any woman. His burnished skin hinted at his Romany heritage and the slightly askew set of his long nose, broken years ago, reinforced the aura of physicality in his athletic frame. Even the brutally short cut of his raven hair, which Ava knew would curl around his collar if left to grow, couldn’t tame that hint of wildness.
A wildness that had transferred to her pulse. It racketed too fast.
‘You were going to explain what you’re doing here.’ The words emerged sharply.
His mouth cocked up at one side in a half-smile that she felt in the sudden thump of her heart against her ribs. Ava gripped her book and took a step back—only to find herself against the window embrasure.
Flynn regarded her with laughing eyes, but for once Ava couldn’t join in the joke. She felt clogged with anticipation, her chest constricting.
It wasn’t Flynn’s smile she wanted, but much more. How could she feel so much, want so much, after just a week?
The ache in her chest intensified and perversely Ava resented his effect on her. She hated feeling vulnerable. It was a sensation she’d worked hard to eradicate from her life.
It was a sensation she’d vowed never to feel again.
Ava lifted her chin, projecting something akin to the hauteur that had been her father’s hallmark.
The laughter in Flynn’s eyes died, leaving him sombre.
He raised his hand to touch her again but she stiffened. Opening up to Flynn as she had in Paris had been a completely new experience. Only now did she realise how dangerously far she’d let herself go.
‘I came for you.’ His voice brushed soft as a summer breeze across her sensitised skin.
‘Me?’ The word emerged from her constricted throat.
‘You.’
He leaned closer but didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. That glowing look melted her resistance and incinerated her doubts.
‘I couldn’t stay away, Ava.’
‘But you had work to do—’
‘I dealt with the crisis in a day and then rescheduled everything that wasn’t critical.’
When he looked at her that way she was tempted to think he shared her feelings. Her breath hitched.
‘One of the perks of being the boss?’ She kept her tone light. ‘Your secretary must love that.’
‘I’m a good employer.’
She heard pride in his voice.
‘And usually I’m easy to work with. I’ve never done this before.’
The air throbbed between them. Surely Flynn heard her heart pounding?
She swallowed, out of her depth. Carefree companionship teetered on the brink of something beyond her experience. Ava had played safe so long. She was torn between joy and fear at the prospect of stepping beyond her self-imposed boundaries.
‘You’ve never played hooky before?’ she teased, her voice uneven. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t read his intense gaze. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
He shook his head, that glimmer of a smile telling her he understood what she was doing.
No one apart from her brother Rupert read her so easily.
‘I’ve done my share of rule-breaking.’
Flynn’s defiance of the established order at Frayne Hall had been legend, and a favourite cause of complaint for her father. He’d accused his tenants’ son of everything from poaching to disrespect and being ‘too bloody clever for his boots’.
To Ava, seven years younger, his exploits had taken on mythic proportions—like those of Robin Hood and Zorro and every other defiant rule-breaker rolled into one. She’d applauded his audacity and mourned his absence when he’d left. She’d longed to follow in his footsteps and stand up to oppressive authority. Finally she had, but years of conformity had taken their toll.
‘But not now you’re a businessman?’ It had been a shock to discover Flynn the maverick was now a respected businessman, doing something conventional in the City.
‘I take calculated risks, but cancelling important appointments isn’t my style.’ The smile disappeared, his face suddenly serious. ‘Until now. Until you.’
The heat in his eyes seared her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
‘But I’ll be back in London myself next week.’ Her voice was croaky and she couldn’t seem to get her breath.
Flynn shook his head. ‘I couldn’t wait that long.’
Ava’s pulse sprinted at what she read in his eyes. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, his gaze never wavering from hers.
It was the first time he’d kissed her.
In Paris she’d wondered if he might, hoped he would. She’d berated herself for not taking the initiative to kiss him.
In the background she heard voices, the echo of footsteps, but they barely registered. Her senses focused on those hard, warm fingers enfolding hers and the press of surprisingly soft lips sending ripples of pleasure up her arm.
Dark eyes glittered as he pressed a kiss to her palm, turning the ripple into a floodtide of delight.
Dazed, she shook her head. She wasn’t a complete innocent. She’d dated, shared kisses. But she’d never experienced anything so flagrantly erotic.
They were fully clothed, in a public place, yet with that simple caress Flynn had reduced her to quivering neediness. Except she didn’t feel reduced. She felt buoyant, light as air, as if she’d swallowed sunshine.
‘You came for me?’ she whispered, afraid to believe it.
Despite her materially privileged upbringing, she’d never been made to feel special. To her father she’d been a commodity, not a person in her own right.
Flynn had cancelled a packed schedule to join her. No one had done anything like that in her life—put her first. It filled her to the brim with stirring emotions.
‘I did come for you.’
Flynn’s lips traced the words across her palm, making her tremble as arousal stirred.
‘I told you I couldn’t stay away.’
Her fingers touched his cheek, threaded through his springy short hair, revelling in the unique textures of him: the hardness of sculpted bone beneath taut flesh, the softness of his hair, his heat against her palm.
‘I missed you.’ With Flynn here her doubts seemed foolish. ‘I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.’
He smiled, his expression so satisfied that for a moment it bordered on smug. But the impression
