by Hailey North
“Hmm,” Flynn said. He circled the back of her neck with his fingertips. “Wouldn’t be too sure. Men and women aren’t machines, you know.” He gently massaged her shoulders. “Flesh and blood. Pretty damn unpredictable.”
“That feels so good,” Sami said. “I didn’t realize how tense this journal has made me.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Flynn said, continuing to work his magic on her neck and shoulders.
Sami tipped her face down, the better to enjoy his touch and to continue reading. The next several pages were filled with her mother’s precise descriptions of neurosurgery techniques. Descriptions of cases. She flipped ahead. More of the same. Had the night of passion terrified Nathalie? Had she retreated from the edge of the chasm? Had she indeed, not seen Philippe again? More pages. More medical entries.
“This is frustrating,” Sami said, just as she turned the next page.
What sort of doctor would I be if I allowed my emotional weakness to guide my decision making processes? What sort of wife would I be if I permitted a moment of insanity to determine the remainder of my life? Philippe assures me that passion and reason may easily inhabit the same mind and body. Ah, he is proof of that theorem, yet I resist it within my own being. With Emile I am my best self.
With Philippe, I am my freest self.
He has not touched me again. He says I must make my own choice or I will end up despising him.
Perhaps he is right. I know that I long to lie within his arms, to move as one. I can only be thankful Emile remains in Boston. He returns at the end of the term. Before that day, I must decide and then I must stay the course.
“Poor Nathalie,” Sami said, and decided to share that passage with Flynn also.
“No sympathy for Emile?” Flynn sounded a bit sardonic.
Sami lowered the journal to her lap. “Excellent point. She had cheated on him. And obviously he didn’t know.”
“Well, you can’t know that for sure,” Flynn said. “She didn’t tell him, but guys aren’t stupid.”
Sami shifted around so she could see Flynn’s face. “Have you ever had your heart broken?”
He shook his head. “Not me.” He thumped a hand against his chest. “I’m like the Tin Man.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Sami said. “Look how nice you are to me. And Cameron and Jonni Scott wouldn’t be such good friends if you weren’t a nice person.”
“Aw, shucks,” Flynn said. “Keep reading.”
Sami sat up. “Deny it if you want,” she said with a smile. She scooted over, sitting upright now. What he was doing to her neck and shoulders felt wonderful. Too wonderful. She flipped through a few more pages of medical notes.
“Philippe is no more,” she read out loud. “That’s the only line on this page.”
“So she broke it off,” Flynn said.
Sami marked her place with her index finger. “Part of me wants to know why and part of me doesn’t.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s natural to wonder what my life would have been like had Nathalie not married Emile.”
“Then you wouldn’t be you,” Flynn said. “And that would be a shame.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.” Sami turned the page.
“Oh, no,” she said with a gasp. “There’s only one line on this page, also. And it’s ‘Killed on impact.’”
Flynn grimaced.
Sami turned the page and read aloud:
Emile and I attended the funeral. I did not cry. I had no more tears.
Sami felt her eyes watering, crying for what might have been for her mother.
Flynn reached out an arm and pulled Sami to his side. He stroked her hair. Said nothing. Words weren’t what Sami needed right now. He watched as one or two tears slipped down her cheeks. She was one of those women who looked beautiful when she cried. He thought of telling her that, but knew he was better off keeping his mouth shut. He had no idea what it must be like to find out your father might not be your father or he might be but you simply don’t know. Being deserted by his rat of a sperm donor was at least clear cut.
Sami wiped the back of her hand across her face. “I wonder if she would have broken off with Emile?”
Flynn shrugged. “Want to read any more or have you had enough?”
She sighed and turned to the next page, then numerous other pages. “I may as well get to the end. More notes. No emotion. Nothing personal. Ah…”
Flynn left his arm around her shoulders, in what he decided was a brotherly offer of comfort and listened as she read:
I fainted during rounds. Clara insisted on examining me. She asked me how many weeks along my pregnancy was. I did not answer her. But I knew I could no longer ignore or deny my condition. I could not abort Philippe’s baby. I could not. I presented the facts to Emile. I awaited his decision.
He had only three requests. One, that we raise the child as our own. Two, that we never speak of the circumstances. And three, in the future when I lose a patient—for it was that tragic loss in the O.R. that led to my night with Philippe—I react in a more rational and responsible fashion. Then he added that Philippe and I had given him a child, an experience he would not have known otherwise.
We married the next weekend.
“That’s the entry,” Sami said. “The remainder of the pages are blank. I conclude that my mother made these entries in order to inform me of the circumstances of my conception and genetic heritage. She has failed, however, to reveal the identity of my father, as never once does she record Philippe’s last name.”
The flat tone in which Sami was speaking worried Flynn. But he thought he understood what she was doing, retreating to the voice of Nathalie at her most practical, resorting to reason over emotion. The voice of a woman who had married a man to whom she was well-matched but not in love with. “Not many guys would have reacted the way Emile did,” Flynn said.
“He must have been very much in love with my mother,” Sami said.
“After my deadbeat dad cheated on my mother, she kicked his butt out,” Flynn said.
“I thought you said he abandoned the family.”
Flynn shrugged. “Both are true.” He didn’t want to discuss his parents. “Why do you think Nathalie left the journal for you now? Accidentally or on purpose?”
Sami tossed the book onto the coffee table and jumped up. She paced to the window, then over to the piano. “She never does anything by accident. Let me correct that statement, as she obviously became pregnant with me by accident.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “Thank you for listening to me read. I appreciate the moral support.”
“Sami, Sami,” Flynn said. He rose and walked over to her. “You’re not a machine. You’re a woman. Hell, right now you’re a hurting little girl. Let it out. Kick. Scream. Cry. Shout.”
Sami balled her hands into fists. She heard what Flynn was trying to get her to do, to let out the emotional reaction to what she’d learned. But she didn’t know if she could. Not now. Maybe not ever. “I suppose once they agreed not to talk about what had transpired between Nathalie and Philippe that meant they did not intend to reveal this information to me. But Nathalie wanted me to know. She did or she wouldn’t have kept the journal. She would have destroyed it.”
He nodded.
“I feel like a drowning woman who bobbed up to the surface only to be slapped down instead of rescued,” Sami said. “First they sell the house without notice, then Nathalie hands me this box of dynamite.” She punched one fist through the air.
“That’s it. Let it out,” Flynn said.
“I always had to be perfect,” Sami said, throwing a punch with her other fist. “Perfect grades. Perfect performances. Perfect appearance.” She punched both fists, one then the other. “After what my mother had done.” She added a side kick. “Let’s say it out loud. She cheated on her fiancé.”
“Sounds bad when you put it like that,” Flynn said.
“Bad. She was bad.” Sami dropped her arms to her sides an
d shook her head from side to side. “No, she wasn’t. She was in love. In love with Philippe.”
Flynn opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. He bent his head and kissed her, slowly, softly, then pulled her close against him. They moved, circling, more pressing together and kissing than slow-dancing. She arched against him, drowning in his kisses, knowing even as she did she should stop.
She wasn’t her mother.
Flynn was not Philippe.
This wasn’t about love.
Sami pulled back. She placed a palm against his chest. Flynn lifted her hand, gently, kissed her fingertips, and let go.
“Right, as usual,” Flynn said, breathing quickly. “How ‘bout you lock yourself in your bedroom and I take the dogs out? I promise to be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Sami said. “But I know I don’t need to lock my door.”
He looked a bit grim. “Don’t tempt the devil, Sweet Stuff.” He called the dogs and disappeared out the door.
Sami sighed and collected their martini glasses. She rinsed them and the shaker and walked slowly down the hall to the bedroom, chastising herself for being so free and loose with Flynn. For someone who claimed not to be wanted for her body alone, she had certainly let go with Flynn. His kisses. She tasted his lips. His arms around her. She hugged her chest. His touch. Sami shivered, in a delicious way.
“Fool,” she whispered and stepped into her room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Flynn was up early the next morning. He walked the dogs through the woods, enjoying the fairly cool fresh air and the birds singing. The surroundings couldn’t be more removed from his L.A. high-rise lifestyle. He could go days without being out of a building, a car, or a dark screening room.
He whistled as he made his way toward the garage, the dogs romping alongside.
His condo suited the pace of his life. Professionally decorated, great views, all the amenities on site, including his gym and maid service. He didn’t have a dog, so he didn’t have to be bothered tramping down the fifteen flights or taking the elevator to walk one.
The Corgi barked excitedly and dashed after a squirrel.
Flynn smiled.
That dog knew how to enjoy herself.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee greeted him as he walked into the apartment. Sami stood at the granite kitchen island, chopping an apple. She looked sleep-rumpled and beautiful.
“I trust that the sofa proved comfortable,” she said.
“Yep,” Flynn said, admiring the camisole and the way it clung to her curves.
“Please help yourself to coffee,” she said.
He strolled across the room, followed by the dogs. “Thanks.” He saw that she already had a cup so he fixed his, added his cream and sugar and pulled out one of the bar stools. “Feel free to put me to work,” he said.
She furrowed her brow. “I’ve been thinking.” After a sip of coffee, she said, “About Chase and what I did wrong.”
“Chase?”
“The doctor I went to Morton’s with last night.”
“Oh,” Flynn said. “Forgot all about him.”
“It’s possible I didn’t mention his name,” Sami said. “If you were he and had run off with that deer-in-the-headlights look, would you consider giving me a second chance?”
“What do you mean?”
Sami gave him a look that said he ought to be following her train of thought. Flynn shrugged. “Not at my sharpest first thing in the morning,” he said. “Do you mean should you ask him out?”
She nodded.
“And what would be different?”
She widened her eyes. Slowly, she explored the V in her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Fluttered those gorgeous lashes. Not one word did she speak.
Flynn’s groin responded. “I guess you were listening to the advice I gave you last night.”
She lifted her coffee cup and swayed slightly, circled slowly and lowered the cup.
“God, Sami, you’re dangerous.” Flynn got off the stool and took a step away from her. Back toward the living room. He didn’t trust himself, not with her so close and so kissable, wearing only a scanty camisole and some sort of flowing cotton bottoms.
“I gather that means your feedback is that I could try restarting the dating relationship with Chase.”
He frowned. “Yes, dammit.”
She arched her brows. “I do not understand why a profanity naturally follows your affirmative.”
His instinct was to stride towards her, take her in his arms, carry her to the bedroom and show her exactly why. Instead, he swallowed some coffee and stood his ground. He had no right to touch her. No right to complicate her search for True Love.
Hell, she deserved to achieve her goal.
Sami finished slicing the apple. She did not understand why Flynn seemed upset. He’d given her his professional dating advice quite freely. She would better understand if he’d shared his tips with her and she’d ignored them. He should be happy she was such a quick study. She put the slices on a plate and held them out to him.
He shook his head. “No, thanks.”
Sami nibbled on a slice. “Do you think I should ask Vonnie to set us up again? Or call him myself?”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought he groaned. “Did you truly get a good night’s sleep on that sofa?”
He shrugged. “Good enough. Call the guy. Just be yourself.”
Sami tipped her head to one side. “Being myself is what drove him away.”
“No,” Flynn said. “Being afraid to be yourself is what actually happened.”
She looked a question at him.
He waved a hand. “All that data you threw at him. And at Sean. You don’t do that with me. You’re just being you.”
“But I’m not dating you,” Sami said.
“So pretend you’re not dating that guy.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Now, that does present a novel approach.”
Flynn moved to the island and set his cup down. “Let me know how it works,” he said.
“I’ll need a means to contact you,” Sami said.
Flynn reached into a pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed Sami a business card.
“Flynn Lawrence, Personal Manager to the World’s Best Talent,” she read aloud. Then she saw the initials beneath his name. MBA. CPA. She wrinkled her brow. “Why do you try to come across as a college dropout?”
“Marketing. Got to sound one’s horn.” Flynn popped an apple slice into his mouth, despite declining her earlier offer.
“You are a man of many talents,” Sami said.
“Yeah, well, all the degrees in the world don’t count without results. So, are you making that call or not?”
Sami stretched her arms over her head and smothered a yawn. “It’s early.”
Flynn checked his watch. Shook his head. Pointed to her phone lying on the island.
Sami frowned. “Do you boss Cameron Scott around in this fashion?”
He grinned. “When necessary.”
Sami didn’t want to do it. Chase probably didn’t want to see her again. Ever. She slid one foot against the calf of her other leg.
“What have you got to lose?” Flynn didn’t say it in a flippant way, but in a gentle voice.
Sami gave him a slight smile and picked up her phone.
“I’ll leave the room if you want,” he said. “Or help you through it.”
“You can stay,” she said. “But I’m not insecure or helpless. I can manage all on my own.”
He nodded and took another bite of apple.
Chase answered in a sleepy-sounding voice. Sami made a face at Flynn. “Good morning, Chase. This is Samantha Pepper.”
“Hey,” he said.
Sami almost hung up. If it hadn’t been for Flynn standing nearby, smiling encouragement at her, she would have done so. “Hey,” she said, trying for casual.
“Hey,” he repeated.
Flynn
rolled his eyes and made drinking and eating motions with his hands.
Sami took a deep breath. “Did Vonnie tell you I get nervous on dates? And that makes me talk. A lot. Too much.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Vonnie said something to that effect. I’m going sailing this afternoon. Want to come with?”
Sami looked over at Flynn. “Wow,” she mouthed to him. “Love to,” she said.
“I got that you like to drive yourself,” Chase said. “Meet me at Hamilton Creek marina at one o’clock, ‘kay?”
“That would be—" Sami saw Flynn making cutting motions across his throat. “’Kay,” she said.
Flynn wondered what in the hell he was doing coaching a beautiful babe like Sami into a date with another guy. Okay, okay, he was helping her achieve her goal of True Love. But why in the hell did standing there listening to her feel so uncomfortable? Why did he feel the weirdest sensation of being abandoned? “So, that went fairly well,” he said. His reactions didn’t matter. Helping Sami was his purpose here.
“Surprisingly,” Sami said, gazing at her phone. “But I’ve never been sailing in my life. How am I supposed to know what to do?”
Flynn shook his head. “Sami, Sami, you don’t need to know anything. You wear that fricking dangerous bikini and loll around on the deck letting that guy know how much you admire his skill.” That bikini. Flynn closed his eyes against the image of Sami half-naked on some jerk’s sailboat.
“Do you still have a headache?”
“Guess I must.” One look at Sami in a bikini and That Guy would forget all about how she’d scared him off at dinner. Flynn winced. “Here’s another part of the dating technique lesson.”
“Really?” Sami was practically glaring at him. “Your advice amounts to me acting like a Barbie doll. What intelligent, responsible, successful man wants a mindless piece of arm candy?”
“More than you can count,” Flynn said. “But I’m not telling you to turn into a piece of marshmallow fluff. Just ease into the getting-to-know-each-other stage. Once a guy knows how fabulous you are, he’s not going to mind your talky-talky ways.”