He opened his eyes and reached for her hand at the same time, his fingers wrapping around the slim bones of her wrist like a steel bracelet. He gave her a slow smile. ‘Changed your mind about that kiss?’
Kat tried to pull out of his hold but his fingers tightened just a fraction—a delicious fraction that set her nerves tingling. ‘I—I was checking to see if you had a temperature. You can never be too careful with fractures. There can be internal bleeding and infection and you might—’
‘Am I hot?’
Way, way too hot. Way too hot for her to handle. ‘I brought you some dinner. Just leave the tray—I’ll clear it away in the morning.’
He released her hand and patted the bed near his thigh. ‘Sit. Stay and talk to me.’
Don’t do it.
Why not? He only wants to talk.
Yeah, right.
He needs some company. He’s injured.
Not his mouth, or his hands, or his you-know-what. They’re in perfect working order.
Kat felt the usual tug of war inside her mind, not to mention inside her body. She knew she should leave but another part of her wanted to stay. He drew her interest in a way no other man had done before. There was something about him that made her flesh sing just by being in the same room as him—from breathing the same air as him. He had a potent effect on her senses. He made her aware of her femininity, of her needs—the needs that were proving rather difficult to ignore, especially when she was this close to him. Close enough to touch his face again, to trace the sensual contour of his tempting mouth. To lean down and press her lips to his and see what fireworks would happen—for they would surely happen. She knew it in her bones. ‘Just for a minute, then...’ She sat on the edge of the bed.
He surveyed her features for a moment. ‘It was kind of you to stay and make me dinner. I wasn’t sure you would.’
Kat gave a shrug. ‘There’s nothing to making an omelette.’
His thumb found her pulse and stroked over its frantic beat as his eyes held hers in a mesmerising lock. ‘It’s a pity we met the way we did. Perhaps if we’d met under different circumstances you wouldn’t be sitting there but lying in here beside me.’
Kat felt a ripple of lust between her legs but disguised it by casting him a resentful glare. ‘You cost me my job in that café.’
He gave a little grimace of remorse. ‘I know. But I was lucky I didn’t get burnt when you poured that coffee in my lap.’
She chewed at her lip when she recalled that day. Having Flynn show up at the café the day after her mother’s funeral with that cheque from Richard Ravensdale had been like coarse salt rubbed into a festering wound. The thought of being paid to keep silent about something that should never have been a secret in the first place was an insult. So too was the fact that her father had sent his lawyer instead of coming to see her in person.
That hurt.
It shouldn’t but it did. If her father wanted to have a relationship with her—a proper relationship—then why send someone else to set it up for him?
But, no, Richard had paid someone to pay her to keep her mouth shut about his dirty little affair with a hotel housemaid. Now Richard wanted to be a father to her. Why? To boost his popularity? To keep his fans happy? It certainly wasn’t because he cared about her.
But Flynn had a point. If she and Flynn had met some other way she might well have considered getting involved with him. He was the most interesting man she had ever met. His looks made her go weak at the knees, but he was so much more than a good-looking man. She found his razor-sharp intelligence the biggest turn on. He was funny and charming, and yet there were layers to him, depths he kept hidden. Enigmatic depths that made her want to get as close as she possibly dared.
‘I’m sorry about the coffee but it was all too much,’ Kat said. ‘I’d only just got back from Glasgow from the funeral. I didn’t even know how anyone had found out about his affair with my mother. It was a shock to find it splashed all over the papers.’
‘Apparently one of your mother’s former workmates let something slip to a journalist,’ Flynn said. ‘The rest, as they say, is history.’
‘Sometimes I wish I hadn’t agreed to that paternity test. But I wanted to know for sure.’
‘At least you know who your father is. Lots of people never find out.’
Kat looked at him again. There was a slight frown pulling at his brow, as if he was thinking about something that pained him. Twice now she had tried to draw him out about his birth parents but he had shut off the conversation. Why was he being so stubborn about it? Lots of relinquished children managed to conduct loving relationships with their biological parents once contact was made. ‘If your biological parents ever came looking for you would you want to meet them?’
His eyes didn’t meet hers. ‘I can’t see it happening now. Not after thirty-four years.’
‘It’s never too late to give up hope.’
He gave her a movement of his lips that was almost a smile. ‘That’s exactly what your father keeps saying.’
Kat didn’t want to think about the father she didn’t want, and Flynn’s father, whom he might never meet. In her mind the two situations were completely different. ‘Is your foot troubling you?’
‘Not much.’
She rose from the bed. ‘I should let you have your food and go back to sleep.’
He captured her hand again, giving it a light squeeze that was perfectly timed with his on-off smile. ‘Thanks.’
Kat bit her lip again as she looked at their joined hands. His skin was deeply tanned, as if he had been somewhere warm recently. She could see the paler band where his watch usually rested. His fingers were almost twice the thickness of hers, making her feel more feminine than she had in years. If she could just grow her nails instead of biting them back to the elbow she would feel even more feminine. ‘I’m really sorry about your foot.’
But, when she looked back at him to see why he hadn’t said anything, she saw he was soundly asleep.
* * *
Flynn swore as he came out of the shower the next morning. Not only had he overslept, which was going to make him late for his first client, the plastic bag he had wrapped around his foot hadn’t done the job of keeping his bandage dry. And his foot was hurting. Badly. He limped out of the en suite to his bedroom with a towel around his hips to find Kat at his bedside collecting his tray from the night before.
She swung around and then quickly averted her gaze. ‘Sorry. I thought you were still in the shower. I knocked but—’
‘It’s fine.’ He reached for a pair of boxers and a shirt. ‘I’m going to be late for work. Has Cricket been out yet?’
She kept her back turned to him as she straightened his bed, smoothing down the covers with meticulous precision, as if she did it for a living. ‘Yes, I took him out first thing.’
