, you’ve decided to be sensible.”

  Flynn shook his head. “Sorry, I’m here to ask for your permission to—”

  “I said he didn’t have to,” Jo interrupted. “And don’t you dare say no,” she added heatedly as Trey’s expression turned forbidding.

  “Don’t you think it might be wise to know each other for more than ten minutes?” Trey muttered, his gaze flicking from one to the other.

  “Like you do?” Jo had attended a number of soirees with him of late and seen him in
action. And even Daisy who didn’t subscribe to her brother’s profligate behavior, believed in equal and impartial freedoms for women.

  “This is different.”

  “I hope you’re not stupid enough to say because I’m a woman,” she said, coolly.

  “I don’t want to argue about this.” Flynn spoke with quiet restraint.

  “Then don’t,” Trey growled.

  “I’ll have her home in the morning. You know where I live.” And taking Jo’s hand, Flynn walked away.

  It turned out to be a minor spectacle no matter how soft-spoken the argument.

  Everyone could see that Flynn Ito had come as a supplicant. It was unprecedented.

  But that girl of Hazard and Lucy’s was exquisite.

  And as independent as the rest of the Braddock-Blacks to walk out of Stewart’s ballroom hand in hand with the dangerous Flynn for all the world to see. She couldn’t have known him for more than an hour.

  What was the old saw about an acorn not falling too far from the tree?

  Chapter 10

  "Do you mind walking?” Flynn asked. They’d come out onto Stewart’s porch, the buzz of gossip that had erupted at their exit still echoing in their ears. “Or I could carry you if you like,” he said with a smile. “This is an abduction, is it not?”

  “If it makes you feel better,” she replied, lightly. “Personally, I don’t care what any of them think. Sex is sex—that’s all. Plain and simple.”

  “Or not plain and simple.”

  She grinned. “Better yet. And you have to carry me, darling Flynn.”

  His brows rose. “Have to?”

  “Have to.” Her smile was lush with promise. “And if you do, I’ll do something for you.”

  “You already have.” His gaze flicked downward to the bulge in his trousers.

  “How nice. You’re interested.”

  “You might say that,” he replied, mildly, swinging her up into his arms. It was a vast understatement for a man who had never considered carrying a woman anywhere, who was not given to romantic gestures. “In fact, I’m thinking about keeping you.”

  “Of course you will.”

  His stride didn’t alter at her words, although in the past, such language would have guaranteed a woman instant dismissal. But nothing was the same tonight. “You let me know when you have to go home.”

  “I don’t really have a home.”

  “We’ll have to talk about that,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her lightly. “I have an empty apartment in Helena.”

  “Can’t I see your ranch?”

  “Maybe someday.”

  “That’s not very nice.” She wanted to live in his pocket; she wanted him to carry her always. It was astonishing, like discovering fire.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You have men. Trey told me.”

  “Not enough sometimes. When it’s safer, you may come.”

  “Stay here, then.” Not yet completely lost to all reason, she stopped herself from saying, forever.

  He laughed. “I will as long as I can.”

  “I know how to keep you here,” she purred, stretching up to kiss his smiling mouth.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Then I won’t be wasting my time tonight.”

  “Or I, mine,” she replied with a playful grin.

  “True,” he said, modestly, this man who was known as the Mighty Flynn by all his grateful bed partners.

  “We could experiment to make sure you wouldn’t be wasting your time. I’ve read any number of pillow books. They were all the rage in Florence.”

  His brows rose faintly, not that Jo Attenborough didn’t appear to be a thoroughly liberated woman. “You’ll have to let me know what you think about Roc Soaring over Dark Sea,” he whispered, bending to kiss her again.

  And the couple they passed reported the next morning that Flynn Ito had kissed Hazard’s daughter so ardently they had to hurry away before they became unwitting voyeurs to something scandalous.

  “I hope you can deal with the gossip,” Flynn murmured, looking up at the fleeing couple, wondering if he dared threaten Fred Baxter and his wife.

  “I can. I’m not so sure about my father and Blaze.” Jo made a small moue. “They’ve been very kind. I wouldn’t want to embarrass them.”

  “We’ll talk to your father in the morning.” Flynn resumed his pace.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” She smiled. “Not really.”

  “Out of courtesy then. He’s not a man you want to cross.”

  “You didn’t mind a few minutes ago.”

  He shrugged. “And I don’t mind now either. But we’ll talk to him anyway.”

  “Ummm ... I adore that delicious authority in your voice.” His gaze snapped down and he was reminded of how little he knew her.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” she said, a teasing note in her voice. “I don’t like whips and chains.”

  One brow arched upward. “I’m relieved, since I have neither in my repertoire.”

  “I’m sure whatever you have in your repertoire will be entirely satisfying.” Tightening her arms around his neck, she licked a warm path up his throat.

  “Such acquiescence,” he murmured, his smile wicked. “And I thought you were going to be giving orders.”

  “I’m trying to lure you into a sense of security before I pounce.”

  “Since I outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds, pounce away.”

  She took a small breath at the delicious thought of his large, powerful body in close proximity to hers. “Are we almost there?”

  “Two more houses to go and then I’ll ravish you to your heart’s content.”

  “What makes you think I like to be ravished.”

  His dark eyes were very close and heated. “Let’s just say I have a feeling . . .”

  His home was a beautiful limestone town house, much like those she’d seen in London, pale and precise, not colorful and weathered like those in Florence. Every window glowed with light.

  “You have company?”

  “I’d better not.”

  “Servants?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because you planned on being alone tonight.”

  “Not precisely alone,” he said with a grin.

  “And I’m the lucky woman.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Arrogant man.”

  “You’re not exactly unassuming yourself. You knew every man at Stewart’s wanted you.”

  “But I wanted you.”

  “And you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  She smiled. “You obviously didn’t mean no.”

  He had no answer; she was right—unnerving thought. Setting her on her feet at the door, he unlocked it, lifted her up into his arms again, carried her inside and kicked the door shut.

  Her heart was beating furiously. “Why did you do that?” “Do what?”

  “Carry me inside.”

  “I felt like it.”

  “No other reason?”

  He didn’t know, and if he had he wouldn’t tell her anyway. It was too bizarre. “You talk too much.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Nothing to tell. Now hush,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time. “I’m going to make you climax a thousand times.” The shimmering heat of his words flared through her senses and she shut her eyes briefly against the sudden rush of pleasure. She wasn’t a novice at making love, but she wasn’t unduly experienced either and the degree of sensation elicited by his words alone presaged an extremely satisfying night. “Thank you,” she murmured, in blanket gratitude for the bliss inundating her soul. “Thank you very, very much.”

  “I should thank you for coming to Stewart’s tonight,” he whispered, reaching his bedroom at the top of the stairs, shoving the door open with his foot.

  The scent of pine struck her nostrils and she surveyed the small room. Flynn’s range clothes were tossed on the chairs: a leather jacket, fringed and embroidered with
quills, his chamois trousers and linen shirt. His worn leather boots were half visible under the bed. He’d brought the scent of the north with him.

  He’d also brought the most disquieting sexual energy into her life.

  She felt rash and reckless, desperate to be ravished; he was right. The word had never entered her consciousness before; her lovers had been tender and yearning and grateful. She’d been intoxicated with the pleasure of sex but never even marginally wild and fevered and necessitous as she was now.

  He moved to the large four-poster bed that must have been purchased to harmonize with the house. It was a fine early Chippendale, solid, pure in line, and it dominated the room. The coverlet was a natural Irish linen hemmed with a small border of crocheted lace, the only ornament in the room with the exception of the two splendid lacquered swords hanging from a hook on the wall. And clearly the swords were functioning weapons and not ornaments.

  Without speaking, he placed her on the bed and stepped away.

  She stared at him. “What are you doing?” He was standing so still, she sat up, his expression grave enough to incite a sudden rising panic.

  “I need a second.” He flexed his fingers, blew out his breath in a long, low exhalation.

  “Why?” Didn’t he understand she was in the throes of an inexplicable but highly tumultuous sexual need?

  “Tell me your name—or something,” he said, taut and low. “Talk to me.”

  “You know my name. I don’t feel like talking. What I feel like is—”

  “Humor me,” he cut in, “or I might scare the hell out of you.” He backed away another step. “Understand?”

  “Giuseppina Adelaide Attenborough. I can’t think of anything else to say, and I’m not sure who might frighten whom the most right now.” She kicked off her slippers. “I hope you understand.”

  He watched the arc of her red silk evening pumps as they soared over his bed and landed at his feet. “Nice,” he said, surveying the beaded silk. “Red suits you. Would you like a drink?”

  “Everything about you suits me. And no, I most definitely would not like a drink.”

  “Well, I would,” he muttered, and turning away, he walked from the room.