Barbara Boswell - A Fortune's Children's Wedding

Desire. The admission hit her hard. Angelica panicked. Her inexplicable affinity for Flynt Corrigan was leading her down a road she was too apprehensive, too controlled to dare to go.

It was dangerous for her to have these feelings. Not to mention stupid. Angelica attempted to whip herself back into her safe, smart preFlynt self.

“Let go of my arm right now or I’ll—” She paused to think of a suitable threat. None came to mind. Truth be told, she didn’t want him to let go of her arm. What a scary admission!

“Here’s an idea for you, babe. Assault him.” Searcy sniggered. “Maybe putting you in the slammer would give us the leverage we need to bargain with that psycho mother of yours.”

“There is no need for insults,” Flynt said, dropping his hand from Angelica’s arm. “Angelica’s mother isn’t psycho.”

Angelica reluctantly moved away from him. He’d released her and now she had no choice but to put distance between them. And she didn’t want to. If her reaction to Flynt’s touch had unnerved her, his defense of her mother made her want to throw her arms around him. She wasn’t used to having someone stand up for her, and she liked it.

She liked it too much. Angelica was nervous again.

“Anyway, I truly don’t think an assault on Corrigan by little Angelica would result in charges being drawn up against her,” Weatherall pointed out amiably. “Corrigan might’ve left the bureau, but he hasn’t turned into a flaccid desk jockey who gets himself clobbered by a woman.”

“Obviously not.” Searcy directed a leer toward the vicinity of Flynt’s groin, where his hardening arousal was becoming apparent against the metal-buttoned fly of his jeans.

Weatherall coughed and gazed discreetly in the other direction. Angelica abruptly turned and rushed into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Flynt felt his face flush a dark crimson. She must’ve looked—and what she’d seen hadn’t pleased her. He stifled a groan.

“A little friendly advice, from me to you,” Searcy offered Flynt. “Sure, she’s a hot babe, but you’d be crazy to get mixed up with her. Her mother is trouble spelled in capitals, and the girl’s gotta be, too.”

“I’m not mixed up with her,” Flynt said weakly. His denial sounded lame even to himself. “Angelica Carroll’s father—and his family—are clients of mine.”

“I’m going inside,” Weatherall announced.

Flynt was grateful for the chance to change the subject. “Do you expect to find what you’re looking for?”

“No. I agree with Searcy. If Darlene Carson was here before, she isn’t now. And Romina is a real pro when it comes to getting rid of every trace of evidence. We can go over this house with a fine-tooth comb and never confirm that Darlene and those kids were ever here. Wonder what—or who—tipped them off this time?”

Searcy uttered an expletive and tossed down the butt of his cigarette before trooping into the house after Weatherall. Flynt went in, too, though he felt certain Angelica wasn’t going to be pleased to see him. So why was he so eager to see her? Flynt’s lips curved into a hard, self-mocking smile. And if he were honest with himself, he wanted to do more than just look at Angelica again. Much more…

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