A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara Boswell

      “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.”

      “You didn’t look strange till I asked you about sisters and brothers,” Angelica persisted. “I can tell that’s obviously a sensitive subject with you.”

      She took a step closer, and Flynt shifted under the intensity of her gaze. That laser stare of Romina’s seemed to be a genetic trait.

      “Don’t give me that psychology junk you learned in nursing school, Angelica.” Flynt did a rather credible imitation of Romina’s rebuke.

      Instead of taking offense, Angelica smiled. And Flynt felt as if he’d been struck by a bolt of sensual lightning. He’d thought she was enticing from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but when she smiled like that, her eyes bright, her face alight, she was well-nigh irresistible.

      “Nice dodge, but it won’t work, Mr. Corrigan,” Angelica said, tilting her head.

      She was still smiling, and he gazed at her, transfixed.

      “You’ve had a firsthand look at the Carroll family, now it’s your turn to cough up some personal information about the Corrigans.”

      Was she flirting with him? Flynt clamped his teeth together to keep his jaw from hanging agape like a starstruck idiot.

      And then her words filtered through the sensual clouds and abruptly quashed every amatory feeling. An abrupt transition, akin to being thrown into an icy lake. Which was a good thing, he concluded. He had been too distracted by her appeal, he’d lost