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The Sinner's Marriage Redemption
Annie West
A Merciless Mission!There are three goals self-made magnate Flynn Marshall has set out to achieve:1. A multi-million-pound business empire2. Acceptance in the highest echelons of society3. A wife to make him the envy of all men!Flynn’s ruthlessly accomplished his first goal and he’s on his way to the second. As for the third – he will rush stunning, well-connected Ava Cavendish to the altar at the first opportunity. A trophy bride should complete his plans, but passionate Ava and the desire she inflames in this untouchable CEO threaten to turn his carefully ordered strategy on its head…Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/anniewest


‘Will you marry me, Ava?’
She goggled. ‘We’ve only known each other a week!’
Flynn’s brows rose. ‘We’ve known each other for years.’
But how well? Seven years older than her, he’d usually been helping his father on the estate grounds. ‘I’m still stunned. We don’t even know if we’re physically compatible,’ she said.
His expression altered. Focused. Igniting wildfire in her veins. ‘I think last night proves we’ve got no problems there. We’re combustible together.’
‘But marriage is more than physical attraction. It’s only been a week,’ she protested again.
‘How long do you need to be sure? A month? A year? I knew the moment I saw you again in Paris,’ he said.
Ava’s breath caught. ‘You care for me that much?’
‘You’re perfect in every way.’
Seven Sexy Sins
The true taste of temptation!
From greed to gluttony, lust to envy, these fabulous stories explore what seven sexy sins mean in the twenty-first century!
Whether pride goes before a fall, or wrath leads to a passion that consumes entirely, one thing is certain: the road to true love has never been more enticing!
So you decide:
How can it be a sin when it feels so good?
Sloth—Cathy Williams
Lust—Dani Collins
Pride—Kim Lawrence
Gluttony—Maggie Cox
Greed—Sara Craven
Wrath—Maya Blake
Envy—Annie West
Seven titles by some of Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance’s most treasured and exciting authors!
The Sinner’s
Marriage
Redemption
Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
For Liz.
Amica carissima et doctissima, and an admirable woman!
Contents
Cover (#u0001c926-5040-5e3a-b3f5-0c3c64e5f1a4)
Introduction (#ubf5a040d-0dd1-59b9-9d34-c5c50ffac4e5)
Seven Sexy Sins (#ufd946c0e-a80f-5bd5-b17c-06115af64339)
Title Page (#u0cc0005e-1554-56a5-99cf-380e7ad34346)
About the Author (#u28014001-8687-55d8-b4f0-1c309c7089f7)
Dedication (#ubbae6058-ab0c-5bcc-bb20-5e2b1a8eab99)
PROLOGUE (#u8afd939a-d554-5bcf-bc8b-1f62f603c881)
CHAPTER ONE (#u03ee2a3b-0a62-583b-897f-307121be432a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u0b54967b-70a6-526d-8638-0620c852fce1)
CHAPTER THREE (#u47162e8c-ebdd-548d-aef6-852213477c94)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud7b4c724-f323-50e5-8f41-327db359c317)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u92bd1b07-300c-536e-a099-eb8d395ab4dd)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_c6501817-d5ea-5db3-9e71-912b87033929)
THE CAR’S ACCELERATION was loud in the still night, breaking the silence Flynn had so enjoyed after the bustle of London.
As he stretched his legs on a midnight walk across Michael Cavendish’s country estate, the only sound should have been the swoop of an owl or the rustle of small creatures foraging. Flynn was too far from the big house for the sounds of the Cavendishes’ annual winter bash to intrude.
The car roared closer, towards the tight bend in the long drive. Flynn quickened his pace, suddenly alert. It wasn’t braking soon enough to make the turn.
By the time the sickening screech and thud of a collision shattered the night, Flynn was sprinting.
The drift of cloud across the moon parted as he scudded around the thicket on a surge of frantic adrenaline. There it was: an open convertible at an ungainly angle, nose deep in the dark foliage. Moonlight sparkled on shattered glass that crunched under his feet.
But Flynn’s eyes were on the driver’s seat. On the figure struggling with the door. Moon-silvered hair spilled over pale, bare shoulders and arms flecked with what he suspected was blood. His heart hammered even as relief kicked in. At least she was conscious.
‘Don’t move.’ He had to see how badly she was injured, and quickly.
‘Who’s there?’ Instantly the woman shrank back from the door.
Her head snapped up and shock slammed into him. Ava? It couldn’t be little Ava Cavendish. Not in that tight, low-cut white evening gown. Not with those lush breasts.
‘Who is it?’
This time Flynn registered the sharp fear in her tone. Already she was trying to climb out the opposite side of the car, her long dress catching.
‘Ava? It’s okay. It’s me, Flynn Marshall.’ He reached the driver’s door but couldn’t wrench it open. The metal was buckled. Frustration surged.
‘Flynn? Mrs Marshall’s son?’
Her voice was slurred and anxiety stabbed him. Wasn’t slurred speech a danger sign?
‘Yes, Flynn.’ He made his voice soothing as he tried to recall hazy first aid knowledge. ‘You know me.’
A gusty sigh met the revelation. She mumbled something under her breath. He caught the word safe.
Flynn frowned. ‘Of course you’re safe with me.’
They’d grown up on the estate. Ava in the big house and he in a cramped workers’ cottage with his parents.
‘Here. This way.’ He had to get her away from the car. He couldn’t smell petrol but he’d take no chances.
Whatever her injuries, she could move her arms and legs. No spinal damage, hopefully. She’d already clambered up to kneel on the seat.
She twisted and a bottle dropped to the floor.
Since when had Ava been drinking champagne? She must be only—he did a quick mental calculation—seventeen. More to the point, the Ava he knew was far too responsible to drink and drive, even in a fit of teen rebellion.
‘Sure you’re Flynn?’ She frowned owlishly, sitting back on her heels. ‘You look different.’
Ava had never seen him in his city suit or anything as expensive as his cashmere coat. On his visits to his mother he reverted to casual clothes. Tonight, knowing his mother would be at the big house all night, working, he’d arrived late then set out for a stroll to clear his head after the drive. And to say farewell. This would be his last visit. Finally he’d convinced his mum to leave Frayne Hall.
‘I’m definitely Flynn.’ He reached out and scooped her up in his arms, lifting her carefully over the low door. But when he would have put her on her feet she clung tight, arms wrapped around his neck.
‘You have to promise.’
Wide, bright eyes glittered up at him and something punched hard in his gut.
‘Promise you won’t take me back.’
‘You need help. You’re hurt.’ Some of the dark streaks on her pale skin had smudged. Blood. Hell! He had to get her away from here, see how badly she was injured.
‘You can help me. Just you.’
She pouted up at him, her glossy lips enticing even in the moonlight. To his horror he felt a ripple of masculine response.
‘Please?’
She blinked and he saw tears fill her eyes.
He tightened his hold, valiantly ignoring the fact that little Ava had grown into a seductively luscious woman.
‘Of course I’ll help you.’
‘And you promise you won’t take me back? You won’t tell them where I am?’
The intensity of her stare and the anguish in her voice raised the hairs on his nape.
She didn’t sound drunk. She sounded scared.
He frowned, telling himself it was an illusion. She just didn’t want to face the music. She’d crashed an expensive car and she’d been drinking. Yes, her father would be upset. Yet Flynn knew that Michael Cavendish, though an appalling employer, was a doting family man. Ava had nothing to fear.
‘Promise me!’ Desperation threaded her rising voice and she struggled in his arms.
Flynn looked towards the big house, a blaze of light in the distance. No one had come after her. They mightn’t even know she’d left. He sighed.
‘I promise. For now at least.’ He’d take her to his mother’s cottage, see how badly she was hurt, then decide whether to take her to a hospital and about ringing her father—the last man in the world he wanted to talk to.
‘Thank you, Flynn.’
She smiled and laid her head against him. Her hair tickled his chin, the scent of roses and femininity curling around him.
‘I always liked you. I knew I could trust you.’
* * *
Ava winced as she stepped into the cosy kitchen, awash with bright morning light. It wasn’t that the light exacerbated her sore head so much as the fact it would reveal what she’d seen in the tiny bathroom mirror. Shadowed eyes. Bloodless lips now she’d scrubbed off her scarlet lipstick. Pale skin marked by scores of tiny cuts.
Far too much pale skin.
She’d tried to hitch her bodice up to cover herself a little more but it was no good. The dress was designed to reveal, not conceal.
The coward in her wished she could slip out without Flynn seeing her. He’d been marvellous, so supportive. But what must he think of her? Crashing her car, refusing to call her father or budge from his mother’s cottage. She caught her breath. Would she have to face Mrs Marshall too this morning?
‘Do you have a headache? I’ve got painkillers here.’
Ava swung around. Flynn stood, tall, dark and broodingly attractive, watching her with concern. He held out a glass and some medication. Her silly heart fluttered just at the sight of him.
Embarrassment surged. He’d anticipated she’d have a hangover. Could this scenario get any worse?
She wondered if he thought she did this all the time. Did he think she’d been wildly partying? She shivered.
Next thing she knew she was being gently pushed into a seat with something warm wrapped around her shoulders. It smelt fresh, like the forest after rain. Like Flynn. She breathed deep, his masculine scent going straight to her head.
‘Thank you.’
Ava met his dark eyes, felt again that unfamiliar pulse of awareness before looking away. He overwhelmed her. From childhood she’d been drawn to Flynn, despite the seven years between them, to his devil-may-care adventurous streak and his kindness.
More recently, though, Ava had been tongue-tied by the assured, handsome man he’d become. Even his loose-limbed stride appealed. Did he know he made her heart beat faster? That she melted a little inside when he looked at her with those enigmatic dark eyes? That sometimes she dreamed—
‘Water would be lovely, thank you.’ She drew on years of self-discipline, projecting an assurance she didn’t feel as she accepted the glass and the headache tablets, pretending that sitting in a ruined evening gown that left her half naked was in any way normal. ‘Is your mother home?’
‘No. She sleeps at the house when there’s a big party and she has to be up early for the breakfasts.’
Ava nodded, trying not to think of what was happening up at Frayne Hall right now.
‘Are you ready to talk about last night, Ava?’
Flynn’s voice was low and soft, brushing across her skin like plush velvet. She loved the sound of her name on his lips. But she couldn’t let him distract her.
‘Thank you for helping me.’ She put the glass down on the kitchen table. ‘It’s time I got back.’
‘You’re going to the Hall?’ He frowned. ‘Last night you were adamant wild horses wouldn’t drag you there.’
‘Last night I wasn’t myself.’
‘You don’t want to talk about it? You were very upset.’
She froze. What, exactly, had she said? It would be too excruciating if Flynn discovered why she’d driven away from the Hall so recklessly last night.
‘Ava? Don’t you trust me?’ He hunkered down beside her. He looked so appealing, so strong, that for a moment she wanted to confide everything.
Impulsively she reached out to touch his gleaming dark hair. At the last minute she stopped. He couldn’t solve her problems. Only she could do that.
‘Of course I trust you.’ He was the only man she did trust. ‘The way you helped me last night...I can’t tell you what it meant to me.’ She pasted on a smile. ‘But I really need to go now.’
It was time to face the music. Alone.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ecbb3469-42f0-5816-9a06-11bc29e8fd16)
Seven years later
FLYNN LEANED BACK in his seat, letting the shadows engulf him as he observed the tourists at the front of the boat. Eagerly they chattered, craning out over the Seine to get the perfect shot of Paris in the late-afternoon glow.
Only one of them was, like him, alone. She shoved her sunglasses up, pushing back wheat-gold hair to reveal a peaches and cream complexion in a heart-shaped face.
Even features, a straight nose and a mouth too wide for true beauty shouldn’t arrest his attention. But Flynn tensed, each sinew and muscle tightening.
Animation had always lent a special appeal to Ava’s face and now, when she smiled as Notre Dame passed by, her features were alive with pleasure.
Last time he’d seen her—the night she’d stayed in his mother’s cottage after crashing her car—she’d still worn her youth in her features, despite her woman’s body. He had felt guilty at the tug of attraction he’d experienced. Now, at twenty-four, high cheekbones had emerged, giving her face a character and elegance only enhanced by that carefree smile...
Yet the intensity of his response surprised him. He hadn’t expected that. It was a resonance deep within him—a quickening in his blood.
He frowned, trying to define the sensation. Attraction—yes. She was a good-looking woman. Not his usual style, though, in jeans and a bright floral shirt. He preferred women who projected glamour and restrained sophistication. But Ava could do that too. She’d been born and bred to it.
Flynn nodded. That was the explanation, of course. It was satisfaction he felt. Satisfaction that she really was the right woman. The perfect woman. He’d known within a moment of seeing her that this would work perfectly.
It was always good when a plan came together.
He watched her notice a couple embracing on the embankment, a wistful smile flickering across her mouth.
Curiously, for a moment doubt assailed him. Then he banished it and rose, making his way to the front of the boat.
When he reached her he paused and looked down. Eyes the blue of a perfect English summer afternoon turned up to him, widening. Heat exploded in his belly, swift and low, making him drag in air.
‘Flynn?’
Her voice was husky with surprise. Delectable.
He smiled. He was a lucky man.
* * *
A week later Flynn again looked down into wistful summer-blue eyes and felt pleasure rise as Ava reached for his hand. Slim fingers meshed with his and he curled his possessively around them. Yes!
She looked so disappointed that he was leaving, but equally determined not to show it. Silently he cursed the work emergency that called him away. He was so close. With a little more time—
‘Of course you must go.’ She nodded as if to make up for her lack of enthusiasm. ‘They need you in London.’
‘I know.’ Though his business had grown vast he was a hands-on CEO. He preferred to keep his finger on the pulse rather than delegate.
Now, though, Flynn regretted that no one else could handle this latest problem. He didn’t want to leave Ava with nothing settled between them.
‘Besides...’ Ava tipped up her chin. ‘I leave Paris tomorrow for Prague.’
Did she know how much she revealed with that brave, tight smile and those yearning eyes? In the way she leaned in as if inviting him to scoop her close?
Satisfaction stirred. Perhaps his forced absence wasn’t such a disaster after all. Perhaps it would work to his advantage.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6ff6cc72-fe21-5cc8-841a-bb68b3d8fd0d)
AVA STUDIED THE GUIDEBOOK, telling herself it was good that she could explore Prague alone. She’d see more—not be distracted by dark eyes or Flynn’s lurking smile.
Her week in Paris had been a blur of excitement and pleasure. Something out of a romantic dream.
But she’d known it couldn’t last. Dreams never did.
When Flynn had been called away to London they’d parted with no plans to meet again. It had happened so fast she hadn’t realised that till she’d been watching his broad shoulders cleave through the crowds on the Champs-Elysées, leaving admiring female stares in his wake.
He’d said nothing about the future. Had she just been convenient vacation company?
Ava’s mouth tightened. It was ridiculous to experience this pang of longing. Yet she couldn’t suppress a sigh. Paris, when he’d stayed on after his work meetings just to be with her, extending his few days into a week’s stay, had been the most magical experience of her life.
Face it, Ava. It was the only magical experience you’ve ever had. Fairytales aren’t for you.
She forced herself to scan the guidebook, reading about the defenestration of Prague, when irate locals had tipped three men out of this very castle window.
Defenestration. Such a pompous word. It reminded her of her father. Not that Michael Cavendish would have been caught committing assault. His speciality had been behind the scenes manipulation.
Ava snapped the book shut.
Life would have been better for a lot of people if someone had defenestrated Michael Cavendish years ago.
‘Ava.’
She froze. Surely she was imagining that low voice, like dark chocolate and aged port.
She’d woken flushed and aroused this morning with that voice in her head. Drowsily she’d reached out, half believing she’d done what she hadn’t dared to in Paris.
‘Ava?’
Her head jerked up, then up again, and there he was—like the answer to a wish she hadn’t dared formulate.
He stood, carelessly chic in bespoke casual clothes, looking at her with the tantalising hint of a smile. His saturnine good looks and an intriguing hint of unknowable undercurrents made Flynn Marshall the most compellingly attractive man she’d ever met.
Or maybe it was the gleam in sloe-dark eyes that spread warmth through her. That gleam hinted at shared secrets, a special bond.
‘Flynn? I can’t believe it!’ Her smile widened. She hadn’t a hope of concealing the tumultuous joy filling her chest so that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
It was as if all those years of learning to conceal her feelings and reveal only a poised, charming face to the world had never been.
With Flynn there was no need for the façade. She knew she was utterly safe with him.
If she experienced a frisson of danger it was delicious danger. A reminder that she was no longer a child but a woman and that he was potently, breathtakingly male.
‘Why were you frowning? You looked grim.’
He brushed long fingers across her brow and something in her chest somersaulted. Ava told herself it couldn’t be her heart, but she was past caring.
Flynn was here with her!
It couldn’t be a coincidence. He’d had no plans to visit Prague. His business was in London.
‘Ava?’
She blinked. ‘I looked grim?’ She’d been thinking of her father. No wonder she’d frowned. ‘I was just reading the guidebook. Do you know this is where the defenestration of Prague took place? The second one. The first was down in the old town hall.’
Was she babbling? Probably. It was hard to concentrate with Flynn standing there, his eyes eating her up. Her flesh tightened, her nipples budding against her lace bra.
Surely he hadn’t looked at her so hungrily in Paris. If he had she might have overcome a lifetime’s scruples and invited him to—
‘Perhaps it’s a national pastime...tossing people out of windows.’
His low voice held the hint of a sexy chuckle. Ava felt it resonate through her. Or maybe that was a reaction to the deep green woodsy scent that was uniquely Flynn’s. It did the strangest things to her.
‘But the Czechs seem such friendly people,’ she said.
‘Who knows? Maybe they have hidden depths.’
Like Flynn.
They’d spent most of last week together in Paris and Ava had felt a connection she’d never experienced with any other man. Maybe because she’d known him when she was young—he’d been an older, intriguing figure, embodying the freedom she’d longed for. He’d been a true friend when she’d most needed one. She’d never forgotten his kindness that night of her father’s party.
Yet she was aware there was a part of Flynn he kept to himself. But who didn’t? Her own experiences had made Ava intensely private.
‘You’re looking serious again.’
Once more that fleeting touch stole her breath.
‘I’m wondering what you’re doing here. You had a crisis to deal with in London.’
Flynn shrugged and her gaze slid along straight, powerful shoulders. Heat trickled through her. She knew she had it bad when a pair of shoulders robbed her of breath.
‘Ah. The emergency.’
But instead of explaining he stepped to one side, inviting her to follow. Immediately a family group took their place at the window, peering over the trees to the red roofs of old Prague.
Ava found herself standing with Flynn in a quiet corner beside another large window. She didn’t glance at the view. Her attention was riveted on him.
With sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes beneath slanted ebony brows and that strongly carved jaw, Flynn Marshall was enough to mesmerise any woman. His burnished skin hinted at his Romany heritage and the slightly askew set of his long nose, broken years ago, reinforced the aura of physicality in his athletic frame. Even the brutally short cut of his raven hair, which Ava knew would curl around his collar if left to grow, couldn’t tame that hint of wildness.
A wildness that had transferred to her pulse. It racketed too fast.
‘You were going to explain what you’re doing here.’ The words emerged sharply.
His mouth cocked up at one side in a half-smile that she felt in the sudden thump of her heart against her ribs. Ava gripped her book and took a step back—only to find herself against the window embrasure.
Flynn regarded her with laughing eyes, but for once Ava couldn’t join in the joke. She felt clogged with anticipation, her chest constricting.
It wasn’t Flynn’s smile she wanted, but much more. How could she feel so much, want so much, after just a week?
The ache in her chest intensified and perversely Ava resented his effect on her. She hated feeling vulnerable. It was a sensation she’d worked hard to eradicate from her life.
It was a sensation she’d vowed never to feel again.
Ava lifted her chin, projecting something akin to the hauteur that had been her father’s hallmark.
The laughter in Flynn’s eyes died, leaving him sombre.
He raised his hand to touch her again but she stiffened. Opening up to Flynn as she had in Paris had been a completely new experience. Only now did she realise how dangerously far she’d let herself go.
‘I came for you.’ His voice brushed soft as a summer breeze across her sensitised skin.
‘Me?’ The word emerged from her constricted throat.
‘You.’
He leaned closer but didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. That glowing look melted her resistance and incinerated her doubts.
‘I couldn’t stay away, Ava.’
‘But you had work to do—’
‘I dealt with the crisis in a day and then rescheduled everything that wasn’t critical.’
When he looked at her that way she was tempted to think he shared her feelings. Her breath hitched.
‘One of the perks of being the boss?’ She kept her tone light. ‘Your secretary must love that.’
‘I’m a good employer.’
She heard pride in his voice.
‘And usually I’m easy to work with. I’ve never done this before.’
The air throbbed between them. Surely Flynn heard her heart pounding?
She swallowed, out of her depth. Carefree companionship teetered on the brink of something beyond her experience. Ava had played safe so long. She was torn between joy and fear at the prospect of stepping beyond her self-imposed boundaries.
‘You’ve never played hooky before?’ she teased, her voice uneven. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t read his intense gaze. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
He shook his head, that glimmer of a smile telling her he understood what she was doing.
No one apart from her brother Rupert read her so easily.
‘I’ve done my share of rule-breaking.’
Flynn’s defiance of the established order at Frayne Hall had been legend, and a favourite cause of complaint for her father. He’d accused his tenants’ son of everything from poaching to disrespect and being ‘too bloody clever for his boots’.
To Ava, seven years younger, his exploits had taken on mythic proportions—like those of Robin Hood and Zorro and every other defiant rule-breaker rolled into one. She’d applauded his audacity and mourned his absence when he’d left. She’d longed to follow in his footsteps and stand up to oppressive authority. Finally she had, but years of conformity had taken their toll.
‘But not now you’re a businessman?’ It had been a shock to discover Flynn the maverick was now a respected businessman, doing something conventional in the City.
‘I take calculated risks, but cancelling important appointments isn’t my style.’ The smile disappeared, his face suddenly serious. ‘Until now. Until you.’
The heat in his eyes seared her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
‘But I’ll be back in London myself next week.’ Her voice was croaky and she couldn’t seem to get her breath.
Flynn shook his head. ‘I couldn’t wait that long.’
Ava’s pulse sprinted at what she read in his eyes. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, his gaze never wavering from hers.
It was the first time he’d kissed her.
In Paris she’d wondered if he might, hoped he would. She’d berated herself for not taking the initiative to kiss him.
In the background she heard voices, the echo of footsteps, but they barely registered. Her senses focused on those hard, warm fingers enfolding hers and the press of surprisingly soft lips sending ripples of pleasure up her arm.
Dark eyes glittered as he pressed a kiss to her palm, turning the ripple into a floodtide of delight.
Dazed, she shook her head. She wasn’t a complete innocent. She’d dated, shared kisses. But she’d never experienced anything so flagrantly erotic.
They were fully clothed, in a public place, yet with that simple caress Flynn had reduced her to quivering neediness. Except she didn’t feel reduced. She felt buoyant, light as air, as if she’d swallowed sunshine.
‘You came for me?’ she whispered, afraid to believe it.
Despite her materially privileged upbringing, she’d never been made to feel special. To her father she’d been a commodity, not a person in her own right.
Flynn had cancelled a packed schedule to join her. No one had done anything like that in her life—put her first. It filled her to the brim with stirring emotions.
‘I did come for you.’
Flynn’s lips traced the words across her palm, making her tremble as arousal stirred.
‘I told you I couldn’t stay away.’
Her fingers touched his cheek, threaded through his springy short hair, revelling in the unique textures of him: the hardness of sculpted bone beneath taut flesh, the softness of his hair, his heat against her palm.
‘I missed you.’ With Flynn here her doubts seemed foolish. ‘I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.’
He smiled, his expression so satisfied that for a moment it bordered on smug. But the impression was so fleeting she told herself she must have imagined it.
‘I missed you too, Ava. Our week in Paris wasn’t enough for me. I need more.’
Ava was still absorbing that when he bent, reaching for the floor. When he straightened he held the guidebook she hadn’t noticed she’d dropped.
Heat flushed her cheeks as she took it. She’d never been clumsy—if she had it had been drummed out of her. She was twenty-four, competent, savvy, and never bowled over by men no matter how suave. Especially if they were suave. Life had taught her to be wary, even suspicious.
Yet with Flynn it was as if she were seventeen again—klutzy and breathlessly awakening to romance.
A seventeen she’d never been.
She tasted bitterness on her tongue. There’d been no room for romance or dreams then. Just harsh reality that had taught her good things came at a cost.
What was it about Flynn that cut through those hard-won lessons? The fact that he had nothing to gain from being with her? That he could have no ulterior motive? That his interest was in her and not, as so often in the past, in who she’d been?
Because Flynn was genuine.
Because she’d known him for ever.
Because he’d proved she could trust him.
How could she not? He’d helped her on the worst night of her life. Inspired her to change her life even if he hadn’t realised it then.
‘Thank you.’ Ignoring the clinging shreds of caution that warned her to hold back, Ava smiled, letting her feelings show.
Flynn blinked and then, swift as thought, moved in to grasp her arm, his touch deliciously possessive.
‘I was right to follow you to Prague.’
He paused, his expression making the blood hum in her veins.
‘Wasn’t I?’
For an instant she hesitated, unused to laying herself open. But these new feelings were too intense to ignore. Besides, wasn’t being with Flynn what she’d longed for?
‘Absolutely.’ She curled her fingers around his arm, staking a claim of her own. It felt good.
‘Seen enough here?’
Ava dragged her gaze from those velvety eyes, noticing for the first time the tourists casting them curious stares.
‘Yes.’ She dropped the guidebook into her tote bag and pressed close, revelling in the feel of him beside her. She felt ready to follow him anywhere.
Moments later they retraced her route through the Vladislav Hall, so long and cavernous that in the old days knights had entertained the nobility here with indoor jousts.
Ava smiled as they headed for the exit, imagining Flynn astride a warhorse. Strangely, the image came easily. With his determination and athleticism he’d be a force to be reckoned with in combat. More, he’d look wildly romantic with his sculpted, dark features and glowing gaze as he accepted a lady’s favour. Her favour.
She shook her head, dispelling the fantasy.
But nothing could dispel the heady sense that she’d left behind dull reality and entered a glorious new world to which Flynn held the key.
He drew her arm further through his, his smile melting her internal organs.
Did she have stars in her eyes? She didn’t care.
For the first time in her life Ava was in love. Completely, head over heels in love.
Flynn was everything she’d never dared dream of: understanding, charismatic, funny, sexy, gently teasing, considerate yet strong. Caring.
She’d spent years distrusting men’s motives. All her life, it seemed. But she knew Flynn. He’d never hurt her or play the heartless, manipulative games with which she’d grown up. He’d rescued her years before and never once tried to use her in any way.
Flynn was special. He always had been.
Why shouldn’t she, for the first time ever, let her emotions rule? Fling away caution and live the dream? Even if it was scary, letting go.
Ava was tired of allowing the shadows of the past to restrict her life.
As they left the old palace and emerged into the sunlight of the citadel Ava felt she was stepping into her own private fairytale.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_94cffe00-698c-55ab-ae43-d2f6beee524a)
THEY WATCHED THE sun go down from a romantic outdoor restaurant perched high on a hill. Hand in hand they talked, laughed and sipped delicious local wine. If Ava spent more time drinking in Flynn’s sculpted features rather than the view of orchards, ancient buildings and the glinting river, what did it matter?
Flynn’s whole attention was focused on her. Ava had never felt so important, so...treasured.
The closeness they’d shared in Paris reached a new level. Even after such a short time they could finish each other’s sentences. Ava revelled in the fact they understood each other so well.
Now, in the lobby of her small hotel, she didn’t want the magic to end.
‘Come up to my room?’
The words emerged breathlessly and Ava lifted her chin to counteract any hint of vulnerability. She was inexperienced, but that was from choice, not fear. Deliberately she banished all thought of why she’d remained celibate.
She wanted Flynn as she’d never wanted any man. Never thought she could want any man. She’d always had a weakness for him, since her teens.
Black eyebrows slashed down over eyes turned suddenly inscrutable. Surely Ava was mistaken in thinking, even for a fleeting second, that she’d seen calculation in Flynn’s expression?
That was what a lifetime of distrust did to you.
Thrusting it aside, she took his hand. It was hard and warm as it gripped hers.
Fire arced through her when Flynn leant close.
‘Lead the way.’
His words feathered her hair. Something twanged inside, like a string plucked, taut and vibrating. Ava’s heart-rate raced faster.
Up and up they went. With each step she was ultra-aware of Flynn behind her, his body shadowing hers. The only sounds were the creak of stairs and her fractured breathing.
Finally they reached the small landing. His closeness made her skin prickle in anticipation. Waves of longing washed through her as she inhaled his warm, woodsy scent.
All afternoon and evening they’d been together, yet there’d been no pressure from him for more intimacy. That was a good thing. Here was a man interested in her thoughts and feelings, not just her body.
She was grateful Flynn hadn’t rushed her. He was so physically imposing he could be almost daunting. Now she’d grown accustomed to his nearness and the feel of their fingers entwined, fitting so perfectly.
Was that how their bodies would fit?
Her breath quickened and grew shallow. Flynn might be giving her space, but she knew what she wanted even after such a short time. Nothing in her life had ever been so crystal-clear.
The old-fashioned key was heavy in her hands. She had to try twice before the lock clicked. She sighed with relief.
‘You’ll have to watch your head. I’m under the eaves so the roof slopes.’
Ava turned as she spoke to find him already in the room, the door closing behind him. In the dim light his tall frame filled the doorway and a frisson of sensation rippled through her. Doubt? Nerves? Excitement?
It made her hands clammy and her nipples peak against her bright T-shirt. Flynn’s gaze dropped to her breasts and the air in her lungs whooshed out.
No, not doubt. Not with desire pooling in her belly. She liked it when he looked at her like that. It made her revel in her femininity.
In Paris she’d wondered about his feelings, but here in Prague she’d seen the heat in his eyes, felt his possessive touch.
The key clattered onto the tiny bureau.
Flynn reached out and slid her tote off her shoulder, putting it beside the key. The brush of his knuckles against her top made her shiver expectantly.
She swallowed, suddenly gauche as their camaraderie disintegrated, incinerated by the flagrant heat of arousal. It scorched her to the core.
She’d never invited a man to her bed.
Before she could tie herself in knots with nerves, Ava stepped close. Flynn’s hard body drew her and she put her palms on his solid chest, feeling heat sear through the fine weave of his shirt. Yes!
His heart beat reassuringly beneath her fingers. Ava just had time to register that his pulse was far steadier than hers when large hands clamped her hips, drawing her to him. Need rose in looping spirals through her middle as she watched him smile.
‘You look like a cat about to swallow a bowl of cream,’ she whispered.
‘That’s how I feel.’
Flynn’s voice was a bass rumble she felt in the pit of her stomach. His thumbs circled her sides, just above the top of her jeans, making her hyper-aware of every stitch of clothing and the fact that she wanted to be rid of them.
‘Does that mean you’ll purr for me?’ She slid her hands up, linking them behind his neck. His skin was hotter than hers, more alive. Enticing.
Something flared in Flynn’s eyes. Something that reminded her he was no domestic pet. Her heart hit an extra beat.
No doubt he was vastly experienced with women. She’d seen heads turn when he passed. He was a man supremely comfortable in his skin, with an incredibly sexy aura of physical assurance.
‘Try me and see.’
He tugged till she was pressed against him, her breasts rising and falling against his torso. It was delicious.
Rising on her toes, Ava lifted her face, paused, reading the heavy invitation in his eyes, then skimmed her lips along his.
Soft, surprisingly cool. His mouth invited more. She paused, noticing for the first time the tiny tic of a pulse under his jaw that told her for all his cool Flynn was waiting, just as eager as she.
Ava tilted her head, planting her lips on his, moving tentatively as she learned the contours of his mouth.
He let her explore, standing passive. Almost passive—for his mouth responded, mimicking her gentle movements, inciting desire that drilled deep.
Ava slipped her tongue between his lips, finding warmth, heat, pleasure. She pressed closer, needing more, letting her body flatten against the intriguing contours of his frame. Bone and muscle and, yes... She twisted her hips. Arousal.
Instantly the hands at her sides clamped, drawing her tighter against him. His stance altered and somehow her body was curved into his, his head and shoulders were dominating, bowing her backwards, surrounding her.
The tempo of their kiss changed as Flynn gave up any pretence at passivity and took control, his mouth working hers, sucking, tasting, delving, drawing delight from every caress.
The world spun behind Ava’s closed lids as sensations more potent than any she’d known racked her body.
It was like tasting a burst of fireworks. Luminous delight singed her, detonating at pulse-points through her primed body, urging her to enjoy, take more, give everything.
Lost in luscious ecstasy, Ava barely registered the softening of her body, the melting at her core. She only knew she needed more.
Hands sliding up through the thick, pelt-like softness of Flynn’s cropped hair, she dragged his head closer, needily angling her face to his marauding mouth. Clumsy in her haste, her teeth mashed his lip and a sound of frustration broke from the back of her throat.
‘Easy...’ His voice was more vibration than sound.
Then all at once she was moving, pressed against the wall, caught between it and Flynn’s hardness. Long fingers bracketed her jaw, holding her still as he plundered her mouth with an expertise that left her reeling.
Ava felt caged, at his mercy, and she loved it. Foggily she registered how wonderful it was to relax her defences and simply feel. She was intoxicated by him.
She hugged him tight. Muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, making her long for the feel of him naked.
Hunger surged.
She shivered, sensations rioting deep within. The scent of Flynn’s skin, fresh like the outdoors, filled her nostrils and his taste, rich and addictive, made her greedy. Every neural pathway was clogged with the awareness of him—the texture of his skin, his heart beating strong and sure against her, the taut strength of his body pinioning her.
Then Flynn slipped his hand between them, moulding one aching breast, and her blood caught fire.
* * *
The sound of Ava’s pleasure was part gasp, part sob, part roughened purr that trailed like cut velvet down his spine, drawing every nerve and sinew tight and hard.
And the taste of her! Sunshine and juicy ripe raspberries. She was like long-ago summers that never ended. And sex. Needy, greedy, heart-thumpingly satisfying sex.
Flynn’s hold tightened on her soft breast and she pressed closer, her nipple a hard little nub against his palm. His heartbeat thundered in his head and his groin.
She responded so readily. She was flame in his hands, making him burn to the depths of his being.
He nudged her legs wider, insinuating his thigh where her heat beckoned, and she welcomed him, her kisses even more fervent.
Flynn groaned into her mouth. She was killing him.
Who’d have thought his delicate English beauty would be a raunchy tigress beneath the jeans and bright, spotted T-shirt? He’d spent a week biding his time, cautious not to overstep the bounds, fearing she might shy from anything too physical too soon. Yet here she was all but climbing his body, supple and eager and so very enticing.
So much for his careful planning!
Flynn rubbed his thumb over her peaked nipple and she shuddered, making his groin spasm. He slipped his other hand from her jaw and down, to cup her backside in those tight jeans, lifting her to cushion his erection. His heavy eyelids sagged as carnal hunger dragged at him.
He couldn’t remember wanting any woman so fervently. It wasn’t what he’d anticipated.
But he should have. He’d wanted her all those years ago, hadn’t he?
‘Flynn...’
It was a sigh and a promise. An invitation he couldn’t resist.
He swung round towards the bed, holding her close—only to come up against the sloping ceiling.
‘Are you okay?’ Gentle fingers skimmed his head.
‘Fine.’
Already he was scanning the twin beds against the far wall. Twin beds! Ava must have booked this room when she’d still expected to share with the girlfriend who’d taken ill and couldn’t travel.
Ava wriggled, her thighs clamping his, and his brain refocused instantly.
They didn’t need a bed. The floor would do—or, yes, here.
Flynn turned, imprisoning her once again against the wall. He slipped his hand from her buttocks round her hip, then down between her legs. Only taut denim and whatever flimsy underwear she wore separated him from the place he wanted to bury himself. She tilted her pelvis into his touch and fire roared through him.
The first time would be fast and hard, but then he’d take his time, learning every exquisite inch of her.
Flynn took her mouth with his, demanding, urging, and Ava responded without hesitation.
Her eagerness was tempered with a slight awkwardness he found faintly endearing. How long since he’d had a woman so obviously inexperienced? Not since his first fumbling assignation in his teens. After a diet of skilful sophisticates Ava was an entrancing breath of fresh air.
Hadn’t he known from the first she was the perfect woman for him?
He’d stroked his hand to the top of her zip when something made him stop. Some sound just discernible through the rush of blood in his ears. Voices. A door slamming. He frowned, lifting his head.
‘It’s okay—just someone in the next room,’ Ava whispered against his throat.
Flynn squeezed his eyes shut as the voices continued, followed by the sound of music. The walls must be made of cardboard.
Behind him a door banged, loud enough that for a moment he thought someone had entered the room. But it must be someone across the landing.
Hell!
‘Flynn?’
Ava’s soft hand stroked his jaw. Even that innocent touch was almost enough to jettison his doubts and obliterate his uncharacteristic hesitation.
Until he opened his eyes and found himself staring into wide cerulean eyes. They were glazed with the same heat he felt, but there was doubt too, a question he’d never seen in the eyes of the women he took to bed.
But Ava wasn’t like them. She was an innocent.
The word hit his chest like the blow of a sledgehammer, robbing him of breath.
Flynn hadn’t missed the almost imperceptible distance she’d kept between them in Paris, even when her eyes shone with laughter and her body language told him she wasn’t immune to him. The stunned delight on her face when he’d kissed her hand today, her almost defiant expression when she’d invited him up here and her passionate kisses, with that slight edge of eager clumsiness, all confirmed it.
Ava wanted him but she was sexually inexperienced. He’d lay odds she was a virgin.
Twenty-four and a virgin. How was it possible?
She leaned in and nuzzled his throat, planting small open-mouthed kisses that turned his body to steel and threatened the last vestige of his control. She rubbed his back in needy arcs and his jeans shrank as her palms came to rest on his buttocks.
His head spun as her grip tightened.
Once more his gaze shifted to the cramped beds. Laughter sounded from the next room and with a sinking feeling Flynn felt his dormant conscience stir.
He didn’t care if the neighbours heard them having raunchy, scream out loud sex against the wall. He didn’t give a damn if he had Ava on a bed or the floor or up against this wall. So long as he had her.
But this wasn’t just about him.
This would be Ava’s first time.
He couldn’t dislodge the thought.
Instinct urged him to forget pointless scruples and take what he wanted. What they both wanted. The way she rubbed herself against him made it clear she was as desperate as he. It would be easy to tip her over the edge, give her the satisfaction they both craved, even in such unprepossessing surroundings.
His lips twisted in self-mockery. Was it selfishness or experience that told him he could please her so well that embarrassment and discomfort wouldn’t matter, even when the afterglow faded?
‘Flynn.’
Those luscious lips pressed against his and he felt his resolve drain. He could barely believe it when he grasped her by the elbows and stepped back. His body screamed denial at the loss of her lush body, those soft lips and eager hands.
Flynn swallowed. His throat worked over arid gravel.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Ava wore the heavy-lidded look of arousal, her lips dark red from their kisses.
Pain cramped his groin at what he was giving up.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Yet his voice wasn’t his own. It was the growl of a wounded, hungry bear denied food.
She swayed closer and his hold tightened. He stepped away, watching the haziness fade from her eyes.
‘This isn’t a good idea.’
If there’d been any lingering doubt about Ava’s inexperience the rosy flush to her throat and cheeks would have eradicated it.
Contrarily, Flynn found himself for the first time in his life turned on by the idea of a blushing virgin. Excitement that bordered on avarice hammered in his veins. He revelled in the knowledge that he’d be Ava’s first.
Just not now. She deserved better.
‘You mean—?’
‘Not here. Not now—like this.’ His gesture took in the wafer-thin walls and cramped quarters.
It struck him in that instant how much her life had changed since they’d first known each other. Then she’d never stayed anywhere except in five-star luxury.
Yet she hadn’t once complained about her altered circumstances. Instead she’d been upbeat about the chance to visit Prague on her two weeks’ vacation.
Ava’s chin hiked up. ‘If I don’t mind...’
‘But I do.’ He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Even pouting, she was delectable. His fingers trailed her throat, up to that argumentative chin. He had to repress a smile at her sensuous shiver. She was patently his for the taking.
He couldn’t believe he was doing the noble thing. It didn’t gel with his plans or his inclinations.
Yet he stepped away before he was tempted to haul her back against him. The half-dazed, half-angry expression she wore didn’t help. He wanted to wipe it away and replace it with that yearning look that made him feel larger than life.
His hands clenched, then spread wide.
‘I’d better go.’ Already he was moving away, his steps ludicrously stiff because of his erection.
The shocked, mutinous look on her face told him he should say more but for once words deserted him. It was all he could do to walk away. Yet something inside, something he hadn’t listened to in a long time, told him he was doing the right thing.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ava.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_62c28844-ffc2-5186-a8be-69564445f511)
‘SEE YOU TOMORROW.’
Ava winced. Flynn had left her so casually.
Indignation welled, as it had all night. She avoided the mirror, knowing what she’d see. Anger, but disappointment too, and a flush that felt disturbingly like arousal. All night she’d been troubled by dreams that left her achy and longing.
Her lips pursed. What had she done wrong? Surely she hadn’t misinterpreted his eagerness.
She shook her head. She was doing it again: rehashing last night’s mortifying scene where he’d all but had to prise her hands off him.
As for his tight-lipped look as he’d said, ‘Not here, not now...’ It was naïve to think he’d been put off by their surroundings. Flynn might wear hand-made shoes and exquisitely tailored clothes, but he came from a working class family. She’d seen their modest cottage on the estate. There’d been nothing pretentious about the Marshalls.
Whatever made him leave last night it wasn’t her room. That only left her.
Pride told her it was ridiculous to think she was so unattractive she’d scared him off. He hadn’t found her unattractive when he’d kissed her.
Unless he hadn’t really wanted to.
She’d invited him to her room.
She’d initiated the kiss.
Could she have got it wrong?
A knock at the door ended her circling thoughts.
Flynn? Her pulse thudded and she knew a cowardly desire to pretend she hadn’t heard. Angry with herself, she put her shoulders back and marched to the door.
The man standing there was a foot shorter than Flynn and twice as wide. He held a boxed arrangement of exquisite peonies and camellias.
‘Miss Cavendish?’
At her dazed nod he smiled and thrust the arrangement into her arms. Then with a half-bow he turned and headed downstairs before she had time to recover.
Cradling the flowers, Ava backed into her room. They were so perfect they didn’t look real. But as she stroked a finger across one petal she was rewarded with a rich silken texture no man-made process could duplicate.
With unsteady hands she put them on the table. At once her small room morphed from economy class to luxurious and exotically enticing.
She plopped onto the bed.
In twenty-four years she’d never been given flowers. How pathetic was that? Men she’d dated had wanted to buy her drinks or meals, but never anything as romantic as flowers. These weren’t just romantic, they were flagrantly, unashamedly so.
An image surfaced of blood-red long-stemmed roses in an expensive florist’s box. Ava shuddered and thrust the memory away. Those hadn’t been a gift. They’d been a statement of possession.
She wrapped her arms around herself to dispel an inner chill and stared at the blooms—lush, sensual and gorgeous. She plucked the card from them.
They reminded me of you.
No signature, but they had to be from Flynn.
Ava blinked. They reminded him of her? She looked at the voluptuous splendour of the peonies, full-bloomed and extravagant, yet with their soft pink tint so delicate and feminine. And the camellias—pure white and elegant.
She frowned. Lush and voluptuous or neat and virginal?
How did Flynn view her?
Her figure was feminine, but hardly voluptuous. As for virginal—heat rose in her cheeks. Flynn couldn’t know that.
The trouble was she didn’t know where she stood with him.
She’d lost her habit of keeping men at a distance the minute Flynn had smiled at her in Paris. With his charm and their shared history he’d broached every defence she’d built against glib, grasping men. The speed of their romance had stirred anxiety. But until last night she’d overridden it, too delighted and excited to care.
She’d thought she knew him. Till he’d left her so abruptly.
What was she going to do about him?
More, what could she do about her feelings for him? They tied her in knots and turned her well-ordered life and everything she knew about herself on their head.
* * *
Ava slipped on her sunglasses as she left the hotel and stepped onto the quiet cobblestoned street. She’d taken three paces when a tall shadow peeled away from the pastel-washed building opposite.
Flynn. Her heart beat a tattoo up high near her throat, robbing her of air.
‘Forgive me?’
Eyes of black velvet snared her.
‘What for? Sending flowers?’
‘For walking out on you.’
Despite the glow in his eyes there were harsh lines bracketing his mouth, as if from tension or regret. Or maybe she was reading things that weren’t there.
Ava shrugged airily and donned the polite society mask she’d perfected in her teens.
‘Of course you’re angry.’
Ava’s brows rose. No one except Rupert had ever penetrated what she thought of as her armoured look—but then Rupe had grown up in the same family, suffering like her. He knew poise and surface charm didn’t tell the whole story.
‘I’m sorry.’ Flynn’s voice was a soft, deep rumble.
Instantly her nipples beaded and heat melted between her thighs, as if she were ready to continue where they’d left off last night. Her lips firmed at her body’s betrayal. How could she? No man had ever made her weak like this.
‘If it’s any consolation it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, walking away last night.’
His eyes mesmerised, willing her to believe him.
‘Then why did you?’
His mouth kicked up at the corner in a rueful half-smile that infuriatingly made her body hum.
‘You deserved better.’
‘Better than you?’ In her besotted state Ava couldn’t imagine anyone better than Flynn. That only fuelled her anger.
Slowly he shook his head, his gaze so intense she felt it like a wave of warmth, engulfing her from her head to her soles.
‘Never that. The thought of you with another man...’ Heat flickered in his eyes and Ava’s breath hitched as his expression turned possessive. ‘No. I couldn’t stand it.’
Some primitive part of her psyche revelled in his discomfort, his possessiveness, even as she reminded herself that no man had the right to control her.
‘I meant you deserved better than a cramped bed with the neighbours listening to every gasp and cry, hearing you in ecstasy and imagining exactly what we were doing with each creak of the mattress springs.’
The heat low in Ava’s body shot, fizzing and supercharged, through every artery and capillary. It branded her body in fiery heat as her imagination provided pictures to go with Flynn’s description. He’d be naked, strong and lithe, his hands sure, his body unflagging, as he took her to heights she’d never experienced.
Her palms tingled, her fingers tightening as if needing to reach out and touch.
It took far too long to dispel the erotic images he’d stirred.
‘Surely I’m the best judge of that.’ Her voice sounded throaty and full, disturbingly needy. ‘You shouldn’t have just walked out.’ Too late for pride, but her feelings for Flynn made pride seem insignificant. It was honesty she craved.
‘I know.’
He brushed her jaw in the lightest of caresses and she swallowed hard. Only indignation kept her from swaying into his touch.
‘It was appalling behaviour. My only excuse...’ his voice dropped to a deliciously deep whisper ‘...is that if I hadn’t walked out there’d have been no time for scruples. I’d have had you fast and hard and very, very loud up against the wall, pounding into you with all the finesse of a horny teenager. I wouldn’t have been satisfied until I had your legs around my waist and you were screaming my name in ecstasy.’
Ava felt her eyes widen, her heart stuttering at the graphic image. She sucked in a searing breath, watching him watch her absorb his words.
‘What would have been wrong with that?’ She didn’t bother to hide her pique.
His lips curved in that smile she knew so well. His huff of laughter dispelled the shadows in his eyes.
He stepped in till she was encompassed by him, barricaded from any passing pedestrians.
‘Nothing.’
Flynn’s smile held that hint of wildness she’d always associated with him. Now, turned on her, it produced a frisson of doubt, the unease of a deer spying a hunter.
‘It would have been glorious.’
His gaze dipped to her breasts, peaking against her colourful cotton shirt. Ava wanted to wrap her arms around her breasts, hide their burgeoning response. She wanted even more to revel in his hot hunger.
Suddenly his eyes meshed with hers. ‘Except you would have regretted it later. When it came time to disentangle our bodies and straighten our clothes you would have been uncomfortable—especially knowing everyone on the floor had heard you come apart in my arms.’
He was right. She would have been uncomfortable. But she couldn’t imagine for an instant regretting making love with Flynn. Not when she regretted so much not making love with him.
Flynn’s hand settled at her waist, making her soften despite herself.
‘I want our first time to be perfect. I want to pamper you and make you feel special. Not like some cheap one-night stand after a hot and heavy date.’
Hot and heavy would do it for her right now, but there was magic in the picture he painted. He wanted to make her feel special. No one had ever wanted that.
Ava was entranced by the idea as much as by the determination stamped on his dark features.
He wanted her. Her doubts had been ridiculous. She saw desire branded on his face. Excitement stirred like a whispering summer breeze, riffling through her.
‘Besides...’ He leaned in, his breath caressing her ear, sending shivers of delight through her primed body. ‘I want your first time to be memorable in the very best way.’
It took a moment to absorb his words. Ava jerked her head back, shock stiffening her body. He couldn’t know. No one but she knew that she’d never had sex. It wasn’t branded on her forehead!
‘What do you mean, my first time?’ she hissed. Mortification hovered at the thought that she’d given away her inexperience—she who’d learned to project sophistication so early.
Flynn regarded her steadily. ‘Virginity is nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘I’m not ashamed,’ she bit out, too late realising she’d confirmed his suspicions.
He nodded. ‘Good.’ He trailed his knuckles down her hot cheek, his stare once more proprietorial. That look did strange things to her internal organs. It felt as if they were melting. ‘I find the idea utterly entrancing.’
His palm settled at the base of her throat, his fingers caressing skin turned suddenly hyper-sensitive.
‘You have a thing about virgins?’ The words shot out, terse and abrasive. Did his look smack of the sick gloating she’d seen years ago, that last fateful night at Frayne Hall? Then she’d been slavered over like some tasty morsel. A thing, not a person.
‘Ava? What is it?’ Flynn’s voice was sharp.
The air clogged in her throat, depriving her of breath.
‘Talk to me.’ It was an order, and it worked, jerking her out of sordid memory and into the present—the quiet street, the big, charismatic man with concern written on his wrinkled brow.
‘It’s nothing.’
It was a lie, but the alternative—spilling that ancient secret—was untenable. It made her feel tainted.
Ava dragged in air to fill her lungs. ‘I don’t like the idea it’s my virginity you’re interested in, not me.’
‘That’s what’s bothering you?’
His face cleared. He captured her hand, lifting it. His tongue laved the centre of her palm, right up to her wrist, and she shivered as her body caught alight.
‘Believe me, virgins per se don’t tempt me. It’s you I want, Ava. And not just in bed.’
Sincerity blazed in his face, and she felt her doubts crumble.
‘What do you want, Flynn?’
Last night she’d felt on the brink of something—not just sex, but understanding this man who’d transformed her life from ordinary to heady and exciting. If she’d been prone to fantasy she’d have likened him to Prince Charming, sweeping all before him. But Prince Charming with an earthy edge and, despite his suave cloak of wealth, a hint of the maverick about him still. And, just occasionally, a hint of ruthlessness that gave her pause.
Flynn straightened, glancing over his shoulder, reminding her they were crammed against a wall in a nearly deserted street.
‘Come with me.’ He clasped her hand in his and took a half-step back. ‘I have something organised that I think you’ll like. We can discuss this then.’
Ava stood her ground. She needed answers. With Flynn she teetered between absolute certainty that they were two halves of a whole, made for each other, and the rare but unnerving idea that she’d missed something vital. That their relationship wasn’t the wildly romantic affair it seemed.
She had to know.
‘Tell me now. I need to understand.’
Night-dark eyes scanned her face, coming to rest on her mouth. Was her bottom lip sticking out? Her father had accused her of ugly pouting if she ever showed a hint of rebellion.
But Flynn didn’t look at her as if she were ugly. The heat in his stare sent tingles through her. The air between them fizzed with energy.
‘Please, Flynn.’
Did he hear her yearning?
He smiled ruefully, shaking his head. ‘I had it all planned. It wasn’t going to be like this.’
‘What wasn’t going to be like this?’
There it was again—that look in his eyes that told her Flynn wasn’t like the city suits her father had mixed with. Despite his designer gold watch, expensive clothes and high-powered business meetings there was something elemental about Flynn.
To her amazement, he dropped to his knees on the cobblestones. To one knee, to be precise. His wry half-smile drove a cleft down his cheek, almost distracting her from the remarkable sight of him kneeling before her.
Once more he raised her hand to his mouth and his lips pressed her flesh. The hint of humour disappeared.
‘Will you marry me, Ava?’
Her stomach swooped and did an unnerving loop the loop. Her hand began to shake in his.
‘I want you in my bed, sweetheart. But I want much more. I want you to be my wife.’
‘I...’ She goggled. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected a proposal. Her heart soared. Flynn wanted to spend his life with her. He cared more than she’d ever guessed possible.
But marriage!
‘We’ve only known each other a week.’
His brows rose. ‘We’ve known each other for years.’
But how well? Seven years older than her, he’d usually been busy helping his father on the estate grounds, or running errands for his mother in the Hall kitchen. After he’d left for London she’d only seen him on brief visits home.
Yet despite that, she’d known his character. His integrity.
Then there’d been the night of the car crash. The night that had changed everything. Flynn had no idea how much his help had meant to her. Not merely because of the accident but because he’d given her time and respite to see that she’d had to go back and face her demons.
He’d cared for her as no one in that house had.
His support had strengthened her.
She’d been half in love with him even then.
Was it any wonder she’d fallen for him now? He embodied all she craved in a man: honour, respect, trust. Passion.
‘But...marriage!’
Still he knelt. He showed no self-consciousness.
‘You don’t like the idea?’
‘I’ve never thought of it.’ She’d never daydreamed of weddings—probably because she’d seen the reality of her parents’ marriage and knew it for a prison sentence, not a happy-ever-after. Even now, when she was in love with Flynn, the idea of marriage made her hesitate.
‘Think about it,’ he murmured. ‘You and me together.’
His eyes were smoky with passion and Ava gulped. Outrageous as the sudden proposal was, it was shockingly tempting. To be with Flynn always...
‘I need time,’ she blurted, then waited for his gaze to turn needle-sharp. When her father hadn’t immediately got his own way he’d had a look that could slice you off at the knees.
Flynn merely nodded and rose. ‘Of course.’
He looped her arm through his. His touch reassured, but the way he held her to his side smacked of possessiveness.
Instead of it rankling, Ava revelled in it. Flynn loved her! Shock mingled with delight.
‘Come on. There’s somewhere I want to take you. We can talk there.’
‘There’ turned out to be a luxurious terrace restaurant on the river. They had a perfect view of the Charles Bridge with its statues, the quaint Bridge Tower rising at one end and the old town. Swans and small craft glided across the glinting river.
Magically, although it was lunchtime, they had the place to themselves. Or perhaps not so magically. Ava saw the head waiter turning people away from the door.
‘Did you book out the whole restaurant?’ She gasped, half laughing at the absurdity of the idea.
Flynn took her hand across the starched white linen tablecloth, his touch warm, his eyes mesmerising. ‘I wanted to be alone with you.’
‘But...’ She knew he was successful. The little he’d told her about his business and the clothes he wore told her that. But to book an entire restaurant—moreover, one with such an air of exclusive luxury...? ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ He must have read her shock. ‘Don’t worry, I can afford it. But I’d much rather talk about us.’
Ava’s breath expelled in a fluttering sigh. Us. It sounded so good.
Flynn raised his crystal wine glass. ‘To our future together.’
Automatically she lifted her glass. ‘To the future.’
He smiled. ‘You’re still not sure.’
She took her time sipping the pale gold wine, tasting fruit, flinty soil and sunshine. Bubbles burst on her tongue and went straight to her head. Or perhaps that was the Flynn effect. When she was with him nothing seemed mundane or ordinary.
‘I’m still stunned. We don’t even know if we’re physically compatible.’
His expression altered, focused, igniting wildfire in her veins. ‘I think last night proves we’ve got no problems there. We’re combustible together.’
He stroked her wrist and she shivered. Her need for him was a gnawing ache.
‘But marriage is about more than physical attraction.’
Why was she arguing? She’d fallen for Flynn so completely she should be floating in seventh heaven. But a lifetime’s caution couldn’t be shucked aside in an instant.
‘You don’t think we’re compatible? You haven’t enjoyed our time together?’
‘Of course I have. It’s been...wonderful. I’ve never felt like this. But it’s only been a week.’
‘How long do you need to be sure? A month? A year?’ Flynn put down his wine and leaned forward, shifting a platter of exquisitely presented appetisers. ‘I knew the moment I saw you in Paris.’
Ava’s breath caught. Love at first sight? It sounded impossibly romantic.
Yet it was there in his face: absolute certainty. Her heart flipped over.
‘You care for me that much?’
‘You’re the one woman in the world for me, Ava. I’ve never wanted anyone else as my wife. You’re perfect in every way. Perfect for me.’
She heard the harsh edge of emotion in his voice.
‘You make me complete.’
‘Flynn...’ Her fingers meshed with his as he took her glass and put it on the table. Then he lifted her onto his lap with such negligent strength she would have been impressed if she hadn’t already been dazzled by his words and the gleam in his eyes.
‘Is it because you don’t care enough for me?’
His lips brushed her ear, making her shiver.
‘I care, Flynn. You know that.’
Despite a lifetime’s training in bottling up emotions, Ava had let her feelings show time and again. With Flynn, for the first time, that hadn’t seemed to matter. What they had was real and precious. Honest.
His smile was so smug she laughed, sudden elation swamping doubt.
‘Then say yes and I’ll give you the biggest, best wedding London can provide. The church, umpteen bridesmaids and a lavish reception. I can see you in white, with a long train and—’
‘No!’ She tensed, a flake of arctic frost drifting down her spine, chilling her.
‘Ava? What is it?’
She shook her head, trying to clear the shreds of dismay. ‘No big wedding. No white dress.’
‘But you’d look lovely.’
Flynn’s voice was warm as syrup but it failed to dispel the cold creeping into her bones.
‘No.’ She met his questioning stare. ‘Not white.’
Memory flashed an image of the long white evening gown she’d worn for that last winter ball at Frayne Hall. When she’d opened the couturier’s box she’d thought it pretty, almost virginal. But it had clung like a glove, displaying her to hungry eyes. As it had been designed to do, she’d discovered later.
She shuddered.
‘Not white, then.’
Flynn looked puzzled, but Ava wasn’t about to enlighten him. She’d rather shove the past back where it belonged—in the past—and get on with her life.
‘If I marry...’ She paused, making sure he heard her conditions. ‘I don’t want lots of bridesmaids or fuss. No big wedding.’
‘Surely you’ll want all your friends and family to celebrate with you?’
Ava shook her head. She had a couple of good friends. She’d learned years ago to discern between those few genuinely interested in her and those attracted by her family’s status and money. When the money bled away so did they. As for family, there was only Rupert and he was in America. Her parents were dead.
‘No. If I marry I’d rather elope. Just a quiet, simple wedding.’
‘There was I, thinking you’d revel in lace and roses. I thought you a romantic.’ His tone was light but his expression was serious, as if he’d read her tension.
She shrugged. ‘I love lace and roses. I just don’t like a public fuss over something private.’
‘So you’ll marry me?’ He tilted up her face.
Black velvet eyes caressed her and Ava’s body softened. A sigh funnelled up from her lungs and she wanted to lean into him, surrender to passion, trust him totally.
But marriage...
‘I need time to think about it.’
Even as she said it a voice cried inside that she was a fool. She loved Flynn. She wanted him. She had to learn to trust some time, didn’t she?
His smile was endearing, his stroking fingers along her cheek infinitely tender.
‘Then it’s a good thing I’m an expert at persuasion.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_1af4413a-77cf-5251-baa4-3d02bf714c00)
FIVE DAYS LATER they were married in Prague.
Ava gripped Flynn’s hand tight, following the prompts in a civil ceremony that should have been unemotional with its speed and lack of family or friends. Instead its simplicity concentrated the power of the vows they made.
Ava’s heart rose as Flynn tenderly brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was butterfly-soft but there was no mistaking the fierce restraint he imposed to keep it so. His dark eyes glittered as he clasped her waist tight, his large hands splayed, his heat seeping into her. His shoulders were rigid as steel beneath his suave tailoring.
Soon, that look promised.
Heat arced between them and she trembled, heart full and her body at such a pitch of desire she wondered if it were possible to die of sexual frustration.
For five days Flynn had refused to do more than cuddle, or kiss her in some public place where there was no chance of giving in to the hunger spiralling between them.
Because he wanted their wedding night to be special, he’d declared.
If she hadn’t known better Ava might have suspected he’d used the sensual tension between them as a lever to persuade her to marry him quickly.
Her hands cupped his neck and she looked into eyes that glowed with triumph. She felt the same elation. She’d made the right decision. Despite the whirlwind speed of their romance, she knew Flynn was the only man in the world for her.
‘Come on, Mrs Marshall,’ he murmured with that crooked smile that made her heartbeat hitch. ‘It’s time for photos.’
‘Do we have to?’
Flynn laughed, the sound so infectious that Ava found herself smiling. He stroked his fingers down her cheek and her laughter faded. Just his touch turned her knees to jelly.
‘I want pictures to show the grandkids.’ His voice dropped, became husky. ‘You look so perfect I want a memento.’
‘No one’s ever called me perfect.’ Such extravagant praise was unsettling. ‘I’ll settle for pretty.’
In her tea length gown of palest gold silk covered with matching lace, she felt pretty. Not sophisticated, as her father had always insisted upon, but pretty and carefree. The wide circular skirt and cinched waist made her outfit fun in a retro style. The long, fitted lace sleeves with rows of miniscule buttons were deliciously feminine.
How Flynn had conjured it up, and the matching satin and lace shoes, in her exact size in mere days, she didn’t know. But, instead of facing an ordeal by bridal gown, Ava had taken one look inside the garment bag and found herself grinning.
He’d listened when she’d said no white. He’d remembered her weakness for lace and roses. Fragrant gold and cream roses made up the posy she carried and were also tucked in her loosely upswept hair.
‘Not just pretty,’ Flynn said as he tucked her arm in his, leading the way through the town hall. ‘Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.’
Again that word. But Ava was too lost in wonder to cavil. For they’d entered a small high-vaulted room that took her breath away. Ceiling and walls were covered with glittering mosaics. Scenes adorned the walls and overhead were intricate heraldic designs. It was a jewel of a room.
‘Now, if the bride could sit near the window?’ A photographer gestured to a bench seat positioned against one decorated wall where sunlight slanted.
Ava paused. It wasn’t a photo of herself she wanted, but a memento of the pair of them.
‘Sit with me?’
Flynn nodded. ‘Soon. Let her get a photo of you first.’
One photo turned into scores, but Ava didn’t argue. Not when Flynn stood there, hands in pockets, surveying her as if he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was his expression, rather than the lace and flowers and the unfamiliar weight of her wedding band, that made her feel like a blushing bride. To be the utter focus of his attention, to feel his regard with every breath—it was something she’d never dared dream of.
‘Wonderful!’ The photographer moved closer, her camera clicking. ‘Just wonderful.’
Finally they emerged, arm in arm, into the cobblestoned square just as the astronomical clock on the tower chimed the hour. Tourists swung their cameras around from the clock to them as they stepped across gold and cream rose petals to an open horse-drawn carriage. Matched greys sported cream and gold feathers above their halters and garlands of pastel roses decked the carriage.
‘You’ve pulled out all the stops, Mr Marshall.’ Ava grinned up at Flynn. He’d turned their quiet wedding into pure romance, but he’d avoided the shallow society fuss she detested.
She covered his hand with hers. ‘Thank you. It’s all so gorgeous.’
‘I’m glad you approve, Mrs Marshall.’
It didn’t matter that he had the money to make all this happen. What mattered was that he’d listened to her and made the day special. Was it any wonder she’d fallen hard for this man who treasured her so?
Ava paused on the step up to the carriage. She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear. ‘I love you, Flynn. So much.’
He swung his head around, capturing her mouth. She swayed and he held her tight, then lifted his head, drawing back a fraction and helping her into the carriage.
‘You make me the happiest man in the world.’
Then he was beside her and they were moving, the old town a blur of quaint buildings and upturned faces.
Half an hour later he carried her over the threshold of a suite in a gracious hotel. Ava scanned the luxurious furnishings as Flynn kicked the door shut and strode across the room, still holding her.
She revelled in his display of macho strength. Once free of her father’s machinations, she’d fiercely guarded herself from take-charge men. From men, period, except for the odd casual date. But with Flynn the Me Tarzan, you Jane show of domination excited rather than repelled her. Who’d have thought it?
Her gaze caught on a lavish buffet on the elegant dining table.
‘Are we expecting guests?’ Ava frowned.
He halted and she felt his heartbeat slam against his ribs where he held her. She pressed her palm to his chest, loving the feel of him, relishing the fact that, for all his power, he was as affected as she.
‘Absolutely not! Why?’
She waved towards the antique table and he smiled, resuming his stride.
‘That’s our wedding breakfast.’
‘But there’s enough for an army.’
He slanted a glance at her that made a flock of butterflies in her stomach suddenly take flight.
‘The chef probably thought we’d need to keep up our strength.’
On those words they passed into a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed, its covers turned down and its long, filmy curtains drawn back with ties of gold damask. The rich scent of roses wafted from crystal vases on the mantelpiece and pale petals were scattered across the sheets. Beside the bed a bottle nestled in a silver wine cooler.
The scene might have been a cliché, but from her vantage point in Flynn’s embrace it looked wonderful. It meant so much that he’d pulled out all the stops to make today romantic and special.
‘Oh, Flynn. This is gorgeous. Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure, believe me.’ He pressed a kiss to her hair and settled her on the bed. Then he turned to lift the bottle from its bucket.
Used to her father’s ostentatious displays of wealth, Ava nevertheless felt her eyes widen. The label belonged to a wine she’d heard of, never seen. It was famed as much for its exclusiveness as its quality. Few could afford it. Michael Cavendish would have given his eye teeth to taste it—more, to serve it to the people he’d always aimed to impress. Imagine his chagrin if he’d been alive to see the under-gardener’s son drinking it. The idea made her smile.
‘To us.’
The bed sank as Flynn sat beside her and passed her a glass of golden wine.
Ava took it, relieved to banish thoughts of her father. Warmth flooded her as Flynn’s hand brushed hers and she sank sideways a little, coming up against him.
‘To us.’
Holding his eyes, she lifted the glass and sipped. Luscious rich fruit danced on her tongue, then slid down her throat.
‘That’s amazing,’ she whispered, understanding why connoisseurs raved about it.
But far more amazing was the way Flynn made her feel.
She took another drink, savouring the deliciousness, then held out her glass. ‘But it’s not wine I want.’
Light flared in those dark eyes as he put their glasses on the table.
‘What do you want, Ava?’ His voice scraped softly, like fingers trawling through thick fur. She felt it as a ripple down her back.
‘You.’ Her hands went to his tie, dealing with the knot, then pulling it undone. Beneath her hands heat radiated up. ‘Only you.’ The tie arced through the air as she tossed it away and reached for his top button.
‘Since you ask so nicely, Mrs Marshall...’
He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it to the floor, but the gleam in his eyes told her the humour was camouflage. His expression was hungry. He looked as if he wanted to devour her whole. It made her jittery, despite her excitement.
That had to be first-time nerves. There was nothing to worry about. Flynn loved her as she loved him. It was simply that for the first time he’d allowed her to glimpse the intensity of what he felt. Not possessiveness, but love, she assured herself.
Seconds later his shirt was gone and Ava sucked in a breath at his sculpted perfection.
Leanly built, Flynn nevertheless had muscles in all the right places. The symmetry of his body, the ripple of strength in his pectorals and tight abs drew her. She edged closer, that clean outdoor scent tickling her nostrils.

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