The Pleasures of Summer (41 page)

‘No one has seen her for six days.’ Put like that, Flynn was aware it sounded thin. There was no law that said Summer had to tell anyone where she went. She was rich enough that she could have hopped on a plane to Argentina without telling anyone. Except that her well-stamped passport was still in her room, and all his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong.

‘I spoke to her last Monday. She said she wanted my advice about a man.’ Sinead stopped, and a knowing expression crossed her face. ‘I’m guessing it was you.’

Flynn nodded.

‘She was supposed to meet me for coffee, but never turned up. Summer’s often late, but this was the first time she didn’t show at all.’

Flynn questioned her but she didn’t know anything else. ‘That’s fine, thank you, Miss O’Sullivan. You can go now.’

‘That’s Ms O’Sullivan. And there’s no way I’m leaving
here until Summer is found. I’m not leaving her recovery to a man who can barely walk and a bunch of goons.’ This was said with such a polite voice that it took a second for the words to sting Flynn.

‘You can’t stay here,’ he said.

‘Of course I can. I’ll tell Malcolm to have a room made up for me.’ She rang the bell and as she waited, she asked, ‘Is there any way that he’s involved in this? He’s such a creepy little man. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hiding something.’

Flynn darted a look at Andy; the last thing they needed was a civilian getting in their way.

The light was still on when Summer woke. ‘Okay, time for exercise.’

Great, now she was talking to herself. She got up and stretched. There wasn’t a lot of room to walk and after ten circuits of the room she was bored stupid. Press ups. She could do some of them against the wall. Three sets later she was feeling warmed up. She tried some kicks, aiming at a shadow on the wall that looked like Flynn’s hand.

Flynn.
Kick.
She was trying not to think about him, but now she could think of nothing else. It irked her to admit that if she had stayed in Scotland, none of this would have happened.

Kick. Kick.
If he hadn’t lied to her the whole time they were together, she would still be there. She aimed another series of kicks at the shadow. ‘Lying. Scottish …’

How could she have been so stupid as to fall for him?
Kick. Kick. Kick.

If Flynn was within ten feet of her she would punch
his lights out. Summer kicked again and again until sweat trickled down her spine. She bent over, trying to catch her breath, then peeled off her top and threw herself down on the mattress, panting.

Despite the exercise, the memory of the nights lying in his arms in the croft refused to go away. But it was his mouth that she missed most of all. The warmth of it on her skin, the rough drag of his stubble against her neck, the nip of his teeth on her ear lobe.

Flynn did more than just kiss. When he took her lips, she felt that he owned her mouth. She had never expected that she would enjoy the sharp bite of pain with her pleasure. Flynn had taught her that. The way that he twisted the strands of her hair between his fingers, angling her head for his kiss, still made her shiver.

It was curious how such a small display of his strength could make her dissolve into a wanton puddle. Even now, trapped in this godforsaken hole, she couldn’t dispel the memory of his touch and how he had made her feel. How could she hate him and want him at the same time?

Her hand slid to her neck, remembering his fingers there as they traced a path along her jaw and parted her lips with his thumb. She had licked it, sucked it into her mouth, watching the heavy lidded expression on his face.

Summer caressed her breast through the thin lace of her bra and her nipples peaked at the memory of Flynn touching her with his hand and mouth. Worshipping her with calloused fingers, driving into her wetness and licking his fingers afterwards. Or Flynn, buried between her thighs, with her heels digging into his back, her nails scoring his shoulders as he rode her hard.

The ultimate pleasure for her was knowing that whatever happened next, she couldn’t do anything to stop it, and she didn’t want to. She had wanted someone to watch over her; instead, Flynn had possessed her, body and soul. And despite everything, he still did.

A key in the lock startled her. She reached for her discarded top and fumbled with the buttons. It was too early for another meal. Maybe it was a bathroom break. Gypsy had left a plastic bucket in one corner of the room, but she would cross her legs all day rather than use it.

The door opened. It was Andrei, carrying a bottle of water and a newspaper. He tossed the water bottle onto the makeshift bed.

‘Thank you.’ Summer looked at the doorway, waiting for Gypsy to appear, but Andrei was alone.

He gave her a speculative look. ‘Your picture is in newspaper.’

Her picture? Summer’s stomach flipped. Did the press know that she had been kidnapped? That wasn’t a good sign. That meant the police would become involved and Uri had said, no police.

Fear must have shown on her face because Andrei laughed. ‘Not kidnap picture. Sex picture. See.’

He thrust the tabloid at her. The lurid headlines screamed
Bayliss Bags Babs.
The nudge nudge wink wink reportage crowed that
‘Former London city dealer and fiancé of Summer O’Sullivan has just become engaged to hotel heiress Barbara Silverwood.’

She couldn’t read any more. Plastered beside the image of a smiling Adam and a platinum blonde was one of the infamous photographs he had sold to the tabloids.
Sickened, she threw the paper onto the floor. Adam had finally got his heiress, but the photographs he had taken would haunt her for the rest of her days. Despite the hair and heavy make-up, his new fiancée looked young. She wondered how long it would be before Adam tired of her or bled her dry.

Laughing, Andrei picked it up and smoothed the page. ‘Would you like to get out of here for a while? Perhaps see rest of house?’

His eyes flicked from her photograph to her and back again and he licked his lips. She could guess exactly what a tour of the house would involve. Summer tried to mask her revulsion at his suggestion. ‘No, thank you,’ she said in a frosty tone.

Andrei shrugged. ‘Pity. Perhaps you will change mind later.’

Not in a million years. Summer held her tongue with an effort and kept her eyes cast down. There was no sense in aggravating him if she could avoid it. She heard his footsteps as he walked to the door and locked it behind him. Then the room was plunged into darkness.

For what seemed like hours, there was silence. Summer couldn’t sleep. She was too unsettled by Andrei’s visit to close her eyes. Flynn had told her to co-operate as far as possible, but she drew the line at getting up close and personal with her kidnappers.

Summer squinted, trying to see the face of her watch. Eventually, she made her way across the room and began the laborious task of removing the masking tape around the window again. A chink of light emerged from behind the barrier. Electric light. It was night and no one
had come for hours. She glanced at her watch. Almost ten o’clock.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, protesting the lack of food, and she desperately needed to use the bathroom. They couldn’t leave her here like this, locked up like an animal. She stuck the tape back into place and made her way slowly across the darkened room. Someone had to come. She raised her fist and banged on the door. ‘Let me out. Let me out of here.’

When no one came she pounded the door again. That made her feel good for a while, until her fist screamed in protest and then she had to stop. No one was coming. Sliding one foot in front of the other, she made her way to the corner of the room until her foot encountered the plastic bucket. She fumbled with the fastening on her jeans and used the ‘facilities’ before making her way back to bed.

Summer poured a small amount of water into her hands to wash them, wiping them off on her shirt, before taking a deep mouthful to quench her thirst. She didn’t know when they would bring more. Her water would have to be rationed. Dragging the quilt around her, she shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore her grumbling stomach. If they weren’t taking care of her, that meant that things were not going well. They should want to keep her alive, otherwise how would they get paid? No one would pay for a corpse, least of all her dad.

Stop thinking like that. You will get out of this. Flynn will come for you.

But what if he doesn’t?
Flynn was on a mission somewhere else. There was no reason for him to come. The
first tear slid down her cheek, then another. She rubbed her eyes with her fist. ‘Stop. You’re wasting water.’

Her words sounded loud in the room and she giggled. She was finally losing it, talking to herself like a madwoman.
Have to calm down. Have to think of a way to get out of here.

Flynn was annoyed to find that Sinead insisted on coming with him when he interviewed Fielding. ‘You can’t drive with that thing on your leg. Besides, I’m good at telling when people are lying,’ she told him.

‘And you think I can’t?’ What was it with these bossy O’Sullivan women?

‘You’re a man. Men are shite at stuff like this.’ And she climbed into the driver’s seat. Damn it, Flynn hated being driven. There was something about letting other people be in control that put him on edge, unless they were part of his team. But his knee was still weak enough that it wasn’t worth insisting on.

Sinead drove confidently and smoothly and always one mile per hour below the speed limit.

‘Not tempted to go a bit faster?’ he asked idly.

She took her eyes off the road for a half second while she flicked him an unreadable glance. ‘That would be illegal.’ She didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip.

Robert Fielding was at his office, a glossy marble and glass edifice with thick carpeting and espresso machines in the reception. He glared at Flynn and made time for them with a bad grace. ‘I have no idea why you are wasting my time like this. There is nothing I can help you with.’

Flynn noticed that Sinead hadn’t moved, she continued to sit silently on her leather and chrome chair, but she had gone on the alert. ‘We’re just trying to confirm when Summer was last seen,’ he told Fielding.

‘I have already told that uncouth boss of yours. I dropped Summer at the house last Monday, then I went home.’

‘What time did you get there?’ Flynn asked.

‘About 3 a.m. My concierge can verify that.’ He flicked through several sheets of paper, as if bored with the conversation.

Sinead entered the conversation for the first time. ‘Malcolm said that you spent some time with Summer. What did you talk about?’

‘That’s private.’

‘Not when she’s missing. I need to know,’ Flynn told him.

Fielding considered for a moment, measuring them with his eyes before he spoke. ‘I’m telling you this in confidence; please don’t repeat it to anyone.’

Flynn nodded tightly. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

‘If you must know, Summer made a pass at me. She said she wanted to know what a real man was like.’ Flynn’s muscles tightened in protest, but he forced himself not to react. ‘I was flattered, of course, but I had to turn her down. You know I’m involved with Molly.’ He shrugged. ‘She seemed upset. Perhaps she went off somewhere to get over her disappointment.’

Sinead’s hand on his arm kept Flynn from exploding off his seat and throttling him.

Fielding handed him a card, telling him to phone at any time, and that he would be delighted to tell him any other details.

As soon as they were in the street again, Sinead told him, ‘He’s lying. I’m not sure about what but he’s lying. Summer wouldn’t do that. I know she wouldn’t.’

Flynn wondered if he was trying to convince himself or Sinead. ‘Probably not.’

Sinead insisted. ‘I know that snake was lying about something.’