FLYNN and Rachel were spending every day together, working around his consulting schedule and her thankfully short-lived job of packing fish. At present, she was answering phones for a paint company and working up an outline for her dissertation. In the mornings, shed pop off to the gym to ride a few miles while Flynn went off and did whatever he did with his computer job, and then in the evenings, theyd go out for dinner, or bundle up and walk down to the water to watch the boats go by, or wander around and look at the old and stately historic homes.
But mostly, they talked. About everything. Flynn asked lots of questions about her, which Rachel liked, because he seemed genuinely interested in her. That was definitely a new experience and she discovered, as she answered his questions, that there was more to her life than shed given herself credit for.
He asked about her school, her travels. And about Dagne and witchcraft.
Im not really very good at it, she had said with a laugh.
Perhaps you could cast a spell to make yourself better at it, he had quipped.
He asked about Myron, too, about his dual professions of professor and assistant curator, which Rachel thought was a little weird, but then again, she figured he wasnt entirely convinced that there was nothing between her and Myron. The fact that Myron still had her phone and occasionally left messages advising her they were out of salami or sodas did not help that impression.
Honestly, Rachel was wondering more and more why she hadnt cut ties to Myron a long time ago. All right, hed mor-phed into a security blanket, she could admit it. She hadnt believed another guy would be interestedso why not hang on to Myron? At least he was someone to hang out with.
Dagne had been so rightwho hung on to ex-boyfriends after the affair was over? Fat chicks who were afraid of never having another boyfriend, that was who.
Just mentioning Myron reminded her of how sad she was, and she always changed the subject when he came up, usually by asking about Flynns life.
He talked a lot about his family, rolled his eyes when he told her his mother was obsessed with their connection to the Duke of Alnwick.
Really? Youre part of the aristocracy? she had asked, suitably impressed.
Hardly, he had replied with a snort of laughter. I worked it out once. Were several hundred steps removed from the mayor of Butler Cropwell, and many, many more from the unfortunate Duke of Alnwick.
Unfortunate?
Tragically so, for my mother believes there is some connection and therefore writes him rather frequently, including the obligatory Christmas letter about all the goings-on in our branch of the family.
Rachel laughed, looked at the plate of Lebanese food they had ordered at a local restaurant. Is it your mother who calls in the middle of the night? she asked slyly.
His first reaction had been to wave a dismissive hand at her and claim it was just an old friend. But when she reminded him that hed actually raised his voice on one of the calls, he sighed. All right the fact is, I was recently engaged to a woman in England.
At Rachels look of surprise, he quickly added, But I ended it with her. It really wasnt meant to be, and I told her so, but shes been rather gormless about the whole thing and has had a rather difficult time coming to terms, as it were.
Oh, Rachel said.
More importantly, how do you find the tabouleh? I think its rather too tart, dont you? he asked, quickly changing the subject, and leaving Rachel feeling strangely unsettled.
The other thing Flynn was vague about was his work. This stood in stark contrast to her, of course, who went on like a Chatty Cathy with her many tales of temporary assignmentsfish packing, receptionist, theater usher, mail-room clerk, check-out girl at the local craft store. But Flynn preferred not to speak of his work. Its frightfully boring, really, he told her.
But you work such long hours. There must be some-thins interesting.
No, really, he would insist, and silence any more questions from her with a kiss.
Rachel didnt mind. She chalked it up to his obvious boredom with his job, and when he couldnt answer some of her questions about her laptop, she figured he was trying to keep his work from their relationship.
So the only question Rachel was left with was the one that needed asking before she went any further, but the one question she couldnt scrounge up the guts to ask: How long was he in America?
That question dogged her through endless hours of temp workshe was so torn between dying to know the answer and refusing to acknowledge the inevitable ending to the sweetest thing shed ever known. Of course, she wanted there to be more to their relationship, to see it go on and on
But she couldnt possibly see how it would ever work.
First of all, there was her, Miss Fortune, an heiress who had been cut off from her fortune and couldnt get a real job for love or money. Several applications for teaching positions had gone unanswered. As far as she knew, shed be working temp jobs to pay the utility bill for the rest of her life, and Flynn was not the sort of guy to be attracted to that sort of povertyshe could tell by the cut of his clothes and his penchant for the finer things in life. He was a man who could have any woman he wantedwhy would he saddle himself with someone who packed fish? Even if it was a temporary job.
And then there was the prospect of explaining Miss Fortune to him, and how shed ended up like this. Every time she tried to think of how to say it, the words just sounded ridiculously stupid. Ive been cut off because I couldnt seem to get out of school , she could imagine saying, or Honestly, my dad is a prick, and thats why he cut me off, to be mean and spiteful . Or how about : I lived off my dad for the first thirty years of my life, but Ive turned over a new leaf. I swear .
Nevertheless, there was something between them that could not be denied, and if Rachel ever had any doubt of it, Flynn put that doubt to rest over and over again, and especially at night, when they would invariably end up in his little apartment, in his bed, making wild and passionate tantric love, complete with strangely shaped pillows and arousing creams, both fiercely determined to explore each and every chapter of the tantric sex book before she mailed it off to her sisters.
So it was, for the time being, anyway, her heaven on earth, and at the very least, a few moments in time she could cherish as long as she lived.
When it was over, she fully intended to write Cosmo and tell them that their research on the British men had been so far off base as to be laughable. Honestly, where did they think James Bond got his swagger?
RACHEL wasnt the only one caught up in their time togetherit wasnt something Flynn would bloody likely well forget, either. And, like Rachel, he couldnt have been more surprised. Not because she wasnt his typesurprisingly, she was more his type than any woman hed ever met. But hed never expected to get so caught up as he had. Hed half expected to go back to Iris once the sting of her betrayal had left him, and naturally, hed assumed the sting would leave himaffairs among his crowd were not exactly news, as almost everyone seemed to have them now and again.
But Iriss affair had not left him. In fact, the more he had thought of it in those days and weeks after it had happened, the angrier he became. What infuriated him was that Iris believed it to be something he should overlook. She was never sorry for it, not really, and that said more about her as a person than hed ever really seen before. It was plainly evident that he did not really know the woman he almost married.
Moreover, that circle of people who thought occasional affairs were quite all right was not a circle hed ever as-pired to. In truth, it was a circle that had annoyed him for far too long.
So here he was, caught up in a real love affair, one he was grateful to have found and experienced. And he would have been perfectly content to have gone on with it, but then reality would seep in.
It did not help matters that Joe thought he was quite off his trolley. Dude , hed said with great exasperation, arms rather akimbo, You cant be banging the perps!
There is no evidence she is a perp, Flynn had calmly informed him, and I am not banging her. Im really rather fond of her.
That chick is wacked . WACKED!
Shes unique. Shes really quite witty and very smart, and more compassionate than you and I, Flynn argued.
Joe looked at him as if hed lost his mind, his mouth gaping open to his lap, his eyes bulging out quite horribly. He managed to poke his eyes back in his head and ask, Are you serious ?
Quite, Flynn said evenly, and moreover, of late, he was a firm believer in the power of witchcraft, too, because the chemistry between him and Rachel was sizzling. He liked the woman very muchbloody hell, who was he kidding? He adored her.
It was a first for him to adore someone, to truly adore them, and was as unexpected as it was unwanted. Really, he wasnt certain what to do with it, particularly since this was more than a transatlantic flingRachel was not just an American girl to whom hed formed an almost instant and an increasing attraction.
She was also a suspect in a major crime.
That was the problem that kept Flynn awake at nights. He couldnt conceive of her being involved in the nutty professors scheme, but nor could he prove otherwise, not yet.
All that being said, his involvement with her, undercover notwithstanding, was reaching a point where Flynn was teetering precariously on the edge of a serious and career-ending lack of professionalism.
At some point, he had to confront what was happening to him and come to terms with the realities of this particular case. And if he didnt do it soon, he had the distinct feeling Joe would do it for him, if he wasnt already, with remarks such as, What, they dont have any ass in England?
Ill kindly ignore that, Flynn had said, quietly seething. But really, Joe, are you so bloody macho that you havent been smitten once or twice in your life?
His partner had blushed fiercely at that, and hed looked out the window, muttered something that sounded a bit like maybe . Well, whatever, he said, a little louder. Youre nuts, pal. That chick is so in on this deal shes drowning in it.
Flynn had smiled darkly at that. Until hed been in her bungalow and determined what she did indeed have in her possession, he couldnt say one way or the other, but he knew Rachel. He knew Rachel. Would you care to place a gentlemans wager on it?
Sure, Joe said, grinning like a man quite sure of himself. What would you like to wager?
One thousand American dollars or is that too rich for your blood?
That made Joe chuckle. Youre on, little Lord Fauntleroy. Youre on .
They had dropped the subject in favor of wrapping up the homicide they were working, and drove down to the shore to have one last chat with a young man who had served a little time for breaking and entering a few years ago.
BACK in New York, Aaron noticed that Daniel had new office furniture. Giant butterfly chairs and a big, sixties-type cubed ottoman between the clients and the master manipulator, which is how Aaron had begun to think of the idiot therapist, because damn him if he couldnt get him and Bonnie to do the most ridiculous things. This week had been their at-home experiment in touching. Fingertip to fingertip, hand to hand, elbow to elbow, and so on.
Daniel seemed pretty pleased with his furniture and himself, and was beaming at Bonnie as she talked about the touching exercise. It was really She paused; cast her gaze heavenward as she tried to think of the right word. Something close to magical . Not sexual, really, she said, lowering her gaze and trying to find a comfortable position in the new butterfly chair, but I was cognizant of the connection, you know? I was struck with how long it had been since Aaron and I had been aware of each other on a purely physical level. I didnt remember Aarons skin was so smooth.
Aaron moaned.
Aaron? Daniel asked, smiling at him. Was there something you wanted to say?
My skin is smooth because I live in hospitals and they are turning me into an old man, he said gruffly, and tried to sit up in that fucking chair.
Daniel was still smiling. Is there something wrong with smooth skin?
No.
Good, good . So what did you take from the exercise, Aaron? he asked, leaning forward and looking concerned and interested.
Well, Daniel , I learned that I cant get it up anymore. When a beautiful woman touches me, there aint nothing going on downstairs. Not even a whimper. Might as well lop the damn thing off.
Oh, honey you think Im beautiful?
Aaron looked at Bonnie like she was nuts, which she certainly was if she didnt know that he thought she was beautiful. Hell yes I think youre beautiful, Bonnie! What do you think?
I havent heard you say it in so long , she said, with a girly sigh.
And how does it make you feel to hear him say it now, Bonnie? Daniel asked, shifting that concerned look to her.
It makes me feel beautiful. And loved.
Judas H. Priest, what was it with women? Of course he thought she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the entire fucking world!
Aaron? Do you understand that Bonnie needs that sort of reinforcement from you? Daniel asked carefully, as if he were speaking to a moron.
Yes. I understand that I have to tell her five thousand times over that I think shes beautiful, because I cannot trust her to remember it or believe it from one day to the next, he groused, but his tone did not douse Bonnies pleased-as-punch smile in the least.
As we have discussed, women respond to aural stimulation, Daniel said, gesturing to his ears. Talking and sharing feelings are important to them. When you have thoughts about Bonnie, they may not seem important to you, but they are very important to her. Its just as Ive suggested to Bonnie that for most men, doing is the preferred verb.
The preferred verb ?
In other words, Daniel said patiently, Bonnie should show you more than tell you how she feels, because men respond to visual stimulation, he said, gesturing to his eyes with two fingers. But you should tell her, because women respond to aural stimulation.