One-Night Love-Child. Anne McAllister

the same room, she didn’t only see glimpses of Flynn in her son. He was almost a clone.

      But even more than Liam’s features, it was his body language that was so much like his father’s. He moved like Flynn, with the same intensity of purpose. And when he was stymied, he even prowled around rooms like Flynn.

      Both Flynn and Liam were edgy, intense, determined. When Liam wanted something—like building a castle or learning to read—he went after it. Like his father. And while Liam was still occasionally little-boy clumsy, Flynn, even with his limp—dear God, she still couldn’t believe he’d been shot!—was clearly powerful, controlled and in command. Sara was sure that Liam would be exactly like that one day, too.

      She wondered if Flynn saw it.

      She wondered exactly what Flynn did see—and what he was really doing here. To see his son, yes. She could accept that. But what else did he want? What more?

      He wasn’t going to waltz in here and try to take her son away from her, was he?

      Just because he lived a in castle now, he didn’t need to think he could take over her son.

      Or was it just her son he had in mind?

      The memory of that kiss snuck back in to torment her—the memory of his lips on hers, the possessive hunger of that kiss! Surely he didn’t want her again?

      Of course he didn’t. If he had, as she’d told him, he’d have come back long before this. God knew he could have had her then.

      But this had been a power play, pure and simple. He was just proving he could still make her react, could still—let’s face it, Sara, she said to herself—turn her on.

      And yes, damn it, he could. He had! He’d nearly swept away her reason, had made her weak with longing, with wanting him exactly the way she’d wanted him all those years ago.

      But at least this time she’d managed—barely—to resist. And she would not let it happen again. It could only happen, she assured herself, if he caught her unawares.

      But there would be no more “unawares.” Now she was forewarned. Flynn Murray had burned her once. There was no way she was letting him do it again!

      Thank God she was going out with Adam tonight.

      All of a sudden her lukewarm attitude towards their Valentine’s Day date had undergone a definite change. Focusing on Adam would be far better than spending the evening at home thinking about Flynn.

      She glanced at her watch. It was quarter to four. She didn’t know how long he expected to stay, and she didn’t want to follow them to Liam’s bedroom and ask. Even from the kitchen she could hear Liam’s excited chatter and Flynn’s low baritone responses. She could hear that blasted Irish lilt in his voice. God, it was seductive. Even now—forewarned, forearmed—it had the power to raise goose bumps along her spine and make the back of her neck tingle.

      “Adam,” she said aloud. “Think about Adam.” She had to get ready to go out with Adam.

      Resolutely she climbed the stairs. At the end of the hall she could see into Liam’s room, could see Liam darting past the doorway, talking a mile a minute, could see Flynn’s long legs stretched out as he sat on Liam’s bed.

      She did not want to think about Flynn in the same sentence with the word bed.

      She got her clean clothes from her own room, then headed for the bathroom, calling out as she went, “I’ll be in the shower.”

      It was only to let them know where she was. She hoped to heaven Flynn didn’t think it was an invitation!

      Of course he didn’t. But it didn’t stop her face from flaming. She was mortified to see how red it looked when she glanced in the bathroom mirror. “Stop it,” she commanded herself. “Stop thinking about him.”

      Of course, that was easier said than done. She showered quickly—and used mostly cold water, not wanting to think why it seemed suddenly such a good idea. She washed her hair and blew it dry. Then she dressed in the black velvet pants and red cashmere sweater that her sister Lizzie had given her for Christmas.

      She had worn a red sweater the night she had gone to Flynn’s motel room. And the memory almost had her pulling the sweater back over her head and looking for something else. But to do so would give him more power over her than he deserved.

      He deserved no power at all.

      Besides, she thought with all the dispassion she could muster, he probably wouldn’t even have the vaguest notion of what she’d worn. He hadn’t cared about her the way she had about him.

      Flicking a brush through her hair, then putting on some lipstick that she dared hope she would not gnaw off, she gave herself one last stern look, then opened the bathroom door.

      It was completely quiet. There was no sound of Liam’s eager chatter now, no Irish lilt from Flynn. The light in Liam’s room was off.

      Had Flynn had enough already and left?

      It was a happy thought—followed immediately by, Then where was Liam?

      She hurried downstairs. No one was in the kitchen, either.

      “Liam?”

      She got no answer. He’d better not be playing hide-and-seek without telling her. When he was four he’d thought it fun to dart into the closet and stay still as a mouse while she went nuts looking for him. But he was five now—nearly five and a half—and she’d told him off in no uncertain terms. He knew better. He’d moved on to other sins—like sneaking in TV cartoons when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

      “You’d better not be watching television, young man,” she said, marching across the kitchen and sticking her head around the door to look in the living room, expecting to find him in the semidarkened room with the sound turned down.

      But only Sid the cat was there, sleeping on the couch. He raised his head and gave her a baleful look before closing his eyes again.

      Sara was not given to panic. She had learned not to. But now her heart began to pound. She spun back into the kitchen.

      “Liam!” Her voice rose.

      Where was he? He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without telling her. Another of his sins. He’d been in trouble for going to Celie’s during Christmas vacation without telling her he was leaving. She’d come down on him like a ton of bricks. He wouldn’t do it again.

      Would he?

      Now she saw that his jacket was gone. His boots were gone.

      And so was Flynn.

      No!

      He wouldn’t! He’d never—

      I’ll take you to Ireland, he’d said. And she’d refused to discuss it.

      He couldn’t have just walked in and taken off with her child!

      She ran to the back door and jerked it open. “Liam!” She was desperate now, frantic as she ran out onto the snow-covered porch. “Liam!”

      “What?” The small surprised voice came from around the side of the house. It sounded quite close and completely bewildered.

      Oh, God. The surge of relief nearly melted Sara’s bones. Her legs wobbled and she gripped the pillar at the top of the stairs as, a second later, Liam’s head poked around the corner.

      “You don’t have to yell. I’m right here,” he said indignantly.

      “So I…see.” She was still gasping for air. Her heart was still slamming against the wall of her chest. “Where’s Flynn? Where’s your…father,” she amended, still breathing hard.

      “Right here.” Liam jerked his head towards the side yard. “We’re buildin’ a castle.” He gave Sara a thumb’s-up and grinned broadly. “Like Dunmorey.”

      Sara was still