Seeing those scars had hurt her heart.
Despite her parents’ divorce, her own childhood had been happy. It had appalled her to discover the reality of his, and offended her sense of justice.
She’d wanted to give him everything he’d never had. She’d wanted to give him the love she knew he deserved, believed he needed and thought he wanted, and then been confused and hurt when he’d rejected her sympathetic attempts to encourage him to talk through his experiences.
Zachary Flynn talked about nothing.
Revealed nothing.
Staring at his retreating shoulders, a sick feeling churned her stomach. He walked with the lethal grace of a predator, unusually light on his feet for such a powerfully built man. In all the years she’d known him, she’d rarely seen him smile. He’d ranged from inscrutable to brooding, his mood on occasion bordering on the dark. There were people on the island who gave him a wide berth, but no matter how black his mood, Brittany had never felt threatened. Despite the violence that had been shown to him, or perhaps because of it, she’d never seen him display those tendencies towards anyone else.
On the contrary, she’d seen him behave with exceptional gentleness towards anything weaker or more vulnerable.
Their relationship had been the most intense physical experience of her life. She would occasionally pretend she was just seeing it through teenage eyes but she knew that wasn’t true. The truth was that no relationship since had come close to evoking the feelings she’d felt with Zach, and acknowledging that brought her close to despair.
She wished it had.
She didn’t want to feel this way.
And she certainly didn’t want his help with the casserole. What she really wanted to do was push his head inside and drown him in it.
Ignoring the little voice that told her she should just black his eye and tell him to get the hell out of her life, Brittany was about to follow him inside when she saw the note that had been left under the casserole.
She picked it up and followed him into the house, relieved to discover that her pulse rate and breathing were
almost back to normal. As a teenager she’d spent half her time in a state of hyperventilation whenever he was around so it was nice to know she’d taken a few forward steps. “There’s a note, but no signature.”
He placed the casserole on the counter without looking at her. “What does it say?”
“‘Sorry for your troubles.’” To compensate for her embarrassing slip, she tried to make a joke of it. “Which troubles? My wrist or my ex-husband?”
His brief glance told her he knew exactly what his touch had done to her. “I guess you can take it any way you want to take it. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that if you divide this up into portions, you’ll be fed for the next week.”
“Unless the casserole is from Mel, in which case it’s poisoned and I’ll be dead by five o’clock.”
“Why would she want to poison you?”
“She thinks I’m competition for your affections. I tried telling her there’s nothing about you that interests me, but judging from the layers of lipstick, she didn’t believe me.” She moved around the kitchen, careful to keep her distance, wanting him to leave and not knowing how to engineer it without revealing more than she already had. It wasn’t just the effect he had on her that bothered her. Having him here, in her home, made her think of that night.
There’d been a storm, which wasn’t unusual for an island often in the line of fire from Mother Nature.
With black clouds sending a menacing gloom over the sky, Kathleen had taken the last ferry across to the mainland for her theatre trip with Hilda, Agnes and other members of the island’s women’s group.
Standing on top of the bluff, Brittany had waited for the deep boom of the horn and watched as the ferry had moved into the bay before making the call. Her palms had been clammy, her heart racing the whole time because she knew she was inviting danger into her home.
Most people locked their doors when they saw Zachary Flynn coming.
She’d opened hers.
The moment he’d set one scuffed boot over her threshold she’d known her life would never be the same.
Shaking off the memory she turned to find him watching her. Those smoldering dark eyes were fixed intently on her face, revealing thoughts and emotions that matched hers.
“I’m not interested in Mel.” His deep voice had a husky, rough quality that she’d always found fascinating. It was that voice that had urged her over the edge that first time.
Let go and relax, I know it’s your first time but you don’t have to be shy. I’m going to make it good for you.
He’d made good on his promise. Over and over again.