by Evie Hunter
She could hear Flynn puttering about at the fire below. ‘Summer,’ he roared. ‘It’s almost noon. Get up now.’
Suppressing the urge to snap back, she slicked some lip-gloss on and climbed down the ladder slowly. ‘I’m here.’
His eyes narrowed at her agreeable tone. Suspicious bloody Scot. She pretended not to notice as his gaze roved quickly over her, taking in the strappy top, the golden tan and the skimpy shorts. ‘Do you want to borrow a jumper?’
‘No thanks,’ she said, trying to keep her expression innocent. It was hard not to smile when his eyes dropped to her breasts and especially to her now erect nipples. It might be June, but obviously Scotland hadn’t heard about it. ‘Besides, I’ll be warm at the fire. Now, what would you like me to cook?’
‘Fish,’ he announced. ‘You said you didn’t eat meat.’
A pair of brown trout lay on the table, their gleaming flesh a testament to their freshness. Flynn’s expression was frankly challenging. He thought she was a squeamish bimbo who would baulk at the idea of getting her hands dirty. He obviously didn’t know that the rest of the O’Sullivans still made their living from fishing. Her grandmother had made sure that every one of them knew the family trade.
She flashed him her brightest smile. ‘Great. Do you have any kitchen shears?’
‘Hanging over the sink. Are you sure you know what to do with them?’
Ignoring the jibe, she picked up the fish and rinsed it under the tap. Carefully, she inserted the point of the scissors into the silvery underbelly and cut towards the head. Ignoring the Scot beside her, she snapped the bones near the gills on either side of its head before cutting through its mouth. If she did this properly, she could pull the head back and the guts should come in one go. She dropped the slimy mass into the sink.
Before she skinned the fish, she deftly trimmed the fins away with the scissors, then she snapped its neck back and peeled away the skin. Finally, she trimmed off the tail. Done. A bit slower than she used to do it, but still under two minutes. Not a bad job.
As Summer rinsed away the fish blood under the tap, the expression on his face made her want to laugh. She had surprised the Scot and it made her want to dance around the kitchen.
‘Where did you learn to do that? Some fancy cordon bleu school?’
The pleasure of his approval died. Flynn would always believe the worst about her. She shrugged, as if his words hadn’t stung. ‘The stories about my dad weren’t made up by someone in marketing. We really do come from a fishing family.’ She reached for the second trout. ‘My grandmother taught me. I lived with her for a while after my mum died. Dad was away a lot then.’
Flynn had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …’
Summer ignored his apology, concentrating on gutting the fish. It was stupid to want to cry over a snide remark. ‘That’s okay. Most people think that rich equals stupid. Now, go find me something to cook on.’
For once, he did as he was told. The front door slammed behind him. Oh, well done, Summer. Way to go on the seduction front. At this rate you’ll still be here at Christmas. Now, lighten up and stop being so sensitive.
When the fish were cleaned, she riffled through the rest of the supplies. Olive oil, a jar of capers, and someone had thought to pack some flour. Flynn baked? The thought of the muscular Scot doing anything in the kitchen but eating straight out of a tin made her giggle.
‘Something funny?’ Flynn had returned, carrying a sheet of wire mesh which he cleaned under the tap before setting it over the fire.
‘Nothing. I don’t suppose we have an oven?’
He snorted in reply. ‘It’s possible to cook a loaf over the fire, but the results are usually inedible. Although I’ve successfully used one loaf as a weapon.’
Summer couldn’t help herself, she chuckled at the thought of Flynn going into battle armed with soda bread. She almost dropped the fish, and that made her laugh more.
His smile made him look younger and less disapproving. When her giggles subsided his expression turned serious. He reached out to ruffle her hair. ‘You have a nice laugh,’ he said.
Summer was conscious of the warmth of his hand as he stroked her hair away from her face. She could see little golden flecks in his eyes. It might be her imagination, but they seemed to be more pronounced when his emotions ran high. Her cheeks flamed. ‘Maybe I’ll bake for you while I’m here,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
He grinned. ‘I might even eat it.’
She drizzled olive oil over a piece of foil and made parcels of the fish and capers. Placing them on a tin plate, she put them carefully on the makeshift grill above the fire. ‘It should be ready in fifteen minutes, I think.’
‘Would you like to eat outside?’ Flynn was armed with a blanket, a bottle of scrumpy and a smile that made her heart flip.
When the fish was cooked she followed him to the edge of the loch. It was a perfect day. The waters of the lake were crystal-clear and a ring of mountains circled the valley, making them feel as if they were the only people left in the world.
She had been to fancier picnics, but nothing beat the quiet beauty of the place, the taste of the simple dish washed down with scrumpy, and the feel of the sun on her shoulders.
Flynn lay back, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Don’t burn,’ he warned her.
‘I won’t.’ She lay down beside him and after a few minutes her eyes drifted closed.
‘What happened to your mother?’
His question came out of nowhere and she tensed. The memory still hurt. ‘A car crash. Mum was picking Dad up from the airport. Some teenagers had stolen a car and –’ She swallowed. ‘Dad walked away without a scratch.’
Her throat tightened, threatening to stop the words. She didn’t want to remember that night. She had never seen grown-ups cry like that before. ‘After she … after Mum died, Dad was different. He never laughed. Not the way he did when she was around.’
‘And then?’ Flynn took her hand in his. The warm pressure of his thumb stroking her knuckles encouraged her to continue.
‘I lived with my grandmother for a while, and then Dad’s business took off.’ Literally. The first flight was booked out and after that there was no stopping him. Much to the dismay of the aviation industry, the small regional airline had taken on the big players and stolen a slice of the market from under their noses.
‘So you lost both of them.’
Clever Flynn. This was supposed to be her seducing him, not him finding out all about her. She rolled over, resting her head on his chest. She caught the faint hint of soap on his skin. ‘Something like that. So, how was your perfect childhood?’
Flynn stilled, and for a moment Summer thought he was going to pull away from her, then he relaxed. ‘Not so perfect. My father was killed when I was young.’
‘Killed?’
‘A mission that went wrong. My mother was Scottish. She remarried soon after and we moved to Scotland.’
So that’s how he got that delectable accent.
‘And?’ she prompted, waiting for him to continue.
‘I joined Dad’s old regiment as soon as I was old enough. My family didn’t approve.’
The tension that returned to his muscles warned her not to pry further. Flynn had secrets of his own. She needed a distraction. What was it that Molly called it? Shock and awe?
‘I’m hot,’ she announced. ‘I need to cool down.’ She kicked off her shoes and strolled towards the loch. The water wasn’t exactly warm, but she didn’t plan to spend much time in it. Summer looked over her shoulder. ‘Coming?’
Flynn shook his head. He was sitting up now, watching her closely. She shrugged out of her shorts slowly. She had his attention now. Summer fingered the edge of her T-shirt and stepped into the water. Taking a deep breath, she took the plunge and dived in.
The cold water hit her with a shock and she had to remind herself to breathe. There was one big difference between swimming off the
south-west coast of Ireland in summer and diving into a Scottish loch – there was no Gulf Stream here to warm the water.
With as much grace as she could muster, she emerged from the water. Flynn’s attention was still focused on her. His eyes were riveted to the T-shirt which now clung to her body, emphasizing the peaks of her nipples and the lacy panties, which were now virtually transparent. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.
Shivering, she dropped down to her knees beside him. ‘Flynn, I’m cold. Warm me.’
He didn’t wait for another invitation. Flynn reached for her. He dragged the skimpy top over her head and tossed it aside. His first kiss was a searing brand of possession, taking her lips as if he owned them. Thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, seeking, possessing. Summer moaned against his lips. It shouldn’t feel this good.
Ignoring the water on her skin, he pulled her down on top of him and rolled, taking her with him. Summer arched as he pressed her on to the rough wool of the rug, his kisses becoming more demanding. His mouth left hers to trail along her jaw and she could feel the day-old stubble on his jaw rasp her tender neck and throat. With a muffled groan, his mouth fastened on one erect nipple.
‘Oh god. Oh yes.’ Her broken cry rang out in the silent glen.
She ran her fingers through his hair to hold his head in place. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her. Flynn’s thigh nudged between hers and she parted them willingly. His hard shaft pressed against her clit and she moaned, wriggling against him, seeking more friction. She was so close. She could come right here, with nothing more than this.
With a move that surprised her, Flynn pulled both of her hands above her head. The tempo of his ragged breathing matched the rapid staccato of her heart. He plundered her mouth again in a long, slow kiss that made her tremble with need.
‘What do you want, Summer?’ The tenderness had vanished from his face.
She wasn’t sure if she liked this new Flynn. His stern expression was at odds with the barely leashed passion of a few moments before. She had meant to seduce him, but instead she was the helpless one. This was no longer a game. She wanted him. Wanted Flynn. A cloud passed over the sun and despite the warmth of his body covering hers, she shivered. Why had he stopped? What did he want from her?
Another slow kiss, this time against the tender spot below her ear. ‘Say it,’ he commanded. ‘Say the words.’
‘I want you.’
A look of grim satisfaction crossed his face before he rolled off her. ‘You deceitful little bitch. Do you think I can’t tell what you are up to? Or were you hoping that you could wind me around your little finger with this very delectable body of yours?’
He rose to his feet in one fluid movement. ‘Get dressed, Summer. The party is over.’
She watched in shock as he took off in the direction of the small boathouse at the edge of the loch. The stiffness of his gait told her that he was furious. A wave of shame washed over her. How could she have been so stupid as to underestimate him? And how could she stay here and face him after this humiliation?
Summer wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and fled to the cottage. Inside, she climbed the ladder to the loft. She had to get away from him. Surely it couldn’t be that far to the nearest village. She couldn’t exactly remember the way, but there was a road that led as far as the valley. A few miles, no more.
Summer began to pack and then changed her mind. If she took her things, Flynn would know that she was gone. Summer rolled the quilt into a vaguely human shape. It wouldn’t be enough to fool him if he came looking but somehow she didn’t think he would want to share a bed with her tonight.
She couldn’t take the Jeep. Flynn had hidden the keys and he would catch up with her in no time if she took the dirt track. She would have to find another way. Leaving her damp clothes hanging over a chair, she dressed in jeans, boots and one of Flynn’s shirts. Downstairs, she put two apples into her pocket and filled an empty water bottle at the tap. With a final glance around the cottage, she let herself out and closed the door quietly behind her.
Behind the ‘spa’ was a steep path leading into the woods behind the house. She would find a way through. Somewhere above the valley was a road, and that meant civilization. She didn’t care how furious her father would be; there would be no more bodyguards. Not even if she had to return to Castletownbloodyberehaven.
The path narrowed as she climbed, until it was hardly more than a foot wide. Her breath sounded loud to her ears and she paused to take a swig of water. She probably should have brought more of it.
Up ahead, the path forked in two. One fork led downwards, back into the glen. The other was steep, but at least it was going in the right direction. Summer glanced at her watch. It was more than an hour since she had left the cottage. Had Flynn returned? Would he notice that she was gone, or would he just write her off as another pain in the arse client?
She was glad that she wasn’t around to find out. Around the next bend the ground dropped away, leaving a ledge that was barely inches wide, the edge tumbling into the forest below. Damn. It was turning into a goat track, but she couldn’t go back now.
After a few yards, the path widened again and she was back in the forest. She felt like she had been walking for hours. Surely the glen couldn’t be so big? Had she walked in a circle?
A rumble in the distance caught her attention. A truck. She must be near the road and she just might have a ride home. Taking off at a sprint, she raced through the trees. The rumbling grew louder. ‘Stop,’ she yelled although she knew that he wouldn’t hear her.
Concentrating on the sound, she didn’t see the gnarled root of the tree in her path. Summer pitched forwards, landing with a yelp. Her heart thudded as she scrambled to her knees and rubbed her stinging palms against her thighs. When the sound of the engine faded away, she wanted to cry with frustration.
Her throat was parched. Maybe she could rest for just a few minutes. Summer climbed to her feet and cried out when she tried to put her weight on her left foot. Limping to the nearest tree, she braced her arm against it and lifted her foot. Already, her ankle was beginning to swell. Should she take the boot off or leave it on? She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that it hurt and that she couldn’t walk another step. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain. She would rest for a while before she tried to walk again.
16
Flynn watched her go, her body stiff with indignation and anger. Too bad. He had seen the calculation in her eyes when she dived into the lake. Did she really think that she could manipulate him like that? She desperately needed someone to take her in hand and teach her the consequences of her actions.
Summer O’Sullivan was a confusing mixture of naïve little girl, scheming seductress and submissive-in-training. Her beauty, her wealth and her father had protected her from the world she should be experiencing.
He ached to be the man to teach her. She was so fucking beautiful. Those eyes alone could turn him hard as a rock. The mixture of sweetness and calculation appealed to something deep within him. A sweet little innocent didn’t do it for him. He wanted someone who was his match, and Summer’s eyes said she was every bit as devious as he was. Then there was the rest of the package. That petal-soft skin which just begged for his marks. Her glossy hair, now the right shade for her skin, and just right for holding onto while he kissed her. Or spanked her.
Flynn tore his mind away from Summer’s body. His erection was subsiding and he needed to keep it that way. A man who thought with his cock would always make bad decisions.
Turning her down when she was offering herself to him had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. In comparison, Ranger training, that marathon of torture and exhaustion, was a piece of cake. But she was the principal, and a bodyguard did not get involved with the principal. Ever.
He would give her five minutes to get back to the cottage and put some clothes on. He couldn’t watch her doing that in his present mood. Then he would explain exactl
y how this relationship was going to work. It was time Ms O’Sullivan learned that just because Daddy was rich, she was not going to get everything her own way.
Flynn kept his eyes on the lake, watching the herons diving for fish. A lone boat drifted into view. Flynn narrowed his eyes, examining it carefully. It had a small outboard motor, ideal for fishing, but the boat was drifting.
The sound of a child crying drifted across the water. Flynn could make out muffled words in between the sobs. ‘Daddy, wake up. Please Daddy.’
The boat got a little closer and he could see a small red-haired boy tugging at something on the bottom of the boat. The kid couldn’t be more than five or six, and he was sobbing.
Fuck. Summer was on her own. Every instinct in his body that urged him to go after her, warred with his concern for the child. Especially if there was a dead or injured man in the boat with him.
‘Kid, what’s wrong?’ he called. His voice carried in the stillness, and the boy’s head popped up over the side. His face was red from crying, but a gleam of hope lit his eyes.
‘Daddy forgot to take his medicine and now he won’t wake up.’
Damn it. His duty was clear. Muttering a string of foul curses to himself, Flynn stripped off his T-shirt and jeans and dived in. The cold was bracing.
He swam over to the boat and hauled himself into it in a wet rush. The boy backed away from the water he brought with him, but pointed at his father. The unconscious man was in his forties, but had prematurely grey hair cut very short and he wore a designer jacket. He was sprawled awkwardly in a heap, but he was breathing. Flynn hunkered down to check him over.
‘Do you know what medicine your daddy takes?’ he asked the boy, keeping his voice calm.
‘He gets injections.’
Flynn searched through the man’s pockets and found some glucose sweets and a medical alert bracelet on his wrist. Damn it, the man was a diabetic. Flynn called 112 and asked for medical help. Once he was assured it was on the way, he checked the engine. Out of petrol. He cursed. What sort of gobshite went out without enough petrol? He took a quick glance around the boat. There must be a couple of thousand pounds worth of fishing equipment but no spare petrol.
