A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara Boswell

of her blue shirt. Flynt spied the shadowy hint of cleavage, and his mouth grew dry. Her small breasts were softly rounded beneath the ribbed knit material.

      Now he was hard and uncomfortable. His mind went completely blank.

      Unaware of his scrutiny, Angelica leaned back in her chair. “Mama tunes in to all those TV talk shows and reads the celebrity tabloids. She avidly followed the Monica Malone murder…I guess now I know why. Mama talked a lot about it at the time, but no more than any other sensational Hollywood story. And she’s followed them all.”

      “But you never had any hints, any suspicions at all that Brandon Fortune was your father?”

      “Not until you blurted it out this afternoon.” Angelica stood up and carried the empty iced tea glasses to the sink. “And right in front of Sarah and Casper, too. That was princely of you, Corrigan.”

      “I didn’t want it to be that way. You have to admit, I tried to give your mother a chance to tell—” Flynt shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sorry, Angelica. I didn’t want to hurt you by springing the news on you like that. So, uh, what do you think about Brandon being your dad?”

      “I never particularly wanted any dad at all—and now I have Brandon Fortune.” Angelica groaned. “Mama occasionally would drop hints about who my father was. She said he was related to somebody famous. That would’ve been Monica Malone, of course. A few years ago she started adding that he had a rich famous family.”

      “And you started wondering if maybe you were a Kennedy?”

      “I never wondered because I didn’t care. It didn’t matter,” Angelica said firmly. “It still doesn’t.”

      “I don’t believe that for a minute, Angelica.”

      Her response was stony silence.

      “Do you know who Sarah’s and Casper’s fathers are?” Flynt was unable to resist asking. He thought of the expression on the kids’ faces during the brief fatherhood discussion. Confused. Hopeful. It had been painful to see. “Because they obviously don’t.”

      “And you’re wondering who else is going to arrive at the door wanting to establish a relationship with their newly found offspring?” Angelica finished washing the glasses and reached for a dish towel to dry them.

      “The thought’s crossed my mind. From what I’ve seen around here today, you never know what or who will show up at this door.”

      “Don’t worry, I know who Danny’s, Sarah’s, and Casper’s fathers are, and it’s nobody rich or famous. None of them will ever come here. Each of those men are aware that mama had his child, but it doesn’t matter to them.”

      “All three guys know they have kids by Romina and don’t care?” Flynt frowned. “What sort of lowlife goes around fathering and abandoning children?”

      “A selfish, irresponsible lowlife, that’s who,” Angelica said bitterly.

      “And your mother managed to find three of them?” Flynt watched Angelica put the glasses away. Her movements were graceful, precise. “Romina has a real talent for picking men.”

      Angelica whirled to confront him. Though censure was missing from his tone, she expected to see it reflected on his face. She found him looking at her, his expression curious but not judgmental.

      “Mama has a talent for trusting the wrong men,” Angelica acknowledged with a wistful sigh. “I know this will probably sound like an over-used cliché, but my mother has a heart of gold and the men she’s chosen have pretty much smashed it. Finally, she was galvanized to help other women. It was a gradual process and she—”

      Angelica abruptly lapsed into silence. Flynt Corrigan had been an FBI agent, she reminded herself, a professional investigator who’d made his living interrogating people. She had to proceed with caution around him. But it was hard to remember that because he was so easy to talk to. So easy to confide in.

      It was mystifying. Angelica was thoroughly bemused. She’d never been the open, trusting type who shared secrets and sought advice; from an early age, she had found it best to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself. Yet here she was, chatting away about mama’s men with Flynt as if they were long-time confidantes, just like she’d done with Mara, who was her best friend, fellow nurse, former foster sister and current roommate.

      Of course, the feelings Flynt evoked in her were definitely not the comradely ones Mara inspired. Angelica noticed that Flynt was watching her, and her heart began to beat erratically. Needles of sexual excitement pricked her, and she was suddenly, sharply aware of how quickly she’d shifted from being mentally attuned to him to this aching sensual awareness of him.

      “Why hasn’t your mother told the kids who their dads are?” Flynt asked.

      Angelica dragged her eyes away from him, wishing that they were talking about something else, not this subject that had caused so much pain.

      She swallowed hard. “There’s no deep dark secret why mama hasn’t told the kids who their dads are. My brother Danny knows, but he’s old enough to deal with it. Sarah and Casper aren’t. Mama doesn’t want them to know their fathers’ names because she’s afraid the kids might try to contact their fathers and be hurt when they’re rejected by them, which they definitely would be.”

      “Help!” Casper came running into the kitchen with an armful of dishes. “I ate ice cream and spaghetti and pie and chocolate pudding in my room, and this gunk got crusted on, and now there’s roaches in my room and mama’s gonna kill me.” He dumped the dirty dishes onto the counter and ran out the back door without pausing to take a breath.

      Flynt joined Angelica at the counter and picked up one of Casper’s discarded bowls. “It’s encrusted with gunk, all right,” he said lightly. “I’m surprised that any self-respecting roach would go near this.”

      Angelica began to fill the sink with detergent once again. “Mama is something of a neat freak. Gunk and roaches aren’t going to improve her relationship with Casper.” She took two of the bowls and submerged them in the sink of soap bubbles.