Talking Trouble

by Barbara Elsborg

  “No. Moll…ee…house.”

  Damn. “Okay.” Maybe it was better to get this over with. The others would be at work but she could let Lysander see him. He’d understand she had to help him, and that last night couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t even have to say anything. Lysander would take one look and know. You coward, Mollie girl. But was it fair of her to risk Flint’s secret getting out? She’d be better trying to convince him to stay here, but he kept tugging at her arm, trying to get her to move.

  As they came out of the room and headed for the door, Brigid and Andy stood in the way.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Brigid snapped.

  “Moll…ee…house,” Flint said.

  The furious look on Brigid’s face made Mollie grin for just a moment until she thought about what was to come.

  They left with fingers laced together, and Mollie pulled up Flint’s hood. What the hell was Lysander going to say when he saw them together? He’d have no respect for her, that was for sure. Maybe he’d be in his studio. Mollie prayed he was. Maybe the best thing to do was actually introduce him to Flint and explain what she was doing. Or alternatively keep Flint hidden.

  She heard no sounds when she opened the door, but when they walked into the kitchen, Nikki was in there. Shit. She was one person Mollie definitely didn’t want identifying Flint.

  “I thought you were leaving?” Mollie blurted.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Nikki snapped. She glanced at Flint, still hiding under his hood, and frowned.

  “He’s my friend,” Mollie said. “Nikki’s not my friend so ignore her.”

  Mollie grabbed mugs from the cupboard and willed the kettle to boil quickly.

  “Where’ve you come from?” Nikki sidled up to Flint.

  “Don’t speak to her,” Mollie said and held her finger to her lips.

  “Looks like you’ve been a very good boy.” Nikki fingered the stickers on his chest and Flint pushed her fingers away.

  “Ssstop,” he said.

  “Leave him alone, Nikki.”

  “You said you didn’t have a boyfriend. Does Lysander know?”

  Mollie tugged his arm. “We’ll go outside. Bring your coffee.”

  When they were in the garden and away from Nikki, Mollie breathed a sigh of relief. She led him over the lawn and into the area beyond, where she’d been working. They sat side by side on the stone steps that led nowhere cradling their drinks.

  “Secret garden,” she said.

  He frowned. “See…crit.”

  “Secret.” She put her finger on her lips and made a shushing sound. “Secret. You’re a secret.”

  “Secret.” He nodded. “Secret Garden. Book.”

  “Yes. It’s a book. I loved it when I was a child.”

  She thought about the story, about the orphaned Mary coming to Yorkshire, finding the garden and finding a friend in Dickon and the way they’d helped the crippled Colin regain his strength. Some weird parallels there.

  “Will you help me?” She pointed to the weeds and pretended to pull.

  “Yesss.”

  They worked side by side using the tools from the greenhouse and after a short while Flint took off his hoodie. The clouds were moving slowly in a bright sky and the day was already warm. Flint was able to yank things up Mollie couldn’t, and all the time they talked, she named things and he repeated them. He pointed and she told him the word. They sang a whole range of songs quietly together and she let Flint fill in missing lines. They played opposites, and charades, and the smile on Flint’s face allowed her to forget disaster lay a few yards away. What should I say to Lysander?

  When they uncovered a patch of blackberries, they stopped to feed them to each other. As they pushed the berries into each other’s mouth, she knew Flint was going to kiss her. She also knew she ought not to let it happen, but wanting it to happen kept her feet planted. He bent his head, brushed his mouth over hers and she tasted the fruit on his lips.

  “You…good,” he whispered.

  But when he reached to pull her closer, she skipped away. Not in Lysander’s garden. She knew she’d puzzled Flint but she couldn’t let this go any further until she’d sorted out the way she felt. She scooped up the stuff they’d pulled out and carried it to the bottom end of the garden to drop it in a heap. Guilt nibbled insistently at her stomach. She hadn’t meant to, but she was leading both men on. I can’t fall for two men at the same time. It was as difficult as not having any guy at all. More difficult because people were going to get hurt and Mollie couldn’t bear that. What the hell am I going to do? Tears formed in her eyes.

  She couldn’t choose.

  She had to.

  “Mollie?”

  She spun around when she heard Lysander’s voice. Shit. Maybe things were about to be decided for her.

  The spade fell from Flint’s hand. He knew that voice couldn’t belong to who he thought it did.

  “Mollie?” the same voice called.

  Oh shit. Everything in him went tight including his lungs. Breathe! I fucking can’t. He grabbed his hoodie and bolted to the far end of the garden, forcing his way through the boundary hedge. Lysander fucking Weldon. He finally sucked in a breath, battering at the branches that snagged him, dragging his hoodie from their grasp, scratching his legs and arms as he pushed his way free—and ran.

  Flint had buried the memories of what had happened two years ago. Buried them, covered them with tons of earth and smacked a concrete slab on top to keep them down. He thought he’d pushed them deep enough but at the sound of Lysander’s voice they’d burst to the surface like spring flowers. Memories of how the guy smelled, the silky feel of his hair, the cut-off gasp he made as he came, the way his head fit so perfectly in the junction of Flint’s neck and shoulder, his taste—it all poured back into his head as if they’d never been apart.

  He knew every inch of Lysander’s body—he’d licked it, sucked it, bitten it, explored it with his fingers and his tongue and his cock. He didn’t want to think about how many others had done that since they’d parted. He’d stopped himself thinking about that because it had driven him mad, but now those thoughts had shoved their way straight back into his head. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Flint had run even though he wanted more than anything to see Lysander again. He’d run because seeing Lysander was the last thing he needed, particularly now. So running’s the answer, is it? He stopped and leaned against a tree, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. He’d known he might meet the guy again at some point, though he hadn’t expected it to be here, nor when Flint couldn’t even tell him he was sorry. He fingered the phone in his pocket. He might be able to tell Ham where he was but what help could he be? And how did Mollie fit into all this? He straightened. Shit. Mollie. Lysander had said he never wanted to see him again, but Mollie hadn’t deserved him just fucking off like that.

  He headed back, his mind bubbling with questions. How did Lysander know Mollie? How the fuck had he and Lysander ended up in the same back end of nowhere? Had Ryker known Lysander lived in the next fucking house? Flint assumed this was Lysander’s house. Oh fuck. He jerked to a halt. Was Mollie with Lysander? Of course she was. I’m a fucking idiot.

  * * * *

  Lysander looked around the cleared garden. “What the fuck have you done?” He kept his voice calm but inside fury raged like a tropical storm.

  “I just thought I could clear the weeds, get the—”

  “Why would you think I needed this doing? If I’d wanted the garden sorted out, I’d have had it fucking sorted out.”

  She flinched as he snapped, but he couldn’t help himself. His heart raced so fast he’d give himself a headache.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It was wild. You’ve ruined it.”

  She bit back a sob. “I’m really sorry. I thought I was doing something good. I only pulled up weeds, not plants. I had no idea you wanted to keep it this way. I thought you were just too busy to do anything but
the lawn.”

  “I don’t mow the lawn. Jean-Paul does.”

  Memories flooded back and blocked his throat. It was as if sluice gates had been opened to allow everything to pour through, not just water but all the detritus the water carried.

  “This place is private.” He spat out the words.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “I’ll put it right. I’ll buy wild flower seeds.”

  “You can’t put it right.”

  “I can try. I’m so sorry. Oh God. Okay, I’ll go. I’ll leave right now. You never have to see me again. You—”

  “List…dare.”

  He froze at the sound of the voice. Mollie’s gaze was fixed on a point behind him so he hadn’t imagined someone speaking.

  “Lies…dirt. Lies…and…er.”

  He turned and the bottom fell out of his world.

  “What the…? What the fuck are you doing here?” Lysander gasped.

  “He can’t—” Mollie began.

  “Shut up.”

  Mollie tugged at his arm. “No, I won’t.”

  Lysander shook her off and glared at her. “This has nothing to do with you.” Then he started. “Fuck. Does it? Do you two know one another? What the hell is going on? What are you doing here, Flint? I told you I never wanted to see you again. Bad enough that your fucking face is plastered everywhere. Fuck off. Get out of here. Now.”

  “He doesn’t understand.” Mollie tugged again at Lysander’s sleeve.

  “Oh, he fucking understands what he did.” Lysander wrenched free of her hold, stepped toward Flint and punched him. A good hard smack on the jaw that whipped Flint’s head back and hurt Lysander’s fingers.

  “Don’t.” Mollie put herself between them. “You don’t understand.”

  Lysander almost laughed. “Yes, I fucking do.”

  He pulled Flint away from Mollie and thumped him in the stomach. Flint doubled over, gasping, then straightened up and stared at him, clutching his belly.

  “Fight back,” Lysander yelled.

  “Stop it.” Mollie threw herself at him and he pushed her out of the way and hit Flint again.

  He wanted to hurt him, punch him, thump him, beat him, hit him, kill him, kiss him… Oh shit. Flint just stood there, slightly bent over, blood on his mouth, his breathing rapid, and even the dark shadows under his eyes didn’t mar his beauty. Bastard. Lysander could hear Mollie telling him to stop even as he launched himself forward and knocked Flint to the ground.

  “Fight back, you fucking bastard.”

  But all Flint did was cover his face and take the punches. Mollie was yanking at Lysander’s arms, yelling at him, wrapping her hands around one of his fists. Too bad, he had another.

  “He can’t understand,” she kept repeating. “He doesn’t know what you’re saying. Will you stop? Please.”

  Flint didn’t need to understand what he was saying. He already knew what he’d done. But Mollie wormed her way between them, lay over Flint, protected him with her body, wrapped herself around him and Lysander finally pushed to his feet and backed away. He watched her wipe blood from Flint’s mouth with the bottom of her T-shirt, watched her stroke the red mark on his cheek, and if he’d thought his world had ended before, he’d been wrong. Now it ended.

  What the hell had that been about last night, getting him to wank off in the shower, making him think…? Did Flint know? What were he and Mollie up to? They stood and brushed themselves down.

  “What are you doing here?” Lysander made a superhuman effort to keep his voice calm and level.

  “Ill,” Flint blurted. “Moll…ee…help. Tree, bush, bird, head, shoulders, knees, toes.” He cast Mollie a despairing glance.

  “He had a stroke,” she said.

  Lysander inhaled but no air reached his lungs. The ground under his feet turned to liquid and he wobbled. “What?”

  “He had a stroke. He’s suffering from aphasia. He can’t understand language, can’t use language, can’t write or read. He’s learning to speak all over again.”

  Lysander stared into Flint’s blue eyes and his anger evaporated. “When did it happen?”

  “I don’t know. I met him when I was out running the first morning I was here.”

  He believed her. It was a coincidence she was here. Though he wasn’t sure that was true of Flint.

  “It’s a secret,” Mollie said. “Very few people know this has happened to him. You mustn’t tell anyone.”

  And there was his chance for vengeance offered to him on a plate. The mighty Flint Klavan reduced to this. But Lysander knew his violent reaction had come more through shock than anger. If he’d wanted revenge, he could have had it long ago. He couldn’t take his eyes off Flint. He hadn’t thought seeing him again in the flesh would hurt so much.

  That bruised jaw had rubbed against Lysander’s thigh as Flint had licked and sucked and driven him to distraction. Lysander’s fingers twitched as he recalled the way he used to grip Flint’s hair and pull him down so he could drive his cock deeper into his throat, the way Flint’s cock had come alive in his hand, in his mouth, in his arse. Those eyes had once looked at him with more love than he’d ever felt from any other person. Their love had burned and dazzled and eaten them both up, but Flint had betrayed his trust and destroyed not just him.

  Was Marcus, his agent, behind this? Had he and Ryker, Flint’s agent, thought they could get them back together? He turned away and headed to the house for his phone. As he moved onto the lawn, he saw Nikki slip into the kitchen. Had the little bitch been listening? He went back to Mollie and Flint, who hadn’t moved.

  “Where’s he living?” Lysander asked.

  “The house on the other side of the dam.”

  Lysander gave a short laugh. “Coincidence or deliberate?”

  “He ran when he heard your voice,” Mollie said. “That doesn’t seem as though moving here was deliberate.”

  “He should have kept running.”

  “What did he do that’s so bad?” she asked.

  Lysander stared straight at him. “He killed my wife and child.”

  Mollie gasped and Flint caught her hand and held it tight. Flint killed Lysander’s wife and child? Flint’s face was chalk white, his mouth tight. Had he understood what Lysander had said?

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Lysander turned and stalked off down the lawn, closed the doors to the kitchen, and slumped at the patio table. Flint and Mollie joined him.

  Lysander stared at Flint. “Want me to tell her?”

  “I told you, he can’t understand, can’t speak,” Mollie said.

  Lysander gave a scornful laugh and Flint tightened his grip on her fingers.

  “I met Flint three years ago, at a gallery opening where my work was on display. We fucked in the bathroom at the gallery, at the party afterward and all over his flat during the next few days. Pure, unadulterated lust.” Lysander swallowed hard. “After that, we met whenever we could. I’d been married for eight months when I met him. I’d not been with a guy for two years. But he was…irresistible. Many find him irresistible.”

  The look Lysander gave her made Mollie crumble inside.

  “I made it clear it couldn’t be anything more than snatched moments, the occasional overnight stay, sometimes a weekend. Once we managed an entire week skiing. Easy to be anonymous in helmets and goggles. We flew in a private jet, rented a secluded chalet. We both understood we couldn’t have more than that.” Lysander spat out the words. “I was married. My wife deserved better. She deserved loyalty. She deserved all of me. I’d made a commitment to her. I had to honor it, no matter how much… Shit.” He put his head in his hands.

  Flint stared at Lysander intently, and Mollie wondered if he’d understood any of what Lysander had said, if he’d needed to understand. Maybe just looking at him told him everything.

  “But some things you can’t fight.” Lysander raised his head. “I should have walked away the first time I looked into his eye
s but I didn’t.”

  “Car…” Flint pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Car…” he whispered.

  Mollie bit back her gulp. Lysander showed nothing on his face.

  “We couldn’t stop seeing each other.” Lysander’s voice had quieted. “We kept trying and failing. Not just Flint. Me too. I left my wife and then went back. The situation was tearing us apart and Elke…”

  Lysander clenched his fist on the table, his knuckles white.

  “Did you love your wife as much as you loved Flint?” she whispered.

  It took a long time for Lysander to answer. “No, but that didn’t mean I was going to give her up. Elke was fragile. She needed me. I wanted them both and I couldn’t have them both. Flint told me he was going to speak to her and ask her to let me go, that he’d tell her how much he loved me, make her understand. I asked him not to. Begged him. I swore I wouldn’t see him anymore if he spoke to her.” He gave a short laugh. “He didn’t believe me. I saw Flint coming out of our flat in London. I rushed inside and found Elke in tears. She said she needed time on her own and she came up here to our other house. A week later, she hung herself from a tree in the garden. She was three months pregnant. I didn’t even know.”

  Mollie cringed. Oh God.

  “Now can you see why I never wanted to see him again?”

  “No,” she said.

  Lysander gaped at her.

  “Flint didn’t kill her. She killed herself. He didn’t kill your child. She did. I understand she must have been terribly unhappy, but you can’t know why she did what she did. Maybe it had nothing—”

  “She left a note, said love couldn’t be shared.”

  “That still doesn’t make it his fault.”

  Lysander banged his fist on the table and she jumped. “Why are you on his side? Are you fucking him? You wank me off one day, him another?”

  Please don’t let Flint have understood that. Mollie licked her dry lips. “I’m not on anyone’s side and no, we haven’t fucked. You can’t blame Flint for what she did.”

  “Yes I can.”

  “Because it’s easier than blaming yourself?” she flung back.