One-NightLoveChild by One Night Love Child

Author:One Night Love Child
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-03-29T19:53:33+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

SWEET dreams?

He ought to have his head examined. His own were highly charged, erotic, and frustrating as hell, which probably served him right.

What kind of idiot broke off a kiss when the woman he was wooing had finally started kissing him back?

This one. Flynn Murray.

Because it had seemed like a smart idea at the time. And because he’d given her his word.

As much has he would have loved to have swept her off her feet and up to her bedroom to make love to her, he couldn’t. The time wasn’t right. Not now. Now yet.

It would be marvelous and sexy and he was certain he could make it good for her. It would also blow up in his face.

Sara valued promises. Integrity. Keeping your word. And while he might have been able to subvert her resolve in the short run, there would be recriminations, angst and remorse after.

If he had taken her up to her room and made love to her, she would have hated him more in the morning than she was already trying to hate him now—and with far better reason.

So, he’d left. He’d kept his word.

The mistake might have been kissing her goodbye to make sure she thought of him after he left. He hoped she had, because he had certainly suffered the plight of the terminally frustrated thereafter.

Flynn wasn’t used to thinking in terms of the L word, but he sure as hell didn’t know what else you would call the sort of martyrdom that had had him stopping the car and throwing himself into a snow bank instead of throwing Sara onto a bed and giving them both what they really wanted.

So he dreamed of her—and of fulfillment.

And he awoke denied, and more frustrated—and determined—than ever.

He was up and at the grocery store at six. He hit the florist shop as soon as he saw the light on. And he showed up on Sara’s doorstep at eight-thirty, bearing his laptop, groceries, a book and flowers.

“For you,” he said, handing her the bouquet. They were daffodils, bright and sunny yellow, shouting of spring in the midst of a Montana winter. “When I saw them, I thought of you.” She always looked like spring to him.

Even this morning with her eyes slightly bloodshot, her hair tousled, and her face pale—from lack of sleep, he dared hope—she was the bright spot in his life.

Her eyes widened when he thrust the flowers into her hands. But she didn’t speak. She just stood there, holding the damn daffodils in nerveless finger, staring at him.

“I’m not kidding,” he said irritably, when no enthusiastic thanks, no smiles, no gushing were forthcoming. “They remind me of sunshine. So do you.”

At her startled blink, he grimaced. “More eloquence,” he muttered. “God help me.”

But then she grinned—and it was such a delighted, delightful grin that the sun really did seem to come out. “Thank you,” she said. “They’re lovely.”

And the brightness in her eyes told him she meant it.

“Dad! You’re back!” Another bit of brightness—albeit a moving one—as Liam hurtled down the stairs and flung himself at Flynn.

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