“Tell me about your mom and dad,” she said.

For a long moment Flynn thought about whether he would answer her and if he chose to, how.  Then he decided that if he were going to, he might as well tell her the truth.  “My mother died of a broken heart.  My father, who is still alive, is living as if she never existed.”

“What did he do?”

Flynn laughed, the sound caustic.  “He liked his women a little on the wild side.  Strippers, to be exact.  He brought them home, forced my brother, sister, and I to sit at the same table with them while my mother cried upstairs.”

“Oh, Flynn, I—that’s awful.”  Her head snapped back.  “You must really despise me.”

Was she crazy? “Why would you say that?”

“Because we met in a strip club and I stripped?”

Flynn reached for her hand and this time he didn’t stop himself from touching her.  “You’re not like those women.  Those women were predators.  They came on to Mal and me to get more out of my father.” Running his fingertips along her knuckles, he continued, “You’re not self-serving, selfish, or conniving.”  He brought her hand to his lips.  “You see the bad in people like me and yet,” he pressed his lips to her skin, “you still believe we have good in us.”

“You’re not a bad guy, Flynn,” she breathed.

“I want to do bad things to you, Isa.”

His groin tightened when her nostrils flared and her fingers tightened around his.

She swallowed hard and licked her lips.  Flynn groaned.  “If you let me do all the things to you that I wanted to do, I’d never let you go, and you’d hate me for that.”

Pink nodded, her eyes full and dark.  Her pulse beat wildly in her neck.  The urge to press his lips to it was almost overwhelming.  “I’m going to pay the bill, Pink. I want to go home.”

“And then what?” she asked, a raspy edge to her breathless voice.  His dick strained against his jeans.

“The bad guy wants to take you to his bed and strip you down.”

“And the good guy?”

Flynn grinned. “He wants to take you to his bed and strip you down, just more politely.”

Pink’s lips formed a silent “Oh.”

Flynn stood, dug for his wallet, pulled out several bills, and tossed them onto the table.  He grabbed her hand, and said, “Don’t let either one of them near you.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Izzy didn’t.  Let Flynn’s angel or devil near her.  Saying good night to him and walking down the hall from where he stood at his bedroom door watching her had been ridiculously hard.  That it was so hard confused her.  Her yo-yoing feelings, should she or shouldn’t she, confused her. She accepted how she felt about Flynn, God help her; she wished the attraction would lesson, but no, every minute she spent with him made her want to spend more minutes with him.  Intimate minutes.  She craved his hands on her. She wanted him to smile for her and her only, and tell her he would lasso the moon and give her the stars if she but asked for them.  She was, she realized, falling head over heels in love with a man who refused to feel.

She was hopeless, and yet, hopeful. Afraid.  If she threw herself at him, he would take what she was offering, just as her father had taken from her mother. Flynn never gave her what she wanted in return.  Not even a crumb.  Izzy couldn’t, wouldn’t, live like that; in a constant state of yearning for a man who didn’t care enough to give part of himself to her.

Flinging the sheet from her restless body, Izzy listened to the wind build outside.  A March storm was rolling in.  The winds had begun to pick up as they rode home from Jimmy’s.  A branch scratched along the glass of the French door.  Izzy started.  The dark shadow of it looked like a large arm reaching over the railing.  The scratching grew louder, rain pelted the glass.  Mesmerized by the gyrations of the tree branches as they were tossed around by the wind, Izzy’s imagination ran wild.  What if the guy in the van had followed her here?  Did Flynn have an alarm system?  Yes, he did; there was a large control pad just inside the garage door and one at the top of the wide stairway.  Had he armed it?  Of course he would have.  Flynn was diligent that way. He probably slept with a loaded gun.

A loud thump against the French door shook it, the handle moving up and down as if someone was on the other side, trying to force it open.  Izzy leapt from the bed and ran down the hall to Flynn’s room.

“Flynn,” she cried as he came walking out of what she assumed was his bathroom.  “I think there’s someone on my patio!”

Wordlessly, he grabbed his gun and phone from the nightstand and ushered her into the bathroom.  Before handing her the phone he pulled a number up on it.  Handing her the phone, he said, “Lock the door.  If I’m not back in two minutes, call this number.” He turned without waiting for a reply and headed out into the hall.

Izzy shut the door and locked it, then counted down the seconds.

With five seconds to spare, Flynn called to her. “It’s me, Isa, open the door.”

Relieved, she unlocked the door and stood shaking, unable to move.  She wasn’t cut out for this stuff.  “What was it?”

“Branch broke from the big eucalyptus out back and landed on the door, jamming the handle from the outside.”  He caught her chin in his hand and notched it up to look at her.  “If anything you’re safer now than ever.  No one is getting into your room via the balcony.”

Still shaky, she nodded, not trusting her voice.  She wanted to cry.  Like a little girl.  If she had a blankie and a stuffed toy, she’d want them, too.

“Do you want some water or something?” he asked.

Shaking her head no, she dropped her gaze.  “No thank you. I’m just going to go back to my room.  Sorry for disturbing you.”

As she moved past him, he reached out and gently took her arm, pulling her back toward him.  “You didn’t disturb me.”

“Okay.”  She didn’t know what to say.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

When he moved past her, Izzy stood rooted to the floor.  Suddenly, she didn’t want to go back to her room.

Flynn set his gun down on the nightstand and continued toward the door. He stopped at his doorway and turned around to face her when he realized she wasn’t following him.  “What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid,” she blurted.

His features tightened, but he nodded and approached her. “How about if you sleep in here tonight?” he quietly asked her.

“In your bed?”

“Yes.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“I’d like to sleep in my bed, too.”

“But—”

“Look, Isa, I’m not an animal.  I can keep my hands to myself if you promise to keep yours to yourself.”  His eyes twinkled playfully.  Problem was she didn’t like either one of those scenarios.

“Okay.”

He walked her to the right side of his king-sized bed and pulled the covers down for her.  She was wearing a pair of pink thong panties and a white midriff T-shirt.  Flynn looked up at the ceiling when she pulled her legs up and in, then he covered her up to her chin.

Her predicament wasn’t much better.  He was bare-chested, wearing a pair of light gray drawstring pajama bottoms.  The thick outline of his penis clearly visible.  He turned the lamp off and slid into the bed. A soft glow from the outside lights illuminated the shadows. The only sound other than their breathing was the storm raging outside.  It didn’t come close to the one raging in her lower extremities.  If there were no consequences, Izzy would slide over and take a ride on Flynn’s wild side.

As she lay staring at the ceiling, Izzy’s heart thudded wildly against her chest.  Blood pumped through her veins.  Her nipples tightened. “If we had sex tonight what would happen tomorrow?” she asked.

“We’d probably want to do it again.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Long minutes passed.  Rain hit the windows like bullets.  The wind howled furiously. The tempest inside of her whipped itself into a frenzy.  Squeezing her eyes shut, Izzy fought the battle between her body, heart, and brain.  She was not her mother, she told herself.  Sex with her had strings.  Without them, she would end up in an emotional free fall.