The Pleasures of Summer (25 page)

‘Are you saying I’m going to have no privacy at all?’ She was appalled.

‘You can pee with the door closed,’ he told her. ‘I’ll even allow you to shower on your own. That’s it. Every other breath you take, I need to be within earshot.’

‘You’re kidding. I can’t live like that. I need privacy.’ Her fingers tightened around the cup and it rattled against the table.

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Princess, safety trumps privacy. As soon as your father comes back, or Niall catches the nutcase, then you can go back to your private life in front of the paparazzi cameras. Until then, you are stuck here with me.’

She looked around at the croft with dismay in her eyes, and for the first time, he looked at it, not as a labour of love, but with the eyes of a spoilt rich socialite. It was a solid building and the walls and roof had been repaired, but there was no doubt it was short on comforts. The solid table was the focus of the kitchen area, the chairs were mismatched, the old settle needed more work, the fire was primitive and there were no modern appliances. ‘Think of it as a break from laptops, phones, television, all that stuff.’

She shuddered. ‘I was thinking more of how I’ve always taken light switches for granted. What the hell will we do here all day?’

‘I’m sure we’ll think of something. Failing that, there’s always your idea.’ He grinned when she looked blankly at him. ‘Naked belly dancing and blow jobs.’

There were few things more boring than watching paint dry and she had experienced all of them over the last few days. Watching Flynn fish – unsuccessfully. Watching Flynn chop wood – well, that hadn’t been too bad, especially when he’d taken off his shirt. Worst of all was watching Flynn watching her as she tried to sunbathe without being eaten alive by midges. He was in full bodyguard mode and he had barely smiled at her all morning.

How was she going to survive another three weeks of this? No fun, no conversation, and definitely no sex. It might be a safe house, but that didn’t mean it had to be a prison. There had to be some way of charming him, some way of getting under his skin, some way of bringing Flynn over to the dark side.

Maybe she should cave in and go back to Castletownbloodyberehaven. Summer huffed a breath as she swatted away another cloud of flying furies. Bloody things. Not a chance. Granny O’Sullivan wouldn’t give her a minute’s peace.

The way to a man’s heart is through his belly
. She could almost hear her grandmother’s lecture on how to get your man. Oh yes, be a good little girl and don’t worry your silly head about anything serious. Being a surrendered wife had never been on her list of career choices, but a fat lot of good an MBA in Transportation and Logistics was here.
She had always assumed that her dad would welcome her with open arms into the airline business, that they would work side by side. But all he wanted was for her to look pretty and be charming to his important customers. In some ways he was just like Flynn.

She’d bet quite a lot of money that Flynn would love that. A docile woman who would look after his every need and warm his bed at night.

Summer glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes. The bed warming bit wouldn’t be a problem. He really was a hottie, if you liked his ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ approach. Was that the key to Flynn? Operation
Defeat the Bodyguard
hadn’t been successful. Maybe a charm offensive would work and it was better than spending her days lying around being bored. Summer rose to her feet, conscious of his eyes on her every move.

‘Going somewhere?’ His tone was suspicious.

‘Look,’ she tried to sound reasonable, ‘I’m sorry. I get it that we’re stuck here, so how about a truce?’

‘A truce?’ Flynn eyed her outstretched hand as if it was a snake about to bite him and he didn’t raise his hand to take it.

Embarrassed by his churlish refusal, Summer took a step back. How could she have thought that he was attractive? The man was a Neanderthal. She pitied whatever mindless Stepford wife he ended up with, but she wouldn’t give up yet. ‘Let me cook dinner tonight.’

‘You?’

She might as well have announced that she was joining the space programme. ‘Yes.’ Summer thumped her chest. ‘Jane make dinner for Tarzan.’

She walked away, trying to ignore the snort of laughter coming from behind her. She would show him.

The mysterious delivery man had obviously arrived. The makeshift larder yielded two steaks as well as some fresh vegetables and more dried and tinned stuff. There was even another bottle of scrumpy. They would dine in style today. She foraged outside the backdoor. Someone had obviously tried to start a herb garden at one time and it had gone wild. She pounced on a woody patch of sage and there was wild watercress growing up near the spa. That would do very nicely. Pity there was no fresh garlic but she could still cook up a feast for a king, or a bloody-minded Scot.

Flynn had remained outside, chopping yet more wood, until he had built up quite a sweat and headed for the shower. She guessed that he had been waiting for her to cave in and ask for the tin opener, but if she had to eat another meal that involved tuna or spaghetti she would die.

‘Something smells good.’

She was tempted to ask him why he sounded so surprised, but then remembered that she was supposed to be charming him. ‘Take a seat and I’ll serve.’

His eyes narrowed. Did Flynn think that she would try to poison him? Choke him to death with an overcooked steak? He eyed the rough table which now sported plates, glasses and a stubby candle she had found in the cupboard under the sink. The bottle of scrumpy was keeping cool in the jug she had taken from upstairs.

Summer removed the pan and put the marinated steaks on the metal grid over the fire. The fire sizzled as drops of marinade fell, wafting the aroma of herbs around the room.

‘Gnocchi with salvia e burro,’ she announced as she laid the first course before him.

The pale potato dumplings glistened in their coating of butter and crisp sage leaves. Flynn stared at the dish. He couldn’t have been more shocked if it had been delivered by fairies. He bit into one and gave a moan that was almost orgasmic. Score one for the spoilt heiress.

‘How did you … ?’

She laughed at his mystified expression. ‘I love food, ever since boarding school. I was permanently starving there.’

‘You didn’t like school?’

‘No. College was great, but boarding school was a pain. I missed my dad and some of the other girls were horrible.’

‘Is that why you went to the club that night? Do you enjoy pain?’

The club. She had almost forgotten that. That was the night that they had … Flynn waited expectantly for her answer. She toyed with her gnocchi, smearing it with the buttery sauce. ‘I honestly don’t know. Molly said that it was amazing, that I should try it. I guess that I was curious.’

‘About what?’ Flynn asked.

She had almost forgotten that he had been a member there. Flynn had a few dark corners of his own and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to share that much with him yet. She stood up. ‘Excuse me; I have to take care of the steaks.’

Flynn’s hand whipped out as she passed and he grasped her wrist. ‘Curious about what, Summer?’

His voice had an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. Not anger, or impatience, just a simple, quiet command that halted her in her tracks. She stared down at the hand wrapped around her wrist. His fingers looked tanned against her pale skin and he had small cuts on his knuckles from wood splinters.

She could lie to him, but what was the point? In a few weeks, they wouldn’t see each other again. ‘I wanted to know if I could still feel.’

Summer shook his hand away and went to rescue the steaks, conscious of the sound of his chair scraping against the rough floor. Somehow she doubted that Flynn would let her make a statement like that and walk away. She felt his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of it seeping through the fine cotton of her T-shirt. She straightened and turned into his arms, afraid to look at his face. ‘The steaks –’

‘Will keep for two more minutes. Tell me what happened to you?’

Why was Flynn pushing this? Surely he knew. The story had been plastered over the tabloids for weeks. She shrugged and tried for levity. ‘You must have seen the papers. Where did you spend last June? In a bubble?’

His hand traced the contours of her cheek before curving under her chin and raising her face. ‘I spent last June in East Timor.
Hello!
magazine is hard to come by in the jungle.’ Flynn’s gaze was steady. There was no pity, no judgement. ‘I know what happened, Summer. I’ve read the reports, but they don’t tell the whole story. I want you to tell me what happened to you.’

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. She was trapped
between the flames and something hotter, something infinitely more dangerous. Her plan to charm him was unravelling. Flynn was determined to know everything and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to tell him.

‘Steaks. Please. I promise we can talk later.’

Something in her expression must have appeased him. Flynn relented, releasing her chin, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had escaped for now, but a reckoning was coming.

The meal’s success was measured by Flynn’s empty plate, and they finished off the bottle of scrumpy while he talked a little about East Timor. He wouldn’t tell her any details about his work, but the things he had seen were shocking and gave her a glimpse into another life, one full of danger and unrecognized heroism. It went some way in explaining why he had been so dismissive when they first met. What a comedown. From life in the jungle to babysitting an heiress.

A hot wave rose up her neck and scalded her cheeks. Flynn was a nice guy and she had been nothing but a brat to him from day one. A horrible, spoilt bitch who had been rude to him, lied to him and pushed him at every turn, when all he wanted to do was protect her. When had she turned into a monster?

Embarrassed, she made a show of clearing the plates and collecting the glasses and put them next to the sink. Maybe she could slip off to bed and …

‘Come here.’

God, he was turning into Tarzan again. ‘The dishes –’

‘Can wait until morning. Talk to me.’

She gave him a wide berth and pulled up a chair opposite him.

‘What happened last June?’

Summer played with the gold band on her right hand. She had planned to wear it on her wedding day as her
something old
. ‘You probably saw it in the papers; last June I was supposed to get married. It didn’t happen.’

‘Why?’

Trust Flynn to cut to the chase. No platitudes. No cosy, sympathetic words.

‘My dad insisted on a pre-nup. I have a shareholding in the airline.’

Flynn whistled. ‘Let me guess. There was a problem.’

How could she have been so naïve? All the times Adam was supposed to sign. All the excuses about meetings and business trips abroad. Summer closed her eyes. ‘A big problem. Dad put an investigator on my fiancé and …’

She remembered the tense meeting with her father and his bespectacled accountant. Adam’s stories about his investments and his property portfolio in South Africa and Tokyo. None of it was true. Even with the evidence before her eyes, she still hadn’t believed it. Adam loved her. She was certain. But when she tried to confront him, he wasn’t in his office. He wouldn’t take her calls. He just wasn’t there.

And the stupid thing was that she hadn’t cared. So what if he didn’t have money? She loved him and wanted to marry him.

Flynn moved more quickly than she anticipated. One moment she was sitting on the chair, the next she was lifted up and pulled onto his lap. His muscular arm was
tucked around her waist while his other hand stroked her hair. ‘Go on.’

His warmth was comforting. She tucked her head under his chin and let it wash over her. She didn’t cry about it anymore. She almost never cried. The next bit was harder. ‘The wedding was days away. We’d spent over a year planning it. Dad told Adam to sign the pre-nup or the wedding was off.’

Her breath hitched in her throat. ‘He didn’t. Dad didn’t cancel it. But Adam did.’

Flynn gave a sympathetic murmur and she took it as encouragement to press on to the grand finale.

‘Then Molly rang me. She was working in PR at the time and … There were photographs of Adam and me together. The naked kind. The kind that sell for a lot of money. And that was it. The end of my perfect wedding.’