A Fortune's Children's Wedding

Tension hummed in his body. He continued to stare as she rejoined them in the small vestibule.

Angelica looked up at him, as if surprised to still find him there. “I told you I didn’t want to meet Mr. Fortune. Now why don’t you go back and tell him so, like a good, loyal lackey?”

That stung. Flynt scowled. “I’m nobody’s lackey, little girl. Remember that.”

“Only if you’ll remember not to ever refer to me as ‘little girl’ again.” Angelica’s eyes were flashing.

“You can reveal a lot in anger, Angel,” Romina warned. “Far too much.”

“I don’t mind revealing that I do not appreciate sexist comments about my height or my gender, Mama.” Angelica was ostensibly speaking to her mother, but her dark gaze was fastened on Flynt.

“Your uncle Gabe calls his wife, that’s your aunt Rebecca, ‘Shorty,’ and she doesn’t seem to mind,” Flynt said conversationally. “Of course, she’s not actually short so maybe it doesn’t seem to be that big a deal to her.”

“Angelica, just think, you have aunts and uncles!” exclaimed Sarah. “Tell us about Angelica’s father, Mr. Corrigan!” The girl was clearly astounded by the revelation and didn’t bother to conceal it. “Is he my dad, too?”

“And mine?” echoed Casper, who looked so hopeful that Flynt felt an overwhelming urge to throttle Romina.

Why had she let it happen this way? Why had she permitted her children to hear such personal, sensitive news from a stranger? From him! He felt like a purveyor of sleaze for the lowliest tabloid.

“Brandon Fortune is Angelica’s father, kids, but not yours,” Flynt said, when it became clear that Romina wasn’t going to answer them.

Was that the shine of tears in Angelica’s dark eyes? Flynt stared at her, watched her struggle to maintain her facade of control. He wanted to break through it, to get an emotional reaction from her. And wondered why.

After all, his own wall of reserve was as strong as a fortress. If he’d been in Angelica’s position, he would have responded exactly the same way she had. By concealing any pain. Controlling it by denying it. So why did he care?

Chapter 2

“W hy did her father come here to Birmingham?” quizzed Casper. And then his eyes widened and his mouth formed a round, shocked O. “Does he want to get back together with Mama?”

“Of course not, Casper,” Romina finally said. “I haven’t seen Brandon since I was sixteen years old. I’m amazed he knows about Angelica. If he really does know, that is,” she added darkly.

“You think I’m making this up?” Flynt was exasperated. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Casper has asked a very good question.” Romina’s dark eyes were intense as lasers as they bored into Flynt. “Why did Brandon come to Birmingham to meet Angelica? After all these years, why bother now?”

“Maybe he wanted to give her some money,” Casper suggested ingenuously. “Wouldn’t that be cool, Angel?”

“We don’t need money from Brandon Fortune, Casper.” Angelica’s voice was shaky. She’d either abandoned her attempt at feigning indifference or else she was unable to keep up the pretense. “Or from anyone else.”

“We do, too, need money,” protested Casper. “We never have enough. There’s lots of stuff I don’t have and the other kids do. Like a computer. I learned everything about them in school. I know more than anybody in my class, but I don’t have my own computer. And I don’t have any video games, either. Everybody has them but me.”

“You have plenty of games,” countered Romina crossly, looking defensive.

“Games that nobody wants to play!” Casper’s thin face was flushed. “A deck of cards and a chess set. Chinese checkers. Clue and Monopoly—and not even the deluxe editions.”

“You should be thankful for what you have, not greedy for what you don’t have, young man!” Romina glared at her son.

“Mama, I think Casper is—” Angelica began, attempting to make peace between the pair.

“You know how hard I’ve worked to make things better than they were for you at his age, Angelica. But you never complained. I never heard one word of self-pity out of you. From the age of nine, you went out and earned money baby-sitting, and you always watched the little kids for me while I worked nights. You were a perfect child.”

“Not this again!” Casper howled, his temper flaring anew. “I’m sick of hearing about how perfect Angel and Danny were when they were kids. You don’t even try to understand.” He burst into tears and ran out of the room.

“Mama, don’t.” Angelica laid her hand on her mother’s shoulder as she saw her mother brush aside a tear. “This is a hard age for him. He’s going through a rough time at school and he—”

“Oh, Angelica, don’t give me that psychology junk you learned in nursing school,” Romina said impatiently, before turning on her heels. Sarah followed, leaving Angelica and Flynt facing each other in the vestibule.

“Mama tries her best.” Angelica looked forlorn. “She always has. But she and Casper—well, they just—just—”

“Rub each other the wrong way?” suggested Flynt. “Believe me, I’ve been there.”

“You don’t get along with one of your children?” Angelica asked, her dark eyes wide as saucers.

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I don’t have any kids. Or a wife, either, for that matter. I meant that, growing up, I played Casper’s role. I always managed to do or say exactly what would get on poor Mom’s last nerve. She always claimed she was doing her best, too.”

He felt Angelica studying him, and a peculiar warmth began to spread through him. “I’m waiting for you to express your deepest sympathy for my mom. To say that an obnoxious adult like me could’ve only been a hellacious kid, one that would drive any well-meaning mother into a frenzy.”

“Do you get along with her now?” Angelica said instead. “Did things between you and your mother get better when you grew up?”

“After I left home, things between us definitely improved. Because I wasn’t there.” Flynt was glib. He wanted to drop the subject; Corrigan family history was not something he ever cared to dwell upon.

“Do you keep in touch with your mother?” Angelica pressed. “Do you phone or visit her often?”

She was watching him, both curious and determined. As a dogged interrogator himself, Flynt realized that she wouldn’t let up till she got some answers. Well, he was willing to provide some, but if she was hoping to hear about a fractious mother-son relationship turned harmonious, she was out of luck.

“There is the occasional phone call,” he admitted. “But I limit my visits to one afternoon a year, on Christmas Day. My aunts, uncles and cousins are around to keep the conversation, and the eggnog, flowing. The TV set is on all day and that helps, too.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry I can’t paint a more glowing picture for Casper’s future relationship with your mother, but who can tell? Maybe it will be better for them, maybe they’ll end up the best of friends. Now, about Brandon—”

“What about your sisters and brothers?” Angelica dismissed his attempt to switch topics. “Are you close to them? Are they—”

“There aren’t any,” Flynt said tersely.

He felt the familiar ache that struck whenever anyone posed casual, innocuous questions about siblings. If he replied that he had none, he felt he was denying that Mark had ever existed at all.

But mentioning his younger brother often led to more questions, ones that inevitably culminated in the pain and dread that had shadowed his childhood. And his adult life, too. How could it not?

“You look strange,” Angelica observed. She’d moved to stand closer to him and was eyeing him intently.

She was close enough for him to inhale the subtle scent of her perfume, a fresh citrusy aroma that reminded him of sunshine and… Flynt gulped. And sex.

The sexual arousal was based strictly on his strong attraction to her, not the perfume, Flynt conceded. Because never before had the delicate scent of orange blossoms turned him on.

He was definitely turned on now. Heat streaked through him, from the top of his head to his feet, pooling sensually, deliciously, inconveniently, deep in his groin. If she were to lower her eyes, she would notice that the fit of his jeans had been altered quite visibly by his arousal.

Flynt fervently hoped that she wouldn’t see.

“Of course I look strange.” He retreated a few steps, desperately needing to marshal his defenses against her all-too-potent allure. “I’ve just been held at gunpoint, and then got stuck witnessing a nasty family quarrel,” he said flippantly. “It would be strange if I didn’t look strange.”