A Beautiful Danger (Beautiful #7)

by Lilliana Anderson

  He rubs his hands together to warm them and I hesitate. “I don’t think so.”

  “There’s nothing sexual about it, I promise. In fact, you’re probably going to want to hit me.”

  “Why?”

  I find out when he places one hand behind my knee and the other on my thigh, pressing the heel of his palm into my knotted-up muscle.

  “Holy fuuu....” My eyes bulge and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. He wasn’t wrong when he said this wouldn’t be sexual. I don’t even think a masochist would find this pleasurable.

  When he switches to the other side, I make whiney noises like a petulant child, and the bastard has the audacity to smile. “This isn’t funny, Flynn,” I grunt through gritted teeth.

  “Done,” he says, placing his hands on the outside of my thighs after both are thoroughly destroyed. “Feel better?”

  “I’m relieved you stopped, so I guess so.” I laugh.

  He stands and offers a hand to help me up. “How about we go for a walk? You need to get new blood into the muscle so it heals and doesn’t tighten up again.”

  Taking a mouthful of my juice, I let out a sigh. “Fine.” I really don’t want to move, but what he’s saying makes sense, so I take his hand and pull myself up.

  Going down the stairs to the street is another fun trip—I need to lean on Flynn for support as my thighs scream in protest—but by the time we get to the ground floor, I can carry my own weight.

  “Thanks,” I say to him, my breathing evening out. The one good thing about being in pain is that you don’t have the chance to think about your attraction to the man whose hands are all over you so you don’t fall over. The focus is solely on staying upright while regretting every jump you forced your body to make the day before.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says as we approach the first corner.

  “Which one was that?”

  “Are you working tonight?”

  “I am.”

  “We’ll have to make it lunch, then.”

  “Make what lunch?”

  “Well, as you know, the goal of this two weeks is to show you that you’re wrong about the kind of person I am. And who better to show that to you than my own family.”

  “You’re taking me to meet your parents?”

  “No.” He lets out a slight chuckle. “I wouldn’t do that to you just yet. I’m taking you to meet my sister and her kids. If she can’t sell you on me, then no one can.”

  “You are a stubborn man, Flynn Trotsky.”

  “It’s one of my more endearing qualities.”

  ***

  “What wine does your sister like?” I ask once we’re inside the bottle shop. The hospitality industry side of me says you never turn up for a meal without a bottle of wine in hand.

  “She has three young kids, so anything with an alcohol content is her favourite,” he jokes.

  I select a simple Pinot Grigio, then head to the checkout. “Hey, that vodka has your name on it,” I say, noticing a row of frosted bottles with the name ‘Trotsky’ written in bold silver letters against a blue and black label. “Have you seen that brand before?”

  He glances toward the shelf. “Ah, yeah. I’ve seen it.”

  “Does your sister know? We should take her a bottle for fun.”

  “Well, she’s not a Trotsky anymore, but she knows about the vodka too. Kind of hard to miss your surname when it’s on a label like that.” He laughs. “But she’s strictly a wine woman, so you’ve made a good choice.”

  “You’re a vodka man though. We can get it for you. If not, I’ll drink it sometime.”

  He takes the wine from my hand. “The wine really is enough,” he says, handing it to the waiting cashier.

  Pouting a little, I look at the pretty, tall bottle. I’m about to grab it anyway, because fuck Flynn, I make my own choices, but then I notice the price tag and balk a little. It costs more than Grey Goose—no wonder Flynn was objecting to me buying it.

  “Jesus. Trotsky vodka had better make love to my stomach and keep me pleasurably tipsy for a week at that price,” I say as he finishes the transaction.

  He laughs and slips his wallet into his back pocket, his free hand wrapping around the neck of the wine bottle. “Well, it doesn’t give you a hangover and it goes down pretty smooth, but yeah, it’s a bit pricey.”

  “Special occasion vodka.”

  Grinning, he glances back at the shelf. “Indeed.”

  “You know, if I found a bottle of liquor with my name on it, it’d be the only kind I drank,” I say once we’re back in the car and on our way to his sister’s house.

  “Unless it’s as expensive as the vodka back there.”

  “No. I’d still get it at that price, I’d just drink it very slowly. And I’d keep the bottles and decorate one wall in my living room with the empties.”

  “That would be cool.”

  “I’m a cool person.”

  He looks at me and we both smile, an easy moment shared between two friends. I think that’s what we’re becoming. After an incredibly emotional few days, we’re becoming friends. It feels good.

  “That you are.”

  When we arrive at his sister’s house a few minutes later, my mouth drops open. “Um, Flynn? I think your sister is loaded.” I’m looking up at a large contemporary-styled home in a location that would set you back a modest few million dollars to buy. It has one of those combination façades that is all right angles and different textures. It’s quite imposing, and in my skinny jeans and a knit jumper that falls off my shoulder, I feel really underdressed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “Why does it matter? She’s still a person.”

  “Look what I’m wearing, Flynn. And we bought a twenty-dollar bottle of wine—that’s so shitty.”

  He’s looking at me like I have two heads. “Relax, Ruby. You aren’t meeting the queen.”

  Trying to settle my nerves with a deep breath, I get out of the car and stare up at the imposing building with its floor-to-ceiling windows and manicured lawn leading to a large double front door. This is all well and good for Flynn—he’s family—but I’ve dealt with wealthy people on a daily basis for years. First at Quay and now at Rae. They aren’t always the nicest people—especially when they’re this rich.

  “Let it go. She’s a mum with cereal on her clothes most days.” He reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze before he leads me up the front path and knocks twice on the door.

  “Flynn.” Tash, a tall woman with hair as black as Flynn’s, answers the door with a smile. “And you must be Ruby. Welcome.” She gestures for us to come inside, a gracefulness to her movements that I simply don’t possess. See, people always say that the wealthy are just people like the rest of us, but a lot of the time they possess something the rest of us just don’t have—class, I suppose. I’m beyond intimidated.

  I don’t know what Flynn was thinking telling me that she has cereal on her clothes most days. She doesn’t even look like she could have mothered three children. Instead, she looks like she just stepped off the pages of Vogue.

  Flynn embraces her in a warm hug and kisses her cheek. “How’s it going, big sis?” he asks.

  She’s grinning when he releases her. I can tell they genuinely like each other. “Oh, I’m exhausted. I don’t know what I was thinking having all these kids so close together.” She laughs. “Thank God two of them are in school this year.”

  “Where’s the last little munchkin?”

  “Ava is asleep. I knew she wouldn’t go down for a nap once she saw her uncle Flynn, so I put her down early. Do you have any experience with little kids, Ruby?” Tash asks, bringing me into the conversation.

  For a moment, I’m not sure what to say. I’m still stunned by the opulence that surrounds me. “I’ve babysat for friends before. But, I kind of struggle just taking care of myself most of the time.”

  Tash laughs. “That’s how I felt when I was your age.” Then she walk
s toward the kitchen. “I hope chicken and salad is all right. I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.”

  “We brought wine,” I say, feeling stupid that I can’t seem to find my manners. Why couldn’t he come from a family of disinterested failures like I do? I don’t know what he sees in me when women like this are his role models.

  “Thank you.” She smiles, already having taken out wine glasses while Flynn opens the bottle and starts pouring.

  He hands one to me and leans close to my ear. “Relax,” he whispers. “I’m proving myself to you. Not the other way around.”

  When our eyes meet, I feel this calm ease over me. He’s right, I’m here to learn about him, not to be intimidated. I take a mouthful of wine and let the alcohol relax me further. I’m being stupid.

  “There she is.” Noticing me relax, he smiles and takes my hand, leading me to the dining room where Tash has already set up lunch.

  “It’s a nice day,” she says. “We can take this outside if you’d like.”

  “Here is fine,” I answer. “I don’t want you to go to any more trouble.”

  Taking our seats, the conversation starts off with the basic questions such as what I do for a living and where I went to school and eventually makes it to how Flynn and I met.

  “He knocked me over, broke my phone, then sat by when a magpie pecked me in the head,” I respond immediately, smiling as I watch Flynn’s somewhat embarrassed reaction.

  Tash laughs. “And you’re still with him?”

  “Oh no, we’re not together. Flynn and I are just....” I meet his eyes, dark and assessing, waiting for what my answer will be. “We’re friends.”

  “OK.” She smiles, looking between us with unspoken questions in her eyes. “Well, you won’t find a better friend than Flynn. He’s always been very loyal to those he cares about.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  The conversation flows comfortably, and I find myself laughing when Tash talks about the time Amelia took Flynn into her room and coloured his face with her favourite lipstick. “It took Mum an hour to get that stuff off him. I, of course, was livid. I was fourteen and I’d saved my pocket money to buy it from the Chanel counter in Myer. I’d felt so grown up getting it. Then my four-year-old brother used it as a mask and it was all gone.”

  Flynn wipes his eyes, laughing. “To be fair, it was all Amelia’s idea. She was trying to make me look like Hellboy.”

  “You two were terrible together. I’m surprised Mum didn’t spend her days rocking in the corner.”

  “We turned out OK.”

  Tash’s lips curve in a wistful smile as she looks at her brother. “More than OK.”

  It’s at that moment the baby monitor announces a little girl’s voice calling for her mother. “I’m wake, Mummy.”

  “She’s smart,” I say when Tash goes upstairs to get her.

  “Like her mum,” he responds. On his face is this smile that announces pure love and happiness. It makes my heart ache because I’ve never made that face and never had that expression directed at me. I decide that Flynn is a very blessed man with an open heart.

  “I like her,” I tell him quietly while she’s out of earshot.

  “Not as snooty as you thought she’d be?”

  “Not at all.” I feel silly for even worrying “And she’s painting you in a good light, so... mission accomplished, I suppose.”

  He covers his mouth, mocking surprise. “You mean I’m not the villain you thought I was? Wow, that’s high praise coming from you, Miss Garvan.”

  “Indeed.” I laugh, my attention drawn to the staircase when I hear a squeal.

  “Uncle Flynn!” A bundle of dark hair and energy leaves her mother’s arms and races toward her uncle’s open ones.

  “Ava, my favourite three-year-old,” Flynn says, lifting her in the air. “How was your nap?”

  “Good. I have so much energy to play outside,” she says with her little voice, her words not quite forming properly as they fall out of her pink lips.

  “I see,” Flynn replies thoughtfully. “But have you had your lunch?”

  “Yes. I had it early. But we can have a snack. Mummy has chocolate cookies.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe after we play,” Flynn decides.

  “OK.” The little girl pushes back from him and he lets her down to the floor, smiling as she races for the sliding door.

  “It looks as though I’m needed outside. Excuse me, ladies.”

  Moving to the outdoor table, Tash and I watch on as the two play, laughing along with them and commenting on their interactions. It’s nothing deep, and I hope it stays that way. But, of course, Tash has other plans.

  “Flynn gave me the impression you two were dating. Said something about making a good impression?”

  I press my lips together. “Um, yeah. He’s trying to win me over.”

  “So, he wants to date you, but you’re refusing and he’s trying to change your mind?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can I ask why you’re refusing him? You don’t have to answer, but I’m curious because I’m sensing something between you two.”

  “I’m dating someone else.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly. “Yet you’re here with Flynn. How does your boyfriend feel about this?”

  “Well.” I’m beginning to sweat a little under her scrutiny. “He doesn’t exactly know. I’ll tell him tonight when we talk. He’s in Melbourne right now. But he knows Flynn is staying with me while his place is fumigated.”

  “Fumigated?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  She takes a mouthful of wine. “I probably just forgot.”

  We fall silent for a second, watching Flynn push his niece on the swing set.

  “He’s so good with her,” I comment, attempting to bring the conversation back to more neutral ground.

  “So, tell me, what does your current boyfriend have that Flynn is lacking?”

  “Wow. I can tell you two are related. You don’t let a topic drop too easily. But if you must know, he has a job, for starters.”

  “Flynn doesn’t have a job?” Her brow lifts halfway up her forehead and before I can respond, she’s calling out the door. “Um, Flynn.” He jogs over with Ava giggling as she chases after him.

  “What’s up?” he looks between us.

  “Did you tell this young lady that you don’t have a job?”

  He glances at me and then looks at her, his expression that of a child caught in a lie. “I told her that I’m in between projects, weighing my options. The rest, she came up with on her own.”

  “So, you do have a job?” I ask.

  While at the same time, Tash says, “Why would you do that?”

  “Why does it matter?” he asks us both. “What a man does for a living doesn’t speak for his character. I care about people and I care about feelings. I couldn’t give a shit what job they do.”

  Tash frowns. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not for you—either of you—to understand. I am in between projects right now, and all that matters is that I have enough cash to live on, right? Nothing else is anybody’s business but mine.”

  Tash holds up her hands, conceding. “OK. It’s your life, Flynn. Make your own mistakes.”

  “Thank you,” he says, running a hand through his hair before he looks at me. “Can I get you something else to drink?”

  Confused by that entire conversation, I simply look up at him and nod, not trusting my mouth not to push for some sort of clarification out of him. When he walks back inside with my glass, I turn to his sister, who’s frowning in thought.

  “So, does he have a job or not?”

  She lifts her hands and sighs. “Obviously not. Listen, can you play with Ava for a minute?”

  “Of course,” I agree, smiling at the little girl.

  “Do you know how to blow bubbles?” Ava asks.

  “I do.”

  “I don’t,” she says. “But I have a bubble machine. U
ncle Flynn gotted it for me. You wanna see?”

  “Sure.” I take the little hand she offers and follow her to a door that leads to the internal laundry.

  On the benchtop is her bubble machine, a bright yellow and pink thing that you fill with bubble mixture and switch on. As I’m getting it ready for her, I hear the sounds of Tash and Flynn talking. They’re trying to keep their voices down, but one problem with these large open homes is that sound carries.

  “And while you’re slumming it with a girl who isn’t even interested in you, Paul is having to pick up all the slack.”

  “That’s not fair, Tash. Take a look around you. I think I’ve earned this.”

  I creep closer to the internal door, peeking out so I can see them talking in the kitchen. Tash has her arms folded at first, a stern expression on her face. But then she relaxes and places her hands on Flynn’s chest.

  “You’re a good man, Flynn. Too good to be chasing a girl you’re hiding half your life from.”

  “She’s seeing everything that counts.”

  “At what cost?”

  “Ruby!” Ava yells, causing my heart to leap into my throat when Tash and Flynn look in my direction.

  I pull back from the doorway as fast as I can, grabbing the bubble machine and hoping they didn’t see me. By the time Flynn makes it outside, I have the bubbles going and Ava is dancing around trying to catch them.

  “Exactly how much of that did you hear?”

  I can’t lie to him. “Enough to know that your sister thinks you’re slumming it with me and that you’re hiding things—but I already knew the last part.”

  “I’m not hiding anything, Ruby. This is me.” He gestures to himself. “All I have to give that matters is right here. There are just certain things I’m unwilling to discuss until you’ve made your decision.”

  “I have decided, Flynn. And all I can be is your friend.”

  “That’s not going to work for me.”

  “So, this is all or nothing—no in between?”

  “All or nothing,” he confirms.

  “Then I think I’d like to go now. Tell your sister I said thank you for lunch.”

  28