The Pleasures of Summer (27 page)

‘I see you’ve never been in the boy scouts.’ He busied himself at the fire while she laid the table and whisked the eggs in a bowl. In some ways Flynn was quite easy to be with. She didn’t have to check her appearance in the mirror all the time, or worry that she had chipped a nail. It was almost comfortable.

They sat down to a breakfast of eggs and coffee.

‘What is your earliest memory?’ Flynn asked.

Summer paused, mid-mouthful. ‘We’re starting this already?’

‘If you want one of your fantasies, yes. And remember, I get to ask the questions and I expect honest answers.’

Bugger. He was really going to do this. A whole day of truth for a single fantasy? Was it worth it? Looking across the breakfast table at him, his hair still damp from the shower, her neglected libido voted yes. ‘I suppose it was hiding in a currant bush in my grandmother’s garden. They weren’t quite ripe and I had the worst belly ache ever afterwards.’

‘Who was the first boy you kissed?’

‘That’s easy. It was Declan O’Malley during a game of kiss chase. I punched him on the nose when he caught
me. His mother wouldn’t let him play with me for months afterwards.’

‘Have you ever stolen anything?’

He surely couldn’t expect her to confess to a crime? ‘Oh, now that’s just mean. Come on, what happened to my favourite colour or what movie do I watch when I’m miserable?’

Flynn gave her a warning frown. ‘Do I look as if I’m going to arrest you? Answer the question or we can stop this now.’

He was back in Tarzan mode again. ‘Okay, I stole a lipstick, but it was a dare, part of a secret club thing at school. I never actually wore it.’

Flynn raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment. He collected the plates and washed them at the sink. ‘Come on, we have to catch something for lunch and given my luck yesterday, it might take a while.’

The surface of the loch was like a mirror. The morning mist had already cleared, and hardly a breath of wind moved the surface. Flynn helped her into the small rowing boat before untying the line. He rowed in silence, the oars making ripples in the water that spread out in expanding arcs.

Summer looked at the surrounding hills. The glen was a peaceful, beautiful place. No wonder Flynn liked to come here. She spotted a shadow on the horizon ‘What’s that up ahead?’

‘It’s a small island with a Culdees cell.’

When he saw her puzzled expression, he explained. ‘Culdees were monks or hermits who practised healing. We can stop there for lunch if you like.’

‘I’d like.’ She smiled.

Summer sat back, cushioning her head against a sleeping bag they had taken from the cottage, watching as Flynn cast his line. She stared at the pale clouds scudding across the sky and allowed her eyes to drift closed.

‘Have you ever done any kind of drugs?’

Oh god. Twenty questions was starting again. She stared at him through half closed eyes. ‘No. As if.’

‘How many sexual partners have you had?’

That one made her sit up in outrage and the boat rocked. ‘You brought me out here to interrogate me? Would you answer a question like that?’

‘I might, if you asked nicely, but I’m the one who gets to ask the questions.’

She wasn’t sure if a single fantasy was worth it. If he was going to get this personal, she should have asked for half a dozen. One of which would involve torturing him. ‘Just how many questions do you get to ask? This doesn’t seem to be very fair. I only get one fantasy.’

‘Perhaps you should have negotiated before you agreed.’

Summer stuck out her tongue at him. ‘I didn’t realize that I was dealing with such a devious, underhanded –’

His large hand closed around her ankle. ‘One more insult and you can swim back to shore.’

Summer paused in mid-tirade and took a deep breath. ‘I was simply pointing out that it wasn’t fair.’

Flynn grinned shamelessly at her before releasing her ankle. ‘Then perhaps you’ll be more careful in future. We can put a limit on it if you wish – ten questions.’

‘Ten?’ Her shriek echoed around the hills.

‘Aye, ten and I’m being generous – we can count the ones I’ve asked already. Now, where were we? Oh yes, sexual partners.’

Fine, if he wanted to play, she would play. She nodded her head as if she was counting and the seconds dragged by. After almost a minute the amusement faded from his eyes. She screwed up her face as if she was trying to remember and another minute ticked by. Flynn’s steady gaze never faltered. She could almost imagine him counting along with her.

‘Four,’ she finally admitted. ‘Including you.’

He huffed out a breath he had obviously been holding. She had finally got one up on him. ‘You wee bitch.’

Summer giggled. It was such a good feeling not to be the one at a disadvantage. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read about me.’

Her sense of triumph was short-lived when Flynn asked, ‘Have you ever had a sexual encounter with a woman?’

‘No.’ She snorted. ‘Again – don’t believe everything you read. I believe you’re down to three more questions.’

A jerk on the line took Flynn’s attention away from her. They had a bite at last. He played the line for what seemed like ages before he finally reeled the struggling fish in. The trout landed, its slippery body wriggling against the bottom of the boat. Flynn dispatched it quickly and baited another hook. After he cast out again, they sat in companionable silence.

‘What country do you want to see before you die?’

That was an easy one. ‘Argentina.’

He raised an eyebrow at that one. ‘Why?’

‘That’s two questions,’ she reminded him. ‘Because Dad’s airline doesn’t fly there and I’ve never been.’

‘What is your greatest fear?’

‘The dark,’ she announced without hesitation.

A look of disbelief crossed his face. ‘You promised not to lie.’

Summer didn’t answer. She had enough material to keep several psychiatrists busy for years. After Adam she had nightmares of waiting at the altar for him for hours. When she was a child living at her grandmother’s, she was afraid of closing her eyes until her dad came home. Her greatest fear now? She honestly didn’t know. Being chased by paparazzi down a dark alley? Stalkers? None of those things were as terrifying as loving someone and finding out that they were lying to you.

Flynn was having none of it. ‘I’m waiting.’

He was using that voice again. The stern one he had used at
Noir.
The one that made her want to … She stared down at the wedding band on her finger and twisted it back and forth, hoping that the question would go away or that another fish might decide to bite. Water lapped against the side of the boat and a bird cried overhead. Flynn waited. He wasn’t giving up. What had started out as a silly game had turned serious.

‘I suppose it would be trusting someone and being let down,’ she eventually answered.

She waited for his response. A few trite words of comfort, perhaps a teasing remark that she could always buy new friends. Flynn said nothing. Instead, he stowed his gear and picked up the oars again. They were heading for the island.

Summer trailed her hand in the crystal-clear water as he rowed. It was icy cold but the sheer beauty of the place made her heart ache. The glen was rugged, remote and brooding, just like Flynn.

‘A penny for them,’ he offered.

She shook her head. ‘You’ve already had quite enough of my thoughts today.’

Flynn moored the boat at an old jetty and climbed out. ‘Careful, it’s slippery.’

She clambered up behind him and reached for his hand as she neared the top. Her foot slipped on one of the old iron rungs and for a frozen second, she fell backwards. She gasped.

‘I have you.’ Flynn shouted as his hand caught her arm.

Her free arm flailed, seeking something to grab onto and Flynn was there again. Grasping her by both arms, he pulled her onto the jetty. They landed in a tangled heap of arms and legs on the rough wood. Something about her proximity to him reminded her of the night at the club. She had a sudden vision of Flynn pressing her against the wall of the apartment, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with passion. Embarrassed by the memory, she tried to laugh it off. ‘I bet you don’t often let the woman be on top.’

She could feel the warmth of his hands slowly caressing her through her thin T-shirt. His mouth was inches away from hers. If she bent her head she could be kissing him, tasting his mouth again.

‘I could be persuaded. Why? Is that a fantasy of yours? Being in charge in bed?’

She scrambled off him, ignoring her racing pulse. The thought of Flynn lost in the throes of passion, helpless
beneath her touch, sent the blood rushing to her core. But she would never admit it. ‘You are such a bloody … Scot.’

Flynn grabbed his bag and hurried after her. ‘Half-Scot. And I might remind you that you promised me the truth. You still have to answer one more question if you want your fantasy.’

Summer rounded on him, wishing he had never started this stupid game. Who did he think he was, prying in to her head like this for his own amusement? ‘Stuff your fantasy. You know nothing about me and I’m not playing this game anymore. You’ve pushed too far.’ She stormed away to the tumbled ruins of a stone building. It really was a small island. How could someone, even a hermit, have lived here? Summer did her best to ignore Flynn as he lit a fire and unpacked his bag. If he produced another tin of alphabet spaghetti she would beat him to a pulp with it and leave his body on the island for the crows.

The mouth-watering smell of char-grilled fish wafted to her nostrils. It didn’t matter what Flynn cooked; she wasn’t hungry and she wasn’t speaking to him. Huddled on her boulder, she surveyed the rest of the island. It was hardly more than a rock sticking out of the loch. Whoever lived here must have gone barking mad with nothing to do all day and no one to talk to.

‘Lunch is ready,’ Flynn announced.

‘I’m not hungry.’

Flynn came up behind her, but she refused to look at him. She shrugged in her best
I don’t give a damn
gesture.

He put his hands on her shoulders and massaged gently, his skilled fingers finding every tiny knot, and easing the tension. ‘You’re right. I was pushing. But I do know
that beneath the spoilt little rich girl is a passionate woman. That you adore your father and you want his approval, and that you’re not half as wild as your reputation.’

Summer relented, relaxing into his touch. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t an apology.

‘And one other thing. You can always rely on me. I will never lie to you and I will protect you, even when you’re being a pain in the arse.’

Flynn planted a light kiss on her shoulder to break the suddenly serious mood. ‘Now, come and eat with me. Tarzan has cooked lunch for Jane.’

She hated to admit it but Flynn could cook. On a remote rock sticking out of a loch, he had managed to produce a meal fit for a king, or at least a starving society princess. Fresh fish, some sort of artisan cheese wrapped in wax, and bread that was almost fresh. The feast was topped off with tiny wild strawberries.

Even if he looked like the back of a barn door, she would still have been attracted to him, simply for his abilities in the outdoors. His calm, can-do approach to everything was a refreshing change from the boy-toys Maya and Natasha usually hung out with. There was something intensely masculine about Flynn. Something that was capable and steady that she hadn’t experienced before, and she wanted more, even if that meant exposing her innermost thoughts to him.

‘Yes. I would like to be in charge in … in the bedroom. But not all the time,’ she added, not wanting him to think that she was some kind of bossy boots.

His eyes lit up, the tiny gold flecks becoming more noticeable. ‘Good girl.’

Somehow the phrase didn’t irk her as much as it had done. If she had to admit it, she wanted to please Flynn.

‘You’re thinking about something.’

Summer shot him a sideways glance. ‘Don’t push it, Flynn. You’ve already had ten.’

Back at the croft, supper was over and Flynn hadn’t said anything about his earlier promise. The more Summer thought about it, the less she liked the idea of exploring her fantasies. Yes, sure, she liked the notion of the stuff that was in her books, but faced with the prospect of actually doing those things, she was getting cold feet.

She bet that most of those things would hurt like hell, and not only that, they would be embarrassing and ridiculous. She hadn’t realized how much she valued her dignity until now. She wondered if Flynn had changed his mind. Or forgotten. How humiliating would that be? She was quivering like a badly set jelly and he hadn’t remembered his promise. She wasn’t sure what she hoped for.

Flynn went outside, presumably to the spa, and she busied herself putting away the dishes. Those old-fashioned women who did embroidery had a point, she decided. At least it was something to make her look busy. Now she had nothing to do except wait for him to come back. Her stomach flipped and she realized her hands were shaking.

She sat down in front of the fire, holding her hands firmly in her lap. This was stupid. She was the infamous, notorious Summer O’Sullivan. She didn’t shake just because a man had said he was going to make one of her sexual fantasies come true.