by Annie West
‘Ava!’ Firm hands grabbed her upper arms. ‘Are you okay?’
He drew her back against him and she wanted to cry out, make him let her go. But she didn’t have the strength.
‘Please—say something. Are you ill?’
‘I’m not ill.’ Hot tears tracked her cheeks.
He stepped in front of her, horror dragging his features down as he saw her face. ‘Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you again. If you want I’ll leave. I just had to see you one more time and tell you I love you. Try to explain—’
‘You what?’
Flynn stroked her wet cheeks with his thumbs, his breath warming her chilled face.
‘I love you.’
The intensity of his expression rocked her back on her feet.
‘I love you with all my heart. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better for you. Even walk out of your life.’
Wide-eyed, Ava read sincerity in his gaze. Plus fear, pain and determination.
‘Is that what you want? For me to walk away and never come back?’
He looked so stricken, a bubble of hope surfaced. He wasn’t feigning. ‘Why wait so long to contact me?’ That still hurt.
‘Would you have seen me? You were so furious. Besides, I needed time to arrange all the legal work, to prove you mean more to me than anything.’
‘You’re just saying what you think I want to hear.’
‘You think I’d give up everything I’ve worked for to someone I didn’t care about?’ His mouth skewed. ‘You’re the one with the power now. You own everything I had and it’s been done in such a way that I can’t lay claim to it if we divorce. I don’t even have a job.’ His laugh was a short huff of sound. ‘I have no hold over you.’
Except for her feelings. Did she dare risk them again after the anguish he’d put her through?
‘You feel guilty?’ Ava lifted her chin.
‘Of course I feel bloody guilty. I injured you—badly.’ Flynn’s scowl made him look ferocious. ‘What’s worse is that you’re the one person I’d do anything to protect. I love you, Ava. More than wealth or success or power.’
‘You didn’t love me when you married me.’ She wanted to believe him but she’d learned caution.
‘No.’
Her heart sank.
‘That was the plan, at any rate. But by the time I started getting to know you I couldn’t just use you for my own ends. Our marriage was about you as well as me. I wanted you to be happy. I wanted to protect you and care for you.’
Like the way he’d made their wedding a romantic dream, and the way he’d held back from making love.
The way he’d tried to manage her life.
‘That’s not love—that’s possession. I’m not a chattel.’
He nodded, gently stroking her cheek, and she had to fight not to give in.
‘I learned that.’ His mouth kicked up ruefully. ‘The way you stood up to Brayson. The way you marched out of the penthouse, naked but for a trench coat and heels!’ He shook his head. ‘You’re a strong, independent woman, Ava. Worthy of respect as well as love. I wanted to tell you that day that I’d fallen in love with you but I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Words weren’t enough.’
Ava’s gaze locked with his and she felt the emotion that roughened his voice and made his hand unsteady against her face.
She wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders. Weep and laugh for joy. Elation bubbled, hammering to be released.
‘You’re not saying anything.’ His voice ground low. ‘Because you don’t love me any more?’
Ava shook her head. ‘I still love you, Flynn. I’ve tried not to, but I can’t seem to push you out of my heart.’
‘Really?’ Something flared in his eyes and suddenly he looked younger, more carefree.
‘Really.’ Despite her wariness an answering lightness filled her chest, lifting her mood, threatening to sweep her into an ecstasy of happiness.
‘But you’re not sure.’ His expression sobered.
‘I’ve learned...caution. I love you, Flynn. I want to believe you’ve changed—’
‘But it will take more than a grand gesture?’
To her surprise Flynn didn’t look daunted or disappointed. His face creased in a grin. She felt its impact right to her core. Just as she felt the heat and gentle pleasure of his fingers weaving through hers.
‘Then it’s a good thing I’m an expert at persuasion, Mrs Marshall. And that I mean every word.’
He raised her hand and pressed a chaste salute to the back of it. Ripples of delight eddied out from the spot, making her shiver. She still loved him. Was it crazy to hope this time it was all real?
His grin faded, replaced by an expression of determination.
‘If it takes years to convince you I’ve changed, that’s fine. I love you with all my heart and I’m looking forward to proving it. Will you let me try?’
A smile trembled on Ava’s lips. Self-denial only went so far. How could she turn her back on her chance at happiness?
‘If you insist.’
‘Oh, I insist, Mrs Marshall. I won’t be satisfied till there are no more shadows in your eyes and no doubts in your heart. Till you know I love you absolutely and completely.’
EPILOGUE
‘HURRY UP, SLOWCOACH,’ Ava taunted. ‘I promised your mother we’d be in time for an early dinner so we can decorate the tree. She’s made herself at home and is cooking up some festive Marshall family treat.’
A Marshall family treat.
Sometimes it still stunned Flynn that Ava was with him, despite the way he’d almost destroyed their marriage.
He paused in the act of dragging the evergreen through the snow. In front of him Ava all but danced up the hill, a vision to warm any husband’s heart in ski pants and a jaunty red pullover with silvery snowflakes. The Santa hat she’d worn for the kids down at the Hall still sat sexily on her blonde hair.
She was the only Christmas treat he wanted. The only one he’d ever need. What would he have done if she hadn’t given him another chance?
‘And Rupert phoned to say he’s arrived. He’s even painted baubles for the tree. Can you believe it?’ She turned and caught him staring. ‘What? Am I still wearing that snowball?’ She brushed her shoulder, where one of the kids had landed a lucky shot.
Flynn shook his head. Her eyes sparkled brighter than the dazzling snow. Her lips were riper than holly berries. But it wasn’t her beauty that poleaxed him. It was her happiness. She was radiant.
And she was his.
‘Flynn? What’s wrong? Is the tree too heavy?’ She plodded back towards him.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘What? You think I’ve turned into a wimp since I gave up my CEO position? Have a little faith, woman.’
If anything he felt more vigorous than ever. Dropping out of the rat race, concentrating instead on the challenges of running the Hall’s various enterprises with Ava, was the best thing he’d ever done.
Almost the best thing.
His wife was that. His heart swelled with emotion.
‘Flynn?’ She was before him now, azure eyes questioning. Her gloved hand covered his. ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’
How she knew, Flynn wasn’t sure. Except that they’d become incredibly attuned.
‘Is it because tomorrow is Christmas?’ Her voice was soft. ‘It must be hard...the anniversary of your father’s—’
‘It’s not that.’ For the first time in years he hadn’t faced the festive season with pain twisting his belly.
‘Then what?’ Her brow crinkled. ‘We’ve had such a good day with the kids. You were marvellous with them.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t do anything special. It’s just that some of them a
ren’t used to having a guy spend time with them. I’m a novelty, like the other male staff.’
Interacting with the kids—some eager for his presence, others initially surly or shy—had made him appreciate the time he’d spent with his father. Only now did he realise how truly lucky he’d been.
It made him hope that one day he and Ava would have children of their own. Not to inherit their mother’s sizeable fortune, but to share their lives.
She frowned up at him, her kissable lips a delicious pout. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’
He hefted a breath, filling his lungs with the scent of her. ‘Everything’s right. So very right I almost can’t believe it.’
Flynn took her gloved hands in his, feeling the inevitable leap of connection.
‘The question is, is it right for you too? You needed to be convinced about me.’
Flynn’s throat closed and he found himself bereft of words. He’d taken each day as it came, but it was time to know for sure.
‘Oh, Flynn.’ She leaned in, her eyes wide. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I hadn’t—’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you knew how much I care for you.’
‘I know you love me.’ His voice scraped out. ‘I know I love you. I adore you. But am I enough?’
‘Absolutely.’ The word was a warm benediction on his face. ‘I trust you, Flynn. Completely. You’ve proved time and again that you’re a bigger man than the one I married. That it’s people who matter to you—like me and your mother and those kids down there. You’re not hung up on money or status.’
Her eyes glowed.
‘I admire the man you are now: honest, compassionate and fair.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘And you don’t keep secrets any more.’
Flynn nodded, the tightness in his chest easing. His last secret—the fact that he’d ensured Benedict Brayson had no future in the City of London, nor in the UK—he’d shared with Ava months ago.
Her gaze searched his. ‘The question is, am I enough for you?’
Flynn wrapped his arms around her, hauling her close. ‘You’re all the world to me.’ There was nothing he wanted more than to be with Ava for the rest of his life. ‘I never knew life could be this good.’
‘Me neither. I’d always hoped...’ she shook her head ‘...but until now I wasn’t sure. You make my world better. I love knowing you’re there for me.’
‘Always.’ He cradled her face.
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’ He smiled into her eyes, his heart full. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
Long minutes later, when they pulled back, Flynn’s chest was heaving, his pulse racing. He held her to him, never wanting to let her go.
Ava glanced up the hill at the glass and oak-framed house they’d designed together. It sat in her favourite glade, part of the estate but separate from the Hall.
‘It’s a pity our guests are waiting.’ She snuggled in to him, her nose cold against his neck.
Flynn trailed his hand up her sweater. ‘They’ll wait a little longer. This calls for an early celebration.’
‘I wish we could.’ She laughed.
His hands moved.
‘Flynn!’ She gasped, her eyes rounding. ‘Not here.’
‘Where better,’ he murmured against her throat, ‘for a little wildness?’
Fat flakes of snow drifted down as he backed her against a sheltering tree, holding her tight.
‘You can’t!’ But her body arched into his, her voice breathless with laughter and excitement.
‘So you want me to stop, Mrs Marshall?’ He made as if to pull away.
Instantly firm hands stopped him. ‘Later, Mr Marshall. Much later.’
Flynn chuckled, heady with joy.
He was the luckiest man in the world.
*****
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The Marakaios Baby
by Kate Hewitt
CHAPTER ONE
‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?’
The question seemed to bounce off the walls and echo through the room as Marguerite Ferrars stared in shock at the face of the man who had asked the question—her lover, Leonidas Marakaios.
He gazed at her with a faint half-smile quirking his lips, his eyebrows slightly raised. In his hand he held a small black velvet box, and the solitaire diamond of who knew how many carats inside sparkled with quiet sophistication.
‘Margo?’
His voice was lilting, teasing; he thought she was silent because she was so surprised. But, while that was true, she felt something else as well. Appalled. Terrified.
She’d never expected this—never thought that charismatic playboy Leo would think of marriage. A lifetime commitment, a life—and love—you could lose. And she knew the searing pain of losing someone—the way it left you breathless and gasping, waking up in the night, your face awash in tears, even years later...
The moment stretched on too long, and still she said nothing. She couldn’t. Because she didn’t dare say yes and yet no seemed just as impossible. Leo Marakaios was not a man who accepted refusal. Rejection.
She watched as a slight frown pulled his eyebrows together and he withdrew the hand holding the open velvet box to rest it in his lap.
‘Leo...’ she began finally, helplessly—because how could she tell this impossibly arrogant, handsome, charismatic man no? And yet she had to. Of course she had to.
‘I didn’t think this would be that much of a surprise,’ he said, his voice holding only a remnant of lightness now.
She felt a surge of something close to anger, which was almost a relief. ‘Didn’t you? We’ve never had the kind of relationship that...’
‘That what?’ He arched an eyebrow, the gesture caught between wryness and disdain.
She could feel him withdrawing, and while she knew she should be glad, she felt only a deep, wrenching sorrow. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. But she didn’t—couldn’t—want marriage either. Couldn’t let someone matter that much.
‘That...led somewhere,’ she finished, and he closed the box with a snap, his expression turning so terribly cold.
‘I see.’
Words stuck in her throat—the answer she knew she had to give yet somehow couldn’t make herself say. ‘Leo, we’ve never even talked about the future.’
‘We’ve been together for two years,’ he returned. ‘I think it’s reasonable to assume it was going somewhere.’
His voice held a deliberate edge, and his eyes were blazing silver fire. Or maybe ice, for he looked so cold now—even contemptuous. And moments ago he’d been asking to marry her. It almost seemed laughable.
‘Together for two years,’ Margo allowed, determined to stay reasonable, ‘but we’ve hardly had what most people would call a “normal” relationship. We’ve met in strange cities, in restaurants and hotels—’
‘Which is how you wanted it.’
‘And how you wanted it too. It was an affair, Leo. A—a fling.’
�
�A two-year fling.’
She rose from her chair, agitated now, and paced in front of the picture window that overlooked the Île de la Cité. It was so strange and unsettling to have Leo here in her apartment, her sanctuary, when he’d never come to her home before. Restaurants and hotels, yes—anonymous places for emotionless no-strings sex...that was what they’d agreed. That was all she could let herself have.
The risk of trying for more was simply too great. She knew what it was like to lose everything—even your own soul. She couldn’t go through that again. She wouldn’t.
Not even for Leo.
‘You seem upset,’ Leo remarked tonelessly.
‘I just didn’t expect this.’
‘As it happens, neither did I.’
He rose from where he’d been sitting, on the damask settee she’d upholstered herself, his tall, rangy figure seeming to fill the cosy space of her sitting room. He looked wrong here, somehow, amidst all her things—her throw pillows and porcelain ornaments; he was too big, too dark, too powerful...like a tiger pacing the cage of a kitten.
‘I thought most women wanted to get married,’ he remarked.
She turned on him then, another surge of anger making her feel strong. ‘What a ridiculous, sexist assumption! And I, in any case, am not “most women”.’
‘No,’ Leo agreed silkily. ‘You’re not.’
His eyes blazed with intent then—an intent that made Margo’s breath catch in her chest.
The sexual chemistry between them had been instantaneous—electric. She remembered catching sight of him in a hotel bar in Milan two years ago. She’d been nursing a single glass of white wine while she went over her notes for the next day’s meeting. He’d strolled over to the bar and slid onto the stool next to hers, and the little hairs on the back of her neck had prickled. She’d felt as if she were finally coming alive.
She’d gone back with him to his room that night. It had been so unlike her—she’d always kept herself apart, her heart on ice. In her twenty-nine years she’d had only two lovers before Leo, both of them lamentably forgettable. Neither of those men had affected her the way Leo did—and not just physically.
