Page 58 of Flynn

He held her close, his fingers soothingly running up and down her back. He heard the doors of his bedroom open and guessed that his mother had sent something up, but he did not move until she was ready. He was content to stay just like this. As long as she was in his arms, inside his suite, he cared little about anything else.

Chapter 13

He took care of her. Ryleigh was left with little doubt about his feelings for her. She had never had this tender loving care before, the way he picked her up and took her to his big bed in the middle of the cast room.

The furnishings were sturdy oak, decorated with intricate etchings. And his closet was three times the size of hers. Laying her gently against the pillows, he took off her clothes, his hands gentle, and without a word, he pulled the nightgown over her head.

“Don’t.” She whispered when he took the tray left on the side table and placed it on his lap.

Ignoring her protest, he lifted the cover and moved closer to spoon the broth into her mouth.

“Flynn-”

“Shh,” he ordered huskily, dipping the spoon into the clear liquid and bringing it to her mouth again. She abandoned the rest of the protests and drank until the bowl was empty. She felt the tears gathering at the back of her eyes when he pulled her up and rubbed her back so that she could burp.

And she did. When she was finished, he started on the tea, holding the cup so she could drink. When he was satisfied that she wouldn’t bring it all up, he set aside the cup and put away the tray.

In silence, she watched him take off his clothes and come to join her. Turning her to face him, he examined every inch of her face, noticing the dewy eyes and the parted lips.

“I am not used to people taking care of me.” She whispered.

“I am aware,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “I am afraid you will have to get used to it.” His touch was gentle. “I am here, and even if you fight me, piss me off as you seem to have a knack for doing, I am here.”

“I am beginning to realize that.” She swallowed the heavy lump inside her throat. “You are naked.” Her fingers spread over the warmth of his chest, loving the feel of his flesh, which reminded her poignantly of velvet over steel. His muscles flexed at her touch, and she felt beautiful at the sharp intake of his breath as she brushed his nipples lightly.

“I hate the confinement of clothing when I am in bed. It goes back to when I lived with my mother in that two-room hovel we called home for so long. The heating was always faulty, and the AC was a joke. Too hot in the summer and too cold during the winter.” His fingers smoothed out her cheek.

“Tell me about that time.”

His amber eyes met hers for a few seconds. “I barely knew my old man.” he shrugged slightly. “He took off when the responsibilities became too much for him. He was a spineless bastard who did not take his marriage and commitment seriously.”

“Your mother must have been so overwhelmed.”

“I suppose she must have been, but she never showed it.” He stared off into the darkness in contemplative silence. “I resented the hell out of her for a long time, wondering if she was the one who had scared him off. Then, I blamed myself. I came upon her one night, crying in the kitchen.

She thought I had long gone to bed. I crept out of the room to try to find something to eat. Food was scarce back then. She used to get something from the church, which helped out a lot, but there was never enough.” He smiled at her whimsically.

“I was a growing boy, and I was very athletic. I was involved in almost every sport. I used much energy, and it had to be replaced. We had eaten our meal-” He shook his head. “I don’t recall what it was, but I felt peckish. There were apples, and I figured I could grab a couple.

She was sitting around the rickety dining table, with her face buried in her hands, and she was sobbing and praying. I stood just outside the doorway, staring at her. She had always appeared to be strong, never complaining, working two or three jobs. I never thought of her as a person who was going through hell.

She was just mother, the person who was supposed to make things right.” Tilting her chin up, he stared at her, a smile ghosting his lips. She went still at the look on his handsome face and felt her heart turning over.

“What did you do?” She whispered, almost afraid to interrupt.

“I stood there for a minute, and when she got up to go to the stove, I fled. Up to this day, she never knew I was there, that I had witnessed her breakdown. I spent the night thinking, planning, and vowing to myself that I was going to make her proud and make things better for her.” He brushed a kiss over her lips, unable to help himself.

Touching her had become his favorite thing to do. She clung to him, opening her lips and returning the kiss. When he finally lifted his head, they were both shaken. It took a few minutes to remember where he had left off in telling the story.

“And you did.”

“What?” he blinked at her, his heart hammering inside his chest.

“You made her proud.”

“Yes.” he smiled slightly, amazed at how quickly she could scramble his brain. “I kept that night at the forefront of my mind and used it to channel my desire to make something of myself so that I could provide for her. The first million I made was for her. I immediately took her out of that neighborhood and built this place for us.”

“You designed it yourself.”