The Pleasures of Summer (17 page)

There was no reply, just the sound of running water. Opening the door, she stepped into a cloud of steam. Summer could just about make out the large roll-top bath beneath the window and an enormous glass shower unit. Through the mist she saw his lean form. There was no doubt about it. Flynn was a hottie.

One of his hands was braced against the tiled wall, while the other moved rhythmically. Summer froze to the spot, not knowing whether to slip away or open the glass door. The muscles of Flynn’s shoulders rippled beneath his skin. Above the sound of the rushing water, she heard his ragged breathing. With a sick fascination, she continued to watch him masturbate himself towards a climax. He threw his head back and groaned.

It was one of the most erotic things she had ever seen. Despite the warmth of the room, her nipples hardened into peaks. Remembering Flynn’s controlled passion of the night before, heat bloomed low in her belly, as his hand still pumped his shaft. Sensing her presence, he turned swiftly. Shock mingled with a flush of embarrassment on his face. They stared at each other for a long moment while water continued to pound down on his
back. Rivulets ran down his handsome face. Finally, he spoke. ‘Get out of here, before I …’

‘Before you what?’ her words came out in a husky whisper.

Shame and hunger fought a battle in his eyes. He turned off the water and opened the shower door. He grabbed a fluffy white towel from the rail and wrapped it around his hips before handing her a bathrobe. Flynn drew an unsteady breath. ‘Go back to the room, there’s a good girl.’

Good girl. Her temper bristled. What did he think she was? Some kind of pet?

Before he could say anything more, Summer turned on her heel and slammed the bathroom door behind her. She prayed for a sudden ice age in the bathroom and enjoyed the thought of him freezing his balls off. Served him right. Mr Flynn bloody Grant could go to hell in a basket. Tomorrow she would ring her father and request another bodyguard. She couldn’t stay with Flynn.

A knock came on the outer door. ‘Room Service,’ a female Scottish voice called from outside.

Summer prayed that it was food. Pulling the robe tighter around her breasts she opened the door.

The red-haired bride’s mouth dropped open when she saw Summer. ‘Who the fuck are you? And what have you done with my Ian?’

Flynn leaned against the tiled wall of the bathroom, panting. That had been the most intense orgasm he had experienced in … he couldn’t remember. A long, long
time. Perhaps ever. It was all due to Summer. And he hadn’t even touched her.

He had been thinking about her as he showered and the memory of her in that excuse of a latex dress and writhing on the bed as he brought her to orgasm had made him so hard that he had to take the matter in hand. He had been imagining that his soapy fist was her luscious mouth wrapped around his cock when he looked up and saw her standing there.

For a moment, he had stopped, as startled that she had managed to slip into the bathroom as by what she had caught him doing. Then the curiosity on her face had urged him to continue. For long minutes, he had stroked himself under her shocked and fascinated eyes, deliberately showing himself off for her.

His reward had been her half-parted lips and her small, pink tongue nervously licking the top one in a way that hardened him even more. Her breath had sped up. He wanted to believe that the flush on her cheeks was not solely due to the heat of the bathroom, and the dampness on her neck was not because of the steam from his shower.

Her gaze had been riveted to his cock at first, but then had risen to meet his, and he had been trapped by the endless blue of her eyes. The dilated pupils had been more arousing than her hand would have been.

He had wanted to draw the moment out as long as possible but Summer’s response to him had tightened his balls and pushed him towards his climax. He had held her gaze while his body jerked in the most intense orgasm he could remember.

Flynn forced his trembling legs to work, but before he
could open his shaving kit, the sound of raised voices brought him charging out of the bathroom.

His principal was fighting with a red-haired woman in a wedding dress. The bride was screaming, ‘You whore, where is he?’ and trying to pull Summer’s hair. There was a slur of alcohol in her voice.

Summer was using both hands to prise her grip from her hair. This left her bathrobe gaping open in a way which was guaranteed to enflame the angry bride still further, but probably in a different way from how it affected Flynn.

‘Let go, you bitch,’ she panted.

Flynn was tempted to enjoy the view, but he was her bodyguard, and right now, her body needed guarding. He grabbed the bride’s wrist, pressing down on a pressure point which caused her to gasp with pain and release her grip on Summer’s hair.

Flynn put himself between the two women, facing the enraged bride, and demanded, ‘Who are you and what are you doing?’

She took a breath which caused her breasts to swell above the bodice of her tight dress. The sight didn’t do a thing for Flynn. ‘I’m Flora Campbell. No, I’m Mrs Flora McDonald, and I want to know what this tart is doing in my bridal suite.’

‘Tart?’ Summer’s outrage was genuine. ‘Tart? Miss My-boobs-are-too-big-for-my-dress is calling ME a tart?’

Flynn stifled a grin and concentrated on keeping the outraged bride away from his principal.

But Flora Campbell McDonald had shifted her attention. She took in Flynn in all his towel-clad glory and
smacked her lips in appreciation. ‘My, my, what have we here?’ She reached out to touch his chest, but before she could make contact, her hand was knocked away.

‘That’s my husband you’re groping, you ginger bitch,’ Summer announced.

Flora clenched her fist, all set to start the catfight again, when a stout and anxious man knocked on the open door. ‘Flora? Sweetheart? I’ve been looking for you.’

Flora swung around, managing to stay upright more by luck than judgement. ‘Ian, they’re in our room.’

Ian put a steadying arm around his bride. ‘No, Flora, this is their room. Our room is on the next floor.’

‘Are you sure?’ Ian nodded. She took a breath which strained the bodice of her wedding dress dangerously. ‘She said they were married,’ Flora added in a tone of accusation.

Summer slid an arm around Flynn’s naked back and leaned in against him. ‘Yes, we’re on our honeymoon.’ Even through the bathrobe, he could feel her curves pressed up against him.

‘You and him?’ Flora was like a dog with a bone. ‘Married?’

‘Oh yes.’ Summer trailed her other hand down his chest, from his collarbone to his abs. That tantalizing hand rested on the edge of his towel. ‘We’re working on his little problem.’

‘Problem?’ Both Ian and Flora were fascinated.

‘Yes, his LITTLE problem. It’s so small we don’t know what to do with it, but I’m sure we can come up with something creative.’ Flynn fought to keep his face impassive, but could feel the tips of his ears turning red. The
little minx. She so badly needed to be put over his knee and spanked again.

Flora’s eyes had rounded and Ian had turned bright red. The colour clashed horribly with his freckles and sandy hair. ‘Yes, well, none of our business, eh Flora?’

She ignored him, her gaze locked onto Flynn’s groin. Thanks to his recent activity in the shower, it didn’t respond to her visual stroking, and Flora gave Summer a sympathetic look. ‘You poor dear. I apologize for earlier. I had no idea …’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Why don’t you two join us for the reception? It will take your mind off things,’ Ian said.

Flynn opened his mouth to refuse, but Summer beat him to it. ‘We’d love to, wouldn’t we, dearest? All those gorgeous Scottish women might even help you get over your LITTLE problem.’

He wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but thirty minutes later he and Summer were in the middle of a rowdy Scottish wedding reception, and she was having the time of her life.

After the meal, the evening was a bodyguard’s nightmare. Surrounded by strangers, no back-up and no way to check out the possible threat to his principal. His instincts said that this was not a dangerous situation, but his training wouldn’t allow him to relax. The best he could do was keep as close to her as possible, literally guarding her with his body.

Summer was the life and soul of the party. The girl he had glimpsed in the bathroom, the one who had looked at him with hungry eyes, was gone. In her place was a party animal. Within half an hour of entering the reception, Summer was best friends with everyone in the place. She
had made friends with the DJ and the barman, and they kept her supplied with a steady stream of her favourite drinks and music.

When she climbed on the table and started dancing, Flynn dragged her down, but she pouted and announced to the fascinated guests, ‘He’s just grumpy because he’s got a teeny weeny.’

He gritted his teeth and pulled her hard against him for a slow dance. ‘Feel that? Teeny enough for you?’ His cock hardened in a rush at the contact and the smell of her shampoo.

She rubbed against him tauntingly. ‘I don’t know. Room for improvement, I think, don’t you?’ Then she left him while she danced with the bridegroom.

Ian beamed a fatuous smile, his face flushing an unattractive shade as Summer danced close against him. How could she, the little tramp? She had managed to fool him for a few minutes into thinking Summer O’Sullivan wasn’t the most photographed bimbo that ever came out of Cork. But now she was reminding him.

Flynn stayed close to her for the rest of the night, but though he was able to prevent her dancing again with the bridegroom – hey, he didn’t want Flora Campbell McDonald to commit murder with the cake knife she was holding – he couldn’t stop Summer eating the fruit sculpture in the middle of the table, the only thing left of the wedding breakfast, or flirting with all of the groomsmen.

While he was distracted by a question from one of the bridesmaids, a hefty girl who did not suit pink satin, Summer had climbed onto the table again and called for limbo music.

That was the end for Flynn. He grabbed her by her hips, now conveniently located just above his head height, and threw her over his shoulder. ‘Good night, everyone, I’m taking my darling wife to bed,’ he called as he marched out of the great hall. There were boos from the men and cheers from the women.

Summer kicked and cursed and called him names he hadn’t heard since he was in the Wing. But he refused to pay any attention, and by the time he got to their room, she had quietened down.

In fact, she had passed out.

With a grimace, Flynn slipped off her shoes, unzipped her dress and admired her barely-there underwear.

He managed not to gawk like a teenage boy in a strip club as he pulled the sheets over her and made sure she wouldn’t fall out. A small drunken snore was his reward.

He grinned. Then he picked up his phone. ‘Hey Niall? Change of plans. I’m bringing little Miss Spoilt Rotten to the old croft instead. Can you make sure we get some food occasionally? Thanks man.’

‘Summer.’ A rough hand shook her awake.

Her head was pounding like a bass drum. Was there a fire? Why was he shouting at her? She pushed his hand away.

‘You have two minutes to get out of bed or …’ Flynn sounded like a drill sergeant.

‘Okay, okay.’ She lifted her head and promptly dropped it back onto her pillow. She stretched her bare legs against the smooth cotton of the sheets. When had she lost her clothes? And with Flynn – after he rejected her. Oh, sweet god, no.

She was suddenly wide awake. ‘Where are my clothes?’

‘On the floor. Where you dropped them.’

Summer closed her eyes. ‘Please tell me that we didn’t …’

A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re surprisingly affectionate when you have drink on, but no, we didn’t. I prefer my women sober.’

Oh god, it was too early in the morning and she was way too wrecked for this. She rolled over in the bed, pulling the covers over her head. ‘Call me when Room Service brings breakfast.’

‘Fine.’ Flynn tugged the sheets from her and picked her up. Marching swiftly down the steps, he strode in the direction of the bathroom.