The Rumours Collection

Her strong will constantly clashed with his but that was what he found so attractive about her. She wasn’t going to let anyone walk over her, or at least not without a fight.

Her indomitable stance on not meeting her father was a way of taking control—of being in charge. Richard had hurt her mother, Kat wanted justice and this was her way to get it. She was intent on punishing her father but what she didn’t realise was, in the end, she was punishing herself and her half-siblings.

But Flynn wasn’t going to stop until he had achieved what he’d set out to achieve. He wanted Kat Winwood at that party.

He wanted Kat Winwood, period.

Kat watched from an upstairs window the next morning as Flynn took his little dog Cricket for an early morning walk. He must have been up first thing to shovel the snow from his footpath. But then she looked down at hers and saw it was clear as well. A warm, oozy sort of feeling spread through her insides. Had he done that for her?

He was rugged up in coat, hat and gloves and he had dressed Cricket in a little padded coat that only left his ridiculous tail, odd ears and stumpy little legs on show. She watched as the dog bounced around him with glee, his little feet stirring up the powdery snow like a miniature snow machine. Flynn bent down and ruffled the dog’s ears affectionately before they continued along the footpath.

What was the story with that crazy little dog? He had mentioned his mother had got tired of Cricket once he’d ceased to be cute. Had that happened with Flynn? Had his mother—both his parents—lost interest in him once their other sons had come along? Was that why he had been sent to boarding school? Were Flynn’s brothers adopted too? Or had his parents conceived their own children after adopting him? It sometimes happened when a couple adopted a child after years of infertility.

So many questions were crowding her thoughts. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know everything about him.

Oh no, here you go again.

What? I’m just interested in his background.

Sure you are.

I am!

You’re interested in getting into bed with him. So much for your celibacy pact.

I’m not going to sleep with him. I just want to find out more about him.

You are so going to lose this.

I am not. I can resist him. I’m strong. I’m invincible. I’m disciplined.

You’re toast.

Kat was late getting back from working at the café as she had worked an extra shift because one of the waitresses had called in sick. The traffic was horrendous because of another heavy snowfall. The roads were slippery and tempers were becoming frazzled, including hers. And there were no parking spaces outside the Carstairs house. She had to do three tedious circuits before one became available in front of Flynn’s BMW, as he had arrived just before her. Typical. He gets the celebrity car spot while I’m driving around in circles for hours. He was standing on the footpath retrieving some papers off the passenger seat as Kat drew alongside the car in front in order to reverse park. She tried not to be put off with him standing there watching her but every time she went to reverse back she was either too close to the car in front or too far from the curb.

Flynn tucked his papers under one arm and came over to her driver’s window, leaning down to speak to her. ‘Do you want me to park it for you?’

Kat’s pride came to her rescue. That was the second time he’d offered to park her car. What did he think she was? Useless? Sure, it was nice he’d scraped the snow away from her doorstep that morning, but she was perfectly capable of parking her car. If she let him do it for her, what else would she let him do? Allowing him to do stuff for her was a fast track into his bed and she was keeping off it. ‘No thanks. I’ve got it.’

‘I’ll stand behind to guide you in. Take it slowly.’

Kat watched in the rear-view mirror as he positioned himself behind her car to stand in front of the BMW. She gave herself a pep talk. You’ve parked a thousand times in spaces much tighter than this. Don’t let him put you off. Just park the damn thing. She put her indicator back on, positioned the wheels and then gingerly pressed her foot on the accelerator. She was doing brilliantly. Yay! The car was easing into the space like a dream but then another car flashed past, the driver called out something rude and Kat momentarily lost her focus. She forgot her foot was still on the accelerator until she felt the car go over a bump. The skin on her scalp shrank. She glanced behind her to see Flynn hopping about the footpath clutching one of his feet, a string of curse words coming out of his grimly set mouth.

Kat jumped out of the car, almost getting swiped by another car as it went past, spraying her with dirty, slushy snow. ‘Oh, my God! Are you okay?’

He leaned one hand on the rear of her car as he put his foot to the ground, wincing as he tried to get it to take his weight. He frowned at her from beneath a single bar of eyebrows. ‘Who taught you to park a car?’

Kat knew it wasn’t the time to take umbrage with his tone but if he hadn’t been there taunting her she would have parked the car just fine. Well, maybe. ‘What were you doing standing behind my car? You should’ve stood on the footpath and directed me from there. That’s what any sensible person would’ve done.’

‘I wasn’t going to stand by and watch you plough your car into mine,’ he said. ‘I’ve only had it a month.’

He pushed himself away from her car and took a couple of steps but his mouth had white tips around the edges and he was barely able to put any weight on his foot. She chewed at her lips, wondering what she should do. She might be doing her level best to avoid him but she could hardly leave him to fend for himself, especially since she had been the one to run over his foot. ‘Do you want me to call an ambulance or...or something?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

Kat tried not to be put off by his clipped tone. He was in pain. Of course he would be brusque. ‘I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to hurt you. My tyres are a little bald and I—’

‘Your tyres are bald and you’re driving on them in this weather?’ He glowered at her. ‘Do you realise how dangerous that is? Not just to yourself but to other innocent people on the road?’

Kat put up her chin. It was all right for him to bang on about new tyres. He could afford to buy any brand of tyre he liked. He could afford to buy any car he liked. She had to make do with whatever she could afford. She couldn’t do without a car when she had to go to auditions all over the country. ‘I bet your foot isn’t even hurt. I bet you’re one of those men that get man flu. One sniffle and I bet you go to bed all day.’

He shook his head at her like a frustrated parent does a wilful child. ‘You’re freaking unbelievable.’

Kat spun on her heel and stalked off without another word. She was glad she’d run over his foot. It served him right. She would do it again if she had half a chance.

Both feet.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘BROKEN?’ FLYNN ASKED, peering at the X-ray of his right foot that his friend Dr Joaquim Barrantes in A&E was showing him on the computer screen.

‘In three places,’ Joaquim said. ‘How’d you do it again?’

Flynn gave him a speaking look. ‘Don’t ask.’

Joaquim grinned. ‘So, how are things going with that hot little Scot? Got her to go out with you yet?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘How many months has it been now?’ Joaquim gave him a teasing look. ‘Not like you to take so long to get down to business. You must be losing your touch.’

‘I’ve changed my tactics,’ Flynn said. ‘“Slowly but surely” is my new M.O.’

Joaquim nudged some crutches that were propped against the gurney. ‘Yeah, well, these will slow you down a bit. But you’ll be fine with a bit of rest. You don’t need it plastered, just a firm bandage and crutches for four weeks. The bones are small, but you don’t want to compromise healing with too much weight on them in the early stages of recovery.’

Crutches. Flynn smothered a curse. What was that going to do to his credibility in court? Limping around on a pair of crutches didn’t suit his image of being in control. But taking time off while his foot healed would be pointless. What could he do? He wasn’t the sit-around-the-house type. It was not as though he could go skiing. He wouldn’t even be able to head to somewhere warm. Walking on a beach or lounging around a resort pool on crutches wasn’t his idea of fun. And spending time with his family in Manchester wasn’t something he was keen to repeat after the Christmas debacle. And who was going to walk Cricket twice a day?

The cogs of Flynn’s mind began to tick over. He wasn’t averse to twisting the odd emotional blackmail screw when it suited him. Besides, Kat owed him something, surely? She might not have deliberately injured him but he was a firm believer in do the crime, do the time. And it would be rather entertaining to have her play nursemaid. He would be able to see her several times a day. Every morning. Every night.

Who knew what he could talk her into with that amount of close contact?

‘What about driving?’ Flynn asked his friend.

Joaquim shook his head. ‘It would be fine if it wasn’t your right foot but your insurance company wouldn’t cover you if you drove with it until you’ve been given the all clear. Just as well you filthy rich lawyers can afford to catch cabs everywhere.’

‘Funny,’ Flynn said. ‘But us rich lawyers are the people you overworked medicos turn to when your patients want to sue you.’

Joaquim tapped his fingers on the wooden desk he was standing next to. ‘So far, so lucky.’

Kat was glancing out of the front window to see if the snow had stopped when she noticed a cab pulling up outside Flynn’s house. Her stomach dropped when she saw Flynn get out on crutches, his foot heavily bandaged. Crutches? Oh, dear Lord! What had she done? Would he sue her? He was a lawyer. A high-profile one. She would be taken to the cleaners... Not that she owned anything, but still... The thought of wounding someone—anyone—was anathema to her. Now she’d had time to cool down, she realised how rude she had been. Acting as if it was his fault his foot had got run over.

It was her fault.

She was lousy at parking. She always had been. She needed to eat a big slice of humble pie even if she choked on it. She let the curtain drop back and raced out, only stopping long enough to put on a coat. The icy air burned her cheeks but she figured it would counter the hot blush currently residing there.

Flynn had not quite made it to his front door when she came up alongside him. ‘Oh, my God!’ she said. ‘Is it broken?’

‘In three places.’

‘I’ll pay your health costs.’ She swallowed convulsively, mentally checking her bank account and wondering how she was going to follow through on her promise.

‘Forget about it.’

‘But surely I can do something?’

He seemed to consider her question for a moment, his eyes studying her face as if committing it to memory. ‘Can you cook?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll need a meal each evening and lunch and dinner on weekends, unless I go out, which I very much doubt I’ll be doing much of now I’m on these damn crutches.’

Kat frowned. ‘Don’t you have a housekeeper?’

‘Only to clean the house once a week,’ he said. ‘I’ll need help with shopping and walking Cricket and running errands. You up for it?’

She tried not to look resentful, given her role in his predicament, but she couldn’t help feeling he was orchestrating things to suit his ends. But spending time with him in any capacity was surely asking for the sort of trouble she could do without.

He was too confident. Too sure of himself. Too darned sexy. Yes, even on crutches.

He did something to her female hormones. They started humming with excitement. They did cartwheels in her belly when his dark eyes locked on hers. When he looked at her mouth her insides quivered at the thought of those firm but sensual lips coming into contact with hers. Not that she would let that happen. If he thought he could win her over with seduction then he was in for a big let-down.

You broke his foot on purpose.

I did not! It was an accident.

Now you’ll have to spend hours with him, doing stuff for him. Acting like a wife.

I will not be like a wife. I’ll walk the dog, put the rubbish out, pick up his dry cleaning and cook his meals... Eek! You’re right—I’ll be like a wife.

‘Isn’t there someone else you can get to help you?’ Kat said. ‘It’s not like you couldn’t afford to pay someone.’

‘You’re the one who broke my foot. Why should I be out of pocket for an inconvenience you caused?’

Kat would have liked to call his bluff but he was a high-powered lawyer and she was one job away from the dole queue. He was well within his rights to sue her for causing injury. She wouldn’t stand a chance in defending herself, nor could she afford a defence lawyer to act on her behalf. Her space between a rock and a hard place had just got a little more cramped. Hippopotamus-in-a-hot-tub cramped. ‘I don’t suppose I have much choice.’

‘That’s settled, then. Why don’t you come in now and I’ll show you round the kitchen?’ A glint appeared in his gaze and he added, ‘I might even have an apron I can loan you—that is, unless you have one of your own?’

Kat gave him a beady look. ‘No, funnily enough, that’s one item that’s missing from my wardrobe.’

As soon as Flynn opened the door Cricket came bowling out, spinning around Kat’s legs, yapping volubly, bouncing up and down on his stubby little legs like his paws were on springs. She crouched down so she could pat him and got her faced licked for her trouble. ‘Oh, you crazy little mutt.’ She laughed and pulled back before he took off her make-up. ‘Only a mother could love that little face.’

Kat looked up to see Flynn looking at her with a faraway look in his gaze. ‘Sorry.’ She got to her feet. ‘That was a bit insensitive of me...’

He gave a brief smile. ‘It’s fine. He was a very cute puppy. Anyone would’ve fallen for him.’

Kat followed him and the dog inside. She took one of Flynn’s crutches so he could take off his coat. She could feel the warmth of the hand rest where his fingers had just been, making her own hand tingle. She helped him take off his coat as if taking an explosive device from a would-be suicide bomber. She didn’t touch his body, only the fabric of his coat, but she could feel the electric pulse of his proximity shoot through her body like a lightning zap. ‘Are your brothers adopted too?’

He propped himself back on both crutches. For a moment she thought he was going to tell her to mind her own business. His dark eyes had a curtained look. A don’t-bother-knocking-no-one’s-going-to-answer look. But then his expression subtly changed. There came a slight relaxation of the muscles as if something tight and restricted inside his mind had loosened. ‘No. My parents managed to conceive naturally three years after adopting me.’

Was that why he wasn’t close to his family? Was that why he had been sent away to school? His parents hadn’t needed him once they had created their own flesh and blood? He was like the cute little puppy that had failed to be cute once it grew up a bit and got a little more challenging to handle. ‘Is that why you’re not close to them?’ Kat said. ‘Did they treat you differently once they had their own kids?’

He gave a resigned lip-shrug. ‘Sharing DNA with your kids is a powerful factor in bonding with them. Adoption works well when it works, but when it doesn’t it can be a disaster.’

Kat’s heart squeezed for the little boy he had been. How painful for him to have been shunted aside like a toy that no longer held its initial appeal. Small children picked up on the slightest change in dynamic with primary caregivers. The thought of Flynn recognising at such a young age he was no longer important to his parents must have had a devastating effect on him. ‘Your adoptive parents shouldn’t have treated you any differently,’ she said. ‘They made a commitment to you as a baby that was meant to be for life.’

He gave her a twisted smile that had a hint of sadness to it. ‘It doesn’t always work like that. Matching kids to parents isn’t an exact science. I was a difficult baby, apparently. When my parents had Fergus and then Felix they realised it wasn’t their parenting that was the problem—it was me. I simply didn’t belong in that family.’

Kat frowned. ‘I don’t believe that for a second. They adopted you as a tiny baby. They should’ve bonded with you no matter what. You don’t give up on a child just because it doesn’t fulfil your expectations. A child is an individual. They have their own path to tread. It’s the parents’—biological or adoptive—responsibility to make sure their child gets every opportunity to become the person they’re meant to become.’

Cricket gave a loud yap, as if in agreement. Flynn smiled wryly as he scratched the dog’s belly with the rubber end of his crutch. ‘Not every kid gets that level of commitment, do they, Cricket?’

Kat chewed at her lip for a moment. ‘You said the other day there was no point looking for your birth parents. What did you mean by that?’

He stopped scratching the dog and started hopping towards the kitchen. ‘Cricket needs feeding. I usually take him out for half an hour morning and evening, after his breakfast and dinner.’

She followed him into the kitchen. ‘Flynn, why won’t you talk about your birth parents? You shut up like a clam with lockjaw every time I mention them.’

He pointed to the pantry with one of his crutches as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘His dry food’s in there and his meat’s in the fridge. There’s more in the freezer.’

The drawbridge was up. She could see the tight muscles on his face. The set mouth. She had come too close and he was telling her not to come any closer. But the more he pushed her away the more she wanted to draw close. He was so much more than the arrogant my-way-or-the-highway man she had thought him on first appearances. He was deep. Deep and mysterious. Intriguing to the part of her that couldn’t help feeling compassion for a fellow sufferer of the club of Not Belonging. ‘Is your foot hurting you?’ she said.

He rubbed his hand over his face loud enough for her to hear the rasp of his stubble. ‘I had a couple of painkillers at the hospital. I might go and have a lie down. I’m feeling like a bit of a space cadet.’

‘I’ll sort out Cricket and then bring you up something to eat,’ Kat said. ‘Do you have a spare key so I can let myself back in?’

‘There’s one in the bowl on the hallstand. It’s on a blue key ring.’

Kat let herself back in forty minutes later with Cricket panting at her feet. He had been a little darling, trotting by her side as if he had got first-class honours from obedience school. However, it had been a completely different story at the dog exercise area in the park. Cricket hadn’t cared for the other dogs, especially the big ones. He’d strained at the leash and barked and snarled as if he’d been ready to rip them apart. It hadn’t won him any friends. The other owners had quickly called their dogs back and given Kat looks, as if to say, ‘Why don’t you get control of your dog?’

It had been humiliating.

But for all that she couldn’t help thinking it was a bit of a windfall having this one-on-one time with Cricket. The play she was auditioning for was A. R. Gurney’s Sylvia, which was a play about a middle-aged married man who brought home a dog he found at the park, much to his wife’s displeasure, because she wanted to enjoy their empty nest. Kat was auditioning for the role of Sylvia the dog, a wonderful part that was energetic and challenging on every level. A Canadian actor was playing the lead of Greg, the husband’s role, but no one knew who was playing Kate, the wife, as it was apparently the director’s secret. It would be announced once the auditions were over. An understudy would take the role until formal rehearsals started.

Kat wanted that role. It was a chance-in-a-lifetime role. A star-making role. Audiences loved Sylvia. It was the actor who played the dog that made or broke the performance. If she got that part it would be her chance to prove her mettle as an actor.

Kat tossed a salad and set it beside the fluffy cheese omelette she had made. Cricket followed at her heels as she carried it upstairs. She had no idea where Flynn’s bedroom was but the layout was much the same as next door so she took a gamble. She found him fast asleep on the bed with one hand folded across his flat stomach and the other in a right angle flung back on the pillow at his head. His bandaged foot was propped on another pillow; the other one was still wearing a shoe—a black Italian leather zippered ankle boot. His handsome features were relaxed in sleep, giving him a vulnerable look that was at odds with his reputation as an intimidating courtroom king.

She approached the bed with caution, not wanting to wake him, but unable to stop herself from going closer. She leaned down to put the tray on the bedside table and then straightened to see if he had registered her presence. His eyelids flickered as if he was in the middle of a dream and his lips were slightly parted, enough for her to hear the soft, even rhythm of his breathing.

On an impulse she could neither explain nor control, Kat reached out and gently brushed her fingers down the stubble-shadowed landscape of his jaw. The slight catch of her softer skin on his raspy one made something slip sideways in her stomach, like a stockinged foot on a shiny floor.

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.