Christmas at His Command (15 page)

In spite of the fact that Marigold was aware how bad it looked, she found she bitterly resented Flynn's assumption that she had been a willing participant in the kiss. And it was the knowledge of her own contrariness which made her voice brittle as she replied, ‘Dean was just leaving, as it happens.'

‘Really?' Flynn acknowledged the other man for the first time, his eyes scathing as they flicked over Dean, and in spite of the awfulness of it all Marigold knew a moment's amusement at the scandalised expression on
her ex-fiancé's face. Dean had just had a salutary lesson in the fact that he was replaceable, and she hoped it might prove a warning to him in his dealings with the opposite sex in the future. ‘Don't let me keep you,' Flynn said with distant chilliness, before his gaze returned to Marigold.

There was no further attempt at persuasion. Dean thrust the bag at her, his face like thunder, before he disappeared off down the street without a backward glance.

‘That was Dean,' Marigold said weakly. She suddenly had the nasty feeling she had a tiger by the tail.

‘So you said.' It was acidic.

‘I didn't know he was going to be here. He phoned me this afternoon and then just turned up on the doorstep. I didn't…I mean I didn't want…' She stopped abruptly.

‘Are you trying to say you didn't ask him here or invite him to kiss you?' Flynn asked evenly.

‘Yes.' Which was stupid really because in view of the way she felt it would have been the easy option to let Flynn assume there was something between her and Dean, and thereby finish this ‘friendship'. Flynn was not a man who understood the concept of sharing!

‘Good.' He walked up to her, oblivious to the taxi driver, who was watching developments with interest. ‘I'm pleased.'

‘You believe me?' she asked weakly, astonished.

‘Of course I believe you.' He smiled, a wry twist of his stern mouth. ‘Didn't you expect me to?'

‘I…' Her voice trailed away. She didn't know what she'd expected. ‘I—'

‘OK, I can draw my own conclusions.' He kissed her swiftly, lifting her chin with warm, firm fingers before
adding, his voice very dry, ‘I can see there is still some progress to be made.'

‘What?'

But he was walking towards the taxi driver, bending down as he asked the fare and paying the man with what was obviously a handsome tip from the way Marigold heard the other man thank Flynn.

She watched him, her feelings so turbulent she hardly knew herself. She cared about this man and he was going to break her heart if she didn't finish this affair now, tonight. He had invaded her life with deadly intent, and even now she asked herself, why? He could have any woman he wanted—apart from the one who held his heart, Celine—so why bother with her? Was it because she'd made it plain she wanted nothing to do with him in the beginning, or just the way they had struck sparks off each other, mentally as well as physically? Right from the first time she had seen him it had been a love–hate relationship.

Her thought process hiccuped and died, leaving her in a state of suspended animation as she stared at the big figure in front of her. And then, as reason returned in a hot flood, she told herself, You don't! You do
not
love Flynn Moreau.

But it was too late. The truth she had been subconsciously denying for weeks was out in the open. Marigold wasn't aware of the blank despair which had turned her eyes navy blue, she only knew she mustn't betray herself by word or gesture.

‘He's upset you.' Flynn was in front of her again, his handsome face unsmiling as he took in her drawn countenance. ‘What's he been saying?'

‘Who? What?' Marigold made an enormous effort and
pulled herself together. ‘No, it's fine, really. He…he just told me he and Tamara have broken up. He wanted…'

‘I think I know what he wanted,' Flynn said drily. ‘And you told him to go paddle his own canoe, right?'

‘My phraseology was a little different, but basically, yes.'

‘You won't regret it.'

No, she wouldn't. Not with Dean. ‘Flynn…' It was too soft, too trembling and feminine. She had to appear more in control. Marigold took a deep breath and her voice was firmer when she said, ‘Flynn, we have to talk. About us, I mean.'

‘There's an us?' One eyebrow quirked and his mouth lifted at the corners in a sexy smile. ‘And I didn't know!'

‘Please, Flynn.'

Something in her voice stilled the smile. His head tilted, eyes surveying her searchingly before he said, ‘Inside. It's too cold and windy out here to deal with life and death issues.'

Once in the flat Flynn deposited the shopping he'd insisted on carrying in on the kitchen worktop, before walking through to the sitting room, where Marigold had just lit the fire.

‘So.' He had on his big charcoal overcoat, undone, over an expensive grey suit and cream shirt, and looked every inch the powerful, dynamic and brilliant surgeon. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall just inside the door as he surveyed her unblinkingly. ‘Let's have it.'

Please let me get through this without bursting into tears or disgracing myself in any other way, Marigold prayed desperately. I can't be with him on his terms, and any other way is out of the question. ‘I think we ought to have a break from seeing each other,' she said stiffly,
rising from where she'd been kneeling in front of the fire and seating herself on the sofa.

‘Why?'

‘Why?' Well, of course he would ask that, she told herself crossly as she heard her voice echo his. She just didn't have a reasonable answer, that was the thing. ‘Because I'm not ready for a relationship so soon after my engagement finishing,' she attempted quickly.

‘Don't buy it,' he said coolly. ‘What's the real reason?'

She didn't answer immediately and his eyes narrowed. ‘The truth, Marigold, and I shall know if you're lying,' he said softly.

‘I…I'm not like your other women.'

He gave her a hard look. ‘Flattering though some men might find it to be compared to a sultan in a harem, I'm not one of them. I wasn't aware I had “women” plural.'

‘You know what I mean.'

‘No, Marigold, I do not know what you mean. If you're insinuating I conduct my love life like a bull let loose in a field of cows—'

‘Flynn!' She was truly shocked.

‘The truth, please.'

‘You…you're thirty-eight years old and used to full intimacy in your relationships.' She couldn't believe how priggish she sounded. Neither, apparently, could Flynn.

‘Marigold, you haven't the faintest idea what I'm used to within a relationship,' he said coldly. ‘Now, if this is your way of asking me if I've slept with women in the past then yes, I have. Hell, as you've just pointed out so baldly, I am a mature man, not some boy, wet behind the ears. However, I have never indulged in a promis
cuous lifestyle, neither have I taken a woman to my bed who was not willing.'

She could certainly believe that. She stared at him miserably. No doubt they had been queueing up since Celine was crazy enough to let him go. ‘The thing is…'

‘Oh, not the thing again, please.'

The mocking note in his voice was the last straw, but it had the welcome advantage of putting iron in her backbone and fire in her eyes. All right, he wanted the truth, did he? He was darn well going to get it! ‘I don't want to be someone who drifts in and out of your life,' she said tightly, ‘that's all. That kind of lifestyle might suit some women just fine, but it wouldn't do for me. It might be old-fashioned but I would want to know that there at least is a chance of something permanent in the future if things worked out right. You…you're a closed and shut book.'

‘I think the expression is an open and shut case.'

She glared at him. He knew exactly what she was getting at. She would not be a passing obsession, someone he wanted for a short time until the next challenge caught his fancy. And that was all she was, a challenge. If she'd gone to bed with him when he'd first wanted her to she might well be out of his life by now. And she couldn't cope with it. She loved him, and if she let him into her body as well as her heart she would never survive him leaving her.

It was when she'd met Flynn that she'd understood Dean had been all wrong for her, even if she hadn't admitted it for ages. From that first day Dean had ceased to matter. It was as simple, and as frightening, as that. She suddenly had the overwhelming desire to wail her head off, but controlled it rigidly.

‘Marigold, correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it you
who insisted we keep each other at arm's length? Friends and no more? Don't tell me I'm now getting flak because I concurred with your desires?'

The word shivered over her and, although she was sure she hadn't betrayed herself, she was aware of the silvery eyes honing in on her. ‘Come here,' he said softly.

‘No, I need to make you understand we can't carry on like this. We live different lives;
we're
different. There's no meeting point. It's better to finish now…'

He moved, reaching her in a couple of strides and pulling her up from the sofa and into his arms. It was no gentle kiss; there was a well of frustration and pent-up passion that he hadn't let her see before, and Marigold was instantly aroused in spite of herself.

She found herself clutching him closer, accepting his kiss with a hunger which matched Flynn's, her mouth greedy for his. In seconds they were utterly lost to anything but each other, Marigold's arms tight round his shoulders as Flynn arched her backwards, his lips burning her throat before they moved back to take her mouth.

Somehow Marigold found that her coat was on the floor and then Flynn was nuzzling at the soft swell of her breasts above her low-cut lacy bra, her blouse open, although she had no recollection of Flynn undoing the tiny square pearl buttons. She was aware of the harsher material of his overcoat against her as he continued to ravish her flesh, the scent of him, the overall power and bigness of him, but only on the perimeter of her mind. The feverish need which had taken hold of her within seconds of his mouth taking hers had blurred everything but the desire to get closer and closer.

The soft pads of his fingertips had found her taut nipples under their flimsy covering and he was rubbing
them gently, causing her to moan in her throat at the pleasure the small action produced. His body was imprinted against hers, his hard thighs and strong legs feeding the heady rush of sensation which had taken her over. She could feel his heart slamming against his rib-cage and the tiny tremors shivering beneath her hands on his muscled shoulders, and knew he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him.

He crushed her closer to him, lifting her right off her feet as he sank down on the sofa with her in his arms, settling her on his lap, his mouth never leaving hers. ‘So soft, so warm, so perfect…' His voice was a thick, low murmur against her lips and she revelled in her power over this alien individual who had exploded into her life. ‘You're sending me crazy, do you know that?'

For her answer she pressed herself against the solid wall of his chest, seeking his mouth with an urgency that was mindless.

‘I want you, Marigold, but not like this. I want us to be able to take our time, can you understand that? I want to possess you so completely there'll be no room for anything but me in your head and your body. I want to marry you…'

The words hung on the air, shivering like tiny, crystallised raindrops caught in the delicate strands of a spider's web.

‘What?' She drew back a little, staring at him dazedly. ‘What did you say?'

‘I want you to be my wife.' His hard looks had softened into such tenderness her breath caught in her throat. ‘I agree with you, we can't carry on like this, not without me losing my sanity,' he added ruefully. ‘You say we lead different lives so let's remedy that and lead one life together. You can still have your work, you can have
the cottage as your studio if you like, somewhere where you can work peacefully and without interruption when I'm in London. When I'm home we can spend as much time together as we can.'

He had got it all worked out, she thought wonderingly. He must have been thinking about this for some time. ‘But…but you never said anything before,' she murmured weakly.

‘You made it clear I had to try the softly, softly approach,' Flynn said drily, ‘and I can understand that after what you've been through. But you were right in one thing, Marigold—I am thirty-eight years old and frankly my time of stealing the odd kiss behind the bike sheds is long since past. I would have taken you to bed within days of us meeting if you had been willing, I admit it, but you weren't ready—in here.' He touched her forehead lightly with the tip of a finger.

‘Flynn…' Her voice trailed away as she looked into his eyes, which were lit from within by a light which had turned them the hue of mother-of-pearl. ‘Are…are you sure?'

‘As you have so succinctly pointed out, I've been around long enough to know what I want and from whom,' Flynn said softly. ‘But I never asked any of the others to marry me.'

Except Celine. The thought hammered in her mind for a second before she pushed it resolutely away. She couldn't begin to work this complex and highly intelligent individual out, but he was offering her more than she had ever dreamed he would. And she loved him. In fact she loved him so much she didn't know how she would have managed to live without him. And now she didn't have to.

‘So what's your answer?' he said very quietly. ‘Think
carefully before you speak but one thing is for sure; I'm not letting you go out of my life and my patience is exhausted. I need to make a statement to any other young whippersnappers like your ex that might be sniffing about, too—a statement that you are mine.'