by Diane Saxon
“Anyway, I had several different sets of ‘parents’, none of them totally committed. Some of them tried their best, but no one wanted to adopt me. It was always temporary and in between, I spent a lot of time in a children’s home. I was very disruptive. I wanted people to like me.” She gave him a sideways glance to check if he was laughing, but apart from continuing to eat, he sat with an attentive stillness.
“I was barely five when they picked up signs of me being brighter than average. I was fostered by a professional couple. Two psychologists who sent me to a good school, a boarding school, and I shone. But when I returned to them in the holidays, I was too disruptive. You see, I wanted them to love me, so I did lots of stupid things to get their attention. But I gather they didn’t want a child, just a charity case. So after a while, I was sent back to the home, and I applied myself to studying, and so it continued until I was eighteen, back and forward to foster carers. I was too intelligent and I had too many qualifications and people were scared of me. I realized they had all been scared of me, all along. Being different scares people.”
She raised her head and stared at him. His hand stroked the scarring on his face, but as he seemed to realize what he was doing, he removed his fingers slowly.
“So, you put on an act to get people to like you?”
She hadn’t known what to expect from him, although probably not sympathy. It wasn’t in his nature, but the cool, clear perusal of his eyes made her feel like one of her studies under the microscope.
“No. I don’t think of it as an act. It’s my personality to be…” She waved her hand in the air and he pointed his knife, his voice soft and cool.
“Vivacious, lively, cheerful, effervescent. But why? Why do you need people to like you?”
She tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging them tight, unable to look at him for fear of seeing his contempt when she said it.
“Because no one ever did.”
His warm, tender arms pulled her in to rest against his solid chest, bumping the Stetson off her head to rattle for a while before coming to rest on the ground beside Flynn.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until the wet from her tears soaked through his shirt. She pushed away, determined not to fall apart, and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay.” She came to her feet and wandered away, watched the sun dip toward the horizon, and considered whether she ought to build a fire before the chill of the night hit.
She should also release him from his obligation.
“If you’ve had enough to eat, you should go now. It’s a long way back.”
His voice, so close to her ear it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. She hadn’t heard him move, but she knew he was a ghost.
“It’s too late to go now, the sun will be set in ten minutes. Dangerous for me to travel all the way in the dark. I’ll hunker down here for the night, then I can go in the morning. If you want me to.”
She whipped around to tell him he must go, but he’d already made his silent way toward the stream and was picking up small sticks, presumably to start a fire. She thought she would give him a moment before letting him know she had already collected enough on her way and it was in a hold-all behind the saddles. But she needed a moment to herself.
His head shot up, and he stared at her across the little camp as though he’d heard her thoughts.
“I’d bet my Bowie knife you already have firewood.” He flipped the knife around a full three hundred sixty degrees, caught it again by the handle. She couldn’t help responding to his crooked grin. “But I’m pretty sure you won’t have come armed with marshmallows.”
She twitched her eyebrows and delighted in seeing his mouth drop open.
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“You need to stop swearing. You might not say much, but half of what comes out of your mouth is not nice.”
“I want to see you eat a marshmallow.”
Well, she couldn’t accuse him of being not nice there, certainly. Especially the way he stared avidly at her lips and made her want to grab him with both hands. But she knew if she did, he would run and she would feel defeated again, so she gave him a small smile and turned to deal with the picnic.
He leaned over, grasped her hold-all, and tipped half the contents on the ground, encircling the wood with large grey boulders he’d picked up from the side of the stream. Every move he made was quick, efficient, and within seconds he’d surprised her again by having the fire lit. She’d barely had time to clear up after their meal. He certainly was a handy man to have around. Not that she had any thoughts of keeping him around, and even as the denial rolled through her, she felt the groan of frustration bubble in her stomach.
By the time he’d checked the horses, the fire was an inviting roar, and Liberty had the marshmallows ready to roast. They leaned back against her saddle in quiet companionship while they watched the marshmallows darken.
In the flickering glow of the fire, Liberty stared at Flynn’s handsome features. The crisscross of scars made him look devilish and masculine instead of ruining his features. She wondered if he would have been too beautiful without them.
“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, Flynn.” For her own peace of mind, she needed to clarify the situation.
“You made it clear enough you don’t want to have sex with me, but I think we probably need to sleep together for warmth. It’s a cloudless sky and the chill’s going to set in, especially in the early hours when the fire dies down. I know you’re efficient, but I expect you only brought one sleeping bag.”
He slipped a cooling marshmallow off the end of his knife and held it in front of her mouth. Unable to resist, she opened her lips and let him slide it in and wondered at his strange compulsion to feed her. Warmed, the outer skin broke and allowed the soft mallow to stream over her tongue, to coat her mouth with delicious sweetness, and she considered whether she should tell him she was so efficient she had brought an extra sleeping bag.
He gave a crooked smile, lifted his thumb and wiped a trace of marshmallow from her chin, and then put his thumb in his own mouth and sucked it. All thought of telling him anything flew from her head, and the temptation to rip his clothes off almost got the better of her.
“Listen.” He shuffled closer, the heat of the fire started to lick through her veins, making it difficult for her to breathe. “You said no. If you want to change your mind, you can.”
She remained quiet while he paused, tempted beyond belief to take him up on his offer. It would be so easy. He made it so easy. Except for one thing.
“Would you kiss me, Flynn?” In the silence, her head filled with the pounding sounds of her own pulse racing in hope-filled anticipation. She leaned in at the same time he did, her eyelids fluttered closed, the soft touch of his breath skimmed over her cheeks, she stroked her tongue over her bottom lip, and waited for his kiss.
And waited.
Disappointment engulfed her as the cool air of his withdrawal wafted over her cheek to douse the flame of hope. She drew in a long slow breath, opened her eyes, and gazed at him. He gave a small shake of his head.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Pain welled from deep within. The worst pain she could ever imagine. Worse because she understood more than he could ever know. She also understood if she allowed it to continue, it would destroy them both.
She kept her voice as quiet as possible.
“This is why we can’t have sex, Flynn, because you can’t kiss me for whatever your reason is, and I can’t bear your rejection. It gets more hurtful every time.”
He nodded. “I understand. I won’t try to persuade you otherwise.”
“Perhaps you should see a psychiatrist.”
The sharp sound as Flynn sucked air in through his teeth drew her attention. Darkness closed in, and the warm flicker of firelight enhanced his features, cutting a sharp image to make him appear more
evil than usual.
The fleeting thought of whether he considered her worth seeing a psychiatrist for was squashed without further consideration. She expected him to sit in silence, but he surprised her by speaking quietly in the dark.
“I did once. When this first happened.”
She waited.
He sighed.
“I haven’t seen him in three years. I don’t need to.”
She thought otherwise, but unless he made the move himself, it wouldn’t be worth it.
“Would you tell me how it happened?”
“Sure. It’s not a secret, I’m surprised you haven’t been told already.” At the shake of her head, he continued.
“Unlike you, I had a brilliant childhood. I had everything I wanted, no one denied me anything. In fact, I was a spoiled little bastard. Even Carl tells me that now. At the time, I had no idea. I thought I was invincible.”
“Most kids do, whatever their background.”
“Yeah. But I was worse. I was full of myself. Like you, I was bright, but where people were scared of your intelligence, they encouraged mine. I did really well in college, finished up early, and got recruited into the Special Tactics Squadron. I loved it. It underpinned my whole theory—I became a god in uniform.” He shook his head and let out a bark of self-recriminating laughter. “Jesus. They made me one of the youngest ever Combat Controllers and I was good.” He blew out a breath, stared into the fire, and she couldn’t resist moving closer to rest her hand on his arm.
“We went out on a mission. We’d been on loads. It seemed routine, but we were betrayed, by one of our own. He led us into an ambush. They slaughtered three. Two escaped and I was injured. They caught me, tortured me.”
She could make out his hand in the orange glow as he smoothed it over his face and skimmed over the details.
“They said I was too pretty, they wanted to teach me humility before I died. They suspended me upside down from a meat hook in the ceiling.” A wave of queasiness unexpectedly shot through her. She’d not allowed herself to think too deeply about what had happened. She’d had no idea it had been so violent, so personal.
“They slashed my face. They were about to slit open my throat.”
Nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach.
“How did you get away?”
“The one who survived came back and rescued me.”
“You said two escaped.”
“Yeah. Only one survived. She put a bullet through the other one’s brain for betraying us.”
“I see.”
“Anyway. She saved me.”
“She must have been very tough and brave to come back and rescue you single-handedly.”
“Hard as nails.”
“Who was she?”
“Her name? Barbie.”
She snorted, breaking the heavy atmosphere.
“You were rescued by a woman named Barbie?”
“Sure.” He laughed, this time genuine and free. “You should see her. She’s about your height, blonde—bright white blonde, with breasts…” he held his hands out from his own chest and wiggled his fingers, and then nodded at her chest. “…bigger than yours.”
Her laughter choked in her throat as his smile spread wide across his face in genuine affection for the woman called Barbie.
“Did you and she…?”
“No.” He snorted the word out and looked sideways at her through narrowed eyes, his smile still in place. “We got along really well. Still do, when I hear from her. But she was just as likely to slit my throat as bounce on me.”
“Bounce on you?”
“Yeah, you know…”
“Yes, I do know what you mean. Is that what you were doing with me? Bouncing on me?”
He lifted his hand and stroked soft fingers along her jawline. His eyes looked deep into hers, and she could see the amusement twinkling through the shafts of firelight playing across his face.
“If I remember right, Liberty, you were the one bouncing on me. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were—enthusiastic.” She smiled. Their faces were so close she could have leaned in and kissed him, but she sensed the moment he realized and deliberately withdrew, rolling to her feet.
“I think I’d better get the sleeping bag, it’s getting a little chilly.”
He stared up at her, the warmth of the firelight highlighting his features, and her heart almost stopped. “Sure, I’ll go take a p…a walk.”
•●•
Every time he brought his face close to hers, he felt a desperate need to kiss her and a wild chill of fear. Fear of failure.
He hadn’t been entirely truthful when he’d told Liberty about the psychiatrist. He may not have seen him in years, but they’d remained in contact. They’d spent a long time together in the beginning, and now and again Flynn felt the need to speak to Dominic. But he was resisting the temptation at the moment, trying to decide how important it was.
It seemed pretty important now, with the bundle of dips and curves wrapped inside the same sleeping bag as him, her ass snuggled comfortably into his groin, her back pressed into his chest, and her icy feet wedged firmly between his knees. He tucked his nose into her hair and inhaled. It smelled of green apples, clean and fresh, but if he moved his head down a little and sniffed just behind her ear, there was a warm, inviting, womanly aroma. He closed his eyes and absorbed her varying scents. Warm, black velvet enveloped him, soothing his mind and enticing his body to relax.
“Flynn?”
Shit. It was okay, he told himself, to swear inside his head, but the woman had almost had him leaping out the sleeping bag. He’d thought she was asleep.
“Yup.”
“Are you asleep?”
He cleared his throat.
“Not anymore.”
“I can’t get to sleep.”
“Uh-huh.” He was still floating in languid warmth.
“I think your penis is poking into my backside.”
His eyes shot open and pitch black greeted him. He tried to find a source of light, but a thin cover of cloud blocked out the stars and the moon.
“I think you’ll find it’s my Bowie knife.”
Silence greeted him and he closed his eyes again, a small smile touching his lips at her gullibility, and he allowed the comfort to engulf him once more.
“Flynn?”
He could barely manage a grunt.
“It’s a really stupid place to keep a sharp knife.”
His eyes shot wide again.
“Apart from that, with the heat emanating from it, I would be seriously worried unless it was a penis, it might be about to self-combust…”
He had to wonder for a moment if the woman was serious, and then he realized she was holding her breath, and her little body had a gentle tremor going on.
“I can’t help it if my dick has a homing device.”
Her laughter stopped.
He hummed, the sound vibrating from the center of his chest. He huddled himself in, snuggled her soft body up close, and welcomed oblivion.
Chapter Seven
He wondered how the hell he’d survived two nights, nestled into the depths of her sleeping bag, her constant closeness driving him insane. By the third day he’d been almost ready to call it quits. He had two choices, he could leave her and ride back home, get on with his own life, or he could tell her he’d known all along about the extra sleeping bag, insist she give it to him, and sleep over the other side of the fire to stop torturing himself.
Trouble was, he’d never been one to quit. He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want to give up, he just knew he didn’t, and there was no chance he was going to vacate the sleeping bag voluntarily. She would have to evict him. He suspected she almost had several times.
He grinned to himself as he remembered waking on the first morning, having turned over in the night, his hands full of Liberty’s ass and his face pressed deep into her cleavage. Best sleeping position he’d ever experienced, and tempted though he was to nuz
zle his nose deep into her welcoming tits, he’d unraveled himself before she’d stirred properly so as not to suffer her wrath.
Strange they’d spent two full days together, and he’d started to appreciate how peaceful it was being around Liberty. Her level of concentration was so high when she was extracting delicate little samples of the earth and water, taking each sterile sampler from its packet and measuring the depth to such accuracy she held her breath. When she stopped, it was as though she had emerged from a fog. Her eyes were still misted, a small smile played over her lips, and the temptation to pull her into his arms and stroke her hair until the violet depths cleared became almost overwhelming.
The rest of the time, she entertained herself with her atrocious singing, so out of key it was almost impossible to tell what tune she was killing, and she’d learned to jiggle her head so the Stetson tinkled in time with the beat, making her laugh every so often at her own cleverness.
The best time was in the morning, though, when she bathed in the stream and he wasn’t supposed to be looking. He considered it his duty to check her ass for bruises after the way she slapped it up and down in the saddle every time they rode.
He allowed her to pull ahead as they meandered along at a slow trot so he could get a thrill watching her ass slapping on the saddle. Tight little ass, not a wobble to it as it smacked against the leather, bringing back memories he’d rather not forget.
One more night wouldn’t harm.
•●•
Instant arousal made his eyes fly open while his body shot from comatose to fully alert. His heart throbbed in his ears, adrenaline zipped to make his pulse fly. Flynn lay perfectly still and held his breath as he tried to establish what danger his instincts had alerted him to. He blinked. Blew out a long, calming breath. He must have been having a dream. A wet dream. His dick was as hard as a steel girder. He smiled in the dark. Hardly surprising with his arms full of soft, warm temptation, Liberty’s smooth, pert ass tucked snug into his groin, one breast palmed in his hand, while the fingers of his other hand were cradled between her thighs. Couldn’t blame him for the hard-on. He dipped his head to snuggle his nose into the back of her neck and inhaled her warm, aroused scent. And stopped his breath once more to hold the taste of her at the back of his throat, across the top of his tongue.
