Despite everything, could the rose petals mean he still cared? Flynn had claimed he wanted her to stay, but he hadn’t said he loved her.
Impatient to discover the answer, she dumped the groceries and her briefcase on the credenza and then followed the petal-strewn path. Her body hummed with anticipation. What would she find at the top of those stairs?
Similar incidents from the past rushed forward, crowding her brain with a smorgasbord of happy, sexy, tender and delicious memories of the claw-foot tub with bubbles and petals floating on the surface and Flynn waiting to be her personal bath attendant, a sexy new black cocktail dress with sinful matching lingerie and dancing shoes and Flynn struggling with the bow tie of his tux as he exited the bathroom. Or maybe she’d find Flynn, nak*d and hungry for her in their bed.
Scratch that thought. The roses turned away from the master suite and led to the closed door of the guest room—her room. Was he waiting in her bed?
“Flynn?”
“In here.”
She pushed open her door. The ruby-speckled path led to Flynn, seated by the French doors on the only piece of furniture remaining in the room. Even the rugs had been stripped from the polished hardwood floors. He rose and stepped aside, revealing a wooden rocking chair.
“You’ll need this when the baby arrives.” He curved his fingers over the high back and stroked the smooth wood. “The man who made the baby furniture made this.”
“Where is everything else?” She waved a hand to indicate the empty room.
“I moved your clothes to our room and the bedroom suite upstairs.”
A big step, but she was okay with that. “By yourself?”
“Brock helped.”
When she’d discovered the roses, she’d expected seduction and sex. Hot, steamy sex. Instead, Flynn had given her something better—a concrete visual of the future within their grasp.
He thumped a knuckle on the hand-carved back of the rocker. “Try it out.”
She crossed the room and sank into the chair. The wood, retaining the warmth of Flynn’s body, embraced her. Her fingers stroked the glossy armrests. This was where she’d sit and nurse their baby, where she’d rock her son or daughter to sleep. A rush of emotion squeezed her chest.
“It’s beautiful, Flynn. I love it. Thank you.”
His lips brushed the top of her head, then he circled and knelt in front of her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Her breath caught. “I forgot all about the holiday. I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”
“You’re here where you belong. That’s all I need.” He pulled her from the chair and into his arms. His mouth teased hers tenderly at first and then with intensifying passion that made her blood race.
Yes, she was where she belonged. And she would make their marriage work this time. A bond was only as strong as its weakest link, and she would not be that weak link. She would be strong for Flynn and for their baby.
Flynn felt Renee’s capitulation clear down to his bones. Her lips moved with his, her supple body melted against him, and her nails dug into his waist, pulling him closer.
Adrenaline shot through him. He’d won.
He wanted to celebrate his success in an act of making love that had nothing to do with making a baby. He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall. Without breaking the kiss, he laid her in the center of the bed and followed her down.
Her arms slid from his neck to his chest. She tugged at his shirt as if eager to be skin to skin with him—the way she used to. But something was different. There was an urgency to her frantic movements that went beyond hunger.
She hiked his shirttail, slid her hands beneath the fabric and went straight for his erogenous zones, tracing the underside of his arms, along his rib cage, the small of his back, his hipbones. He sucked in a sharp breath when her fingertips dipped into his waistband and hunger overrode his curiosity.
He shrugged off his shirt and then swept her sweater over her head. Her n**ples showed clearly through the lace of her white bra. Propping himself on an elbow, he bent and captured one peachy tip. Her scent filled his lungs and the lace abraded his tongue. He raked her puckered flesh with his teeth, tugging gently then sucking. She rewarded him with a soft “Mmm.”
She cradled his head with one hand. The other worked the button and zipper of his khaki pants, and then she slid her hand inside his open fly, cupping, then stroking his erection. Desire pulsed through him, making him harder, hotter and impatient to sink into her wetness.
He rolled away from her talented hands, knelt and quickly stripped her skirt down her legs. He paused long enough to admire her white bikini panties and then those and her bra had to go, leaving her in nothing but glistening golden curls and her black heels.
Like a cat, she rolled into a kneeling position and reached for him. He evaded her grasp long enough to stand by the side of the bed and shuck the remainder of his clothing under her hungry gaze. Her palms splayed on her thighs and her full br**sts called for attention. Blue-violet eyes scrolled over him and she licked her lips. His pulse rate doubled.
Why had no other woman ever affected him as strongly as Renee did? And how the hell could Renee have walked away from this as if it didn’t matter? As if he didn’t matter.
“Make love with me, Flynn. I need you. Here.” Her husky whisper followed by her fingers gliding down her torso, combing through her curls and covering what he yearned for demolished his anger and any chance he had of taking it slow.
He craved the taste of her. Lunging forward, he feasted on her mouth, her neck, her br**sts, belly and navel, then finally reached her nectar. No one tasted like Renee, and no one other than her had been able to satisfy his need.
He licked, sucked and nibbled her until her cries filled his ears and her spasming body arched off the bed. He wanted to be unselfish, to bring her to orgasm multiple times, but he had to be inside her. Now. Palming her bottom, he lifted her. Her fingers curled around his erection, stroking him, then guiding him. He slid into her wet, welcoming warmth, and his muscles locked as he fought for control and savored the feel of her.
Her internal muscles gripped him and her fingers, digging into his butt, urged him to move. He couldn’t resist. He pumped harder and faster, her slickness easing his way.
Her hands rushed over his body, as if urgently mapping his muscles, then her nails skimmed his n**ples. Jaw-clenching bolts of pleasure shot through him. He tried to focus on her, on her soft gasps, on the jiggle of her full br**sts with each hard thrust, on finding and caressing her center.
He lost it. His cli**x exploded, sending shards of ecstasy through his body.
One corner of his mind registered Renee’s cries as she joined him, and along with repletion, the sense of coming home, of finally being where he belonged, overwhelmed him.
Lungs bellowing, he eased down beside her. Not knowing the reason she’d left the first time meant he couldn’t prevent her leaving again. The lack of control unsettled him.
Then he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Renee shifted, hooking her thigh over his and her arm over his torso. She’d always been a snuggler. He held her close, savoring the melding of their damp bodies. He should have gotten over her. Any self-respecting man would have. And he had tried. But Renee was the only person he’d ever known who’d understood his need to create and encouraged him to follow his dream of becoming an architect when even his family cursed his choice.
Her fingers walked a path up his abdomen to his chest. She drew a shape over his left pectoral. A heart. Another blast from the past. They used to write messages on each other’s skin.
“I love you, Flynn. I always have.”
Her breathless declaration sent his heart slamming into his ribs beneath her hand. He turned his head, met her gaze and saw her words reflected in her gaze. He wanted to believe her, but doubts nagged at him. “Then why did you leave?”
Tension invaded her muscles and her fist clenched on his chest. Her eyes turned evasive, long lashes descending to shield her thoughts. “I didn’t want to. But I had to. Please, please believe I thought my getting out of your life was the best thing for everyone concerned.”
He couldn’t blindly believe without facts. Not this time. “What happened, Renee?”
She pulled away, tugging the edge of the comforter with her as she climbed from the bed. “I—I had to go, okay? That’s all I can say.”
“Was there someone else?” He voiced the words that had been lurking in his subconscious—words he’d been trying to ignore.
Her shock appeared genuine. “No. Oh, no. Never. I loved you. Only you, Flynn.”
He rose and faced her across the mattress. “I need more of an explanation than that.”
She bit her lip. “You’ll have to take my word for it. I love you, and I’ll love our baby…if there is one.”
“And if there isn’t?”
“You said yourself we’d keep trying. I want to be with you, Flynn. I want everything we once planned. The family, the house, the fenced yard, the dog. All of it. And I want it with you. But you have to trust me.”
Trust her. She had no idea how much she was asking. He’d counted on her before and she’d let him down. Did he dare risk making the same mistake twice?
High on satisfaction, Renee hummed a tune as she packed up her cooking utensils in Gretchen’s kitchen Friday night.
The week with Flynn had been just short of heavenly. The nursery was perfect with its new furniture and pale mint paint. CGC’s new quarters were finished and beautiful. And life with Flynn…
Renee wanted to do a happy dance. Their relationship was almost back to where it had been before his father died. He hadn’t said he loved her yet, but there had been tenderness in his eyes and in every gesture. That had to mean something.
She lifted the box of utensils, noting as the edge pressed against her that her br**sts were tender. Her pulse quickened. Was she pregnant? Or was the soreness a symptom of her monthly visitor, which was due any day now? Was it too soon to do a pregnancy test?
Eager to get home to Flynn and tell him how well CGC’s entry into the San Francisco market had gone, she set the box of her belongings down near the servants’ entrance and glanced at her watch. The event should be over in a matter of minutes. Tack on cleanup time and she should be home around one. She hoped Flynn would be up.
The kitchen door swung open. Mindy, one of Renee’s three temporary workers, rushed in. Her tuxedo-skirt ensemble still looked as fresh as it had when she’d started her shift three hours ago, but the woman looked frazzled.
Mindy set the serving tray on the counter. “Red wine spill on the living room rug.”
“I’ll get it.” Renee jumped into action, grabbing a bottle of club soda and a rag. She’d spent the entire evening in the kitchen preparing food and refilling trays. She seized the opportunity to do a walk-through and made her way toward the designated area.
Only a dozen or so of the expensively dressed and perfumed guests lingered, most of whom had spilled out the open doors on the far side of the room and into the conservatory. A massive flower arrangement on the top of the closed grand piano partially obscured Renee’s view.