The Pleasures of Summer (4 page)

Summer slammed the bedroom door behind her. The nerve of him. Marching through the front door as if he owned the place. And he was scruffy. His leather jacket
was worn. His dark jeans were stained with oil and he smelled of fish. What way was that to turn up for a job interview?

‘Fish,’ she snapped at her reflection as she tugged her fingers through the tangled mane of hair extensions. For the money they had cost, they should have come with their own personal hairdresser. What had possessed her to go blonde in the first place? She thought it would make her look cute and bubbly, not haggard and high maintenance.

‘Curtains and carpet indeed.’ Who the hell did he think he was to speak to her like that? It was none of his business that she hadn’t been to the beauty salon this month. And for him to comment about it like that.

‘Arrogant idiot.’ As if he had the slimmest chance of getting up close and personal with her. She wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. And what was that thing with the hair pulling? He had taken hold of her as if he owned her. It was a pity her dad hadn’t arrived on the scene sooner. He would have sent him packing.

Summer suppressed a shiver as she recalled just how close he had been to her. Underneath the dark stubble, his unshaven jaw was firm. His facial features made a strong masculine statement. His cheekbones were razor sharp and the slightly crooked angle of his nose gave him a hint of menace. This was no pretty boy for her to play with. And those eyes. Hazel flecked with green and gold under heavy eyebrows. Intriguing and a little dangerous. It would take her more than a day to get rid of this one and time was running out. She needed to be bodyguard-free by the weekend or there would be no
Noir
for her.

Her dad would be away for almost a month. Surely he wouldn’t consider leaving her with him? She would have to make sure that he didn’t.

Summer reached for the hair iron, transforming her thick mane into casual cascading curls. She applied a little make-up. Not too much, she wanted to look innocent. She barely brushed her lashes with mascara and added a coat of pink lipstick until she had the subtle effect she wanted. A pair of pale jeans, a pretty floral top and she was daddy’s sweet little girl.

She pouted at her reflection. ‘Please don’t leave me with the nasty man.’

Slipping on a pair of sandals, she took a last glance in the mirror. She had managed to get rid of the others without too much difficulty. There was no way that her dad would leave that scruffy, arrogant guy in charge while he was away. She was panicking unnecessarily.

Summer hesitated for a moment outside the office door. No one was permitted to enter without invitation. She had raised her hand to knock when she heard laughter from inside. That wasn’t encouraging. They were getting on far too well for her liking. She tapped on the door and went inside.

Her dad’s tie was loose and the top button of his shirt was undone, a sure sign that he was relaxing. Across from him, on the chair where she usually sat, was Fishboy. His easy smile vanished when he saw her and he stood up.

‘Miss O’Sullivan.’ He inclined his head. She caught a faint hint of a Scottish burr. It wasn’t fair. The one accent in the world guaranteed to melt ice and set her pulse racing.

He scanned her from head to foot, taking in everything
from her glossy hair to the painted tips of her toes before he caught her gaze and held it.

Summer didn’t flinch. She was used to men staring at her. It was part of the game. She smiled sweetly at him. ‘It’s Summer, and I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. What am I to call you?’

‘This is Flynn Grant.’ Her father said. ‘He’s going to be taking care of things while I’m away.’

She sat on an upright chair and folded her hands demurely. ‘By “things”, I presume you mean me? Don’t you think that I should have some choice about who I’m going to be living with for the next three weeks?’

‘You’ve already had plenty of choice. Now I’m choosing. Mr Grant is the best there is. You won’t even notice he’s there.’

Considering the slight twitch of that arrogant mouth, Summer wasn’t too sure about that. In fact, she was willing to bet that Flynn Grant was capable of being a complete pain in the ass.

Her father had made his decision. She had another bloody bodyguard. This little skirmish might be lost but there was still time to make Flynn pack up and go back to where he came from. She flashed him a bored glance. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll just check and see how the chef is getting on with dinner. I presume you’ll be staying, Mr Grant?’

‘That’s most kind of you, Summer.’ The smirk was back.

‘Any allergies or conditions that we should be aware of? We wouldn’t want to poison you accidentally.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ he agreed evenly. ‘No conditions. No allergies.’

Summer stepped into the hallway. ‘Pity,’ she murmured under her breath.

Flynn watched with appreciation as Summer left the study. That was a backside worth his attention: firm, rounded and enticing. Mind you, the entire package was a temptation. The sweet-girl-next-door look was such a contrast to the siren on the stairs when he arrived that he wondered who the real Summer was.

He turned back to O’Sullivan. ‘If you’re happy, I’ll move in right away and start work.’ When sending the holdall of essentials he hadn’t had time to pick up, his brother David could also send enough smart clothes that he could pass muster while he was here. This was a civilized house; he should dress to fit in. And it had nothing at all to do with wanting to correct Summer’s first impression of him. Nothing at all.

An hour later, he was clean and starving. A bell rang, announcing that dinner was served. Flynn wondered what he could expect. If the food was prepared by Summer’s fair hands, he had no doubt that it would contain a generous helping of arsenic. But where were the odds that little Miss Sunshine knew her way around a kitchen? Pretty low, he’d bet.

He followed his nose down a long corridor lined with double doors and with a huge picture window at the end which looked out over the park. The cost of a house like this, in one of the best parts of London, made him whistle. This was a family with serious money.

The walls of the dining room had portraits of eighteenth
and nineteenth century people that Flynn was willing to bet were no relation to the O’Sullivans. Summer and her father were already sitting at the antique mahogany table. Flynn sat down at the third place. It was remarkably formal for a family dinner. Flynn wondered what Summer was up to.

Nothing, it appeared. She was politeness itself, urging him to sit down and make himself comfortable. The meal would be served as soon as he was settled.

She had dressed for dinner, wearing a sophisticated black dress that left her neck and arms bare apart from the diamond bracelet that circled her right wrist. Her hair had been swept up into an elegant style that revealed her delicate neck.

Flynn stifled the urges the sight of that vulnerable neck raised in him. This wasn’t the time or the place. Summer wasn’t the girl and her father was watching them both.
Down boy
, he ordered his unruly libido. Still, the stirring was welcome. After that last round of surgery, he had been on so many meds that he worried about chemical castration.

‘Oh, did I forget to mention? We dress for dinner,’ Summer told him with a charming smile.

He smiled back, refusing to let her get to him. ‘I am dressed. If you prefer, I can go naked.’ He started to undo the buttons of his shirt.

‘Stop!’

Tim sniggered at Summer’s instinctive reaction. But Flynn thought there had been a flicker of interest in her eyes. David had sent on his all-purpose holdall. He supposed he could have dug out something formal for dinner,
but he was willing to bet that the whole ‘dressing for dinner’ thing was one more attempt by Summer to make him uncomfortable. He had a brief vision of how he would like to make her uncomfortable. Ass-up over his knee.
Down boy
, he told his libido. That was never going to happen.

Summer recovered herself. ‘You can wear whatever you like.’ She picked up her napkin and touched it to her mouth.

The meal was served. They started with consommé served with tiny pieces of Melba toast. It was beautifully flavoured and Flynn could have drunk three bowls of it. Summer ate it in tiny spoonfuls while chatting away about the weather, the picture of the perfect hostess.

The next course was a herb soufflé, light and airy and insubstantial. It was followed by a green salad with slivers of almonds and toasted pine nuts. Tim poked it with his fork. ‘What the hell is this stuff?’

‘Salad,’ Summer said calmly. ‘You’ve been eating too much greasy food. This is much better for you.’ She turned to Flynn. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Grant?’

‘Oh, very healthy. If you’re a rabbit.’ Flynn shoved a forkful into his mouth and chewed vigorously. ‘It’s a waste of canine teeth, but I suppose you’re easy.’

She stiffened. ‘I beg your pardon!’ Her air of offended outrage would have done credit to the Queen.

He gave an evil grin. ‘I mean you like easy food. Nothing that you have to hunt or kill.’

‘I like healthy food. So should you if you have any concern for your heart.’

He chewed the last bit of salad. ‘My heart is just fine, thank you. Can you say the same?’

She turned her shoulder on him, leaving him with an interesting view of her bare back. He wasn’t concerned with getting the cold shoulder. It gave him the chance to watch father and daughter together.

They truly did love each other, he decided, but there were all sorts of undercurrents going on there. He honestly couldn’t work out which one was manipulating the other.

As he ate his sorbet, Tim issued a list of instructions to both of them, starting with telling Summer to do what Flynn told her. Her expression was priceless. Flynn had to stay with Summer at all times and make sure not only that she stayed alive, but also that she didn’t get into any trouble. ‘I don’t want to read about you in the tabloids again, understand?’ he told Summer.

‘Of course, Dad. I’ll be an angel.’ Flynn trusted her docility and sweet smile as much as a mosquito in a nudist colony. ‘And you won’t object if I invite a couple of friends to keep me company while you are gone?’

Flynn’s ‘No!’ was automatic, but Summer ignored him, speaking only to Tim.

‘Please Dad. I’ll be so lonely when you’re away, and if I have no one to talk to, I’ll be bored.’ Flynn recognized a threat when he heard one, but Tim wavered.

‘Very well. Just a few friends. But you still have to obey Flynn.’

She beamed at him. ‘Thank you, Dad. We’ll have so much fun.’

Flynn groaned. He had a bad feeling about this. He patted his belly. ‘I’m still starving. Where’s the nearest chipper?’

Flynn ate a silent breakfast with his charge. Well, he was silent, but O’Sullivan made up for it, complaining about airport security, the fact that liquid limits applied even to the man who owned the airline, the decaf coffee Summer insisted he drink instead of his normal gut-rot brew and the guests that Summer was inviting while he was away.

‘Mike bloody Chester! What the hell are you doing with an Australian rugby player? Are there not enough Irish ones to suit you? You know that man is only after one thing, and by god, he’s not getting it from you.’

‘Of course not, Dad.’ Her earnest tone didn’t fool him, and Flynn wondered how a father would allow himself to be so easily misled. At least breakfast at Dunboy House was substantial, and he helped himself to a fourth egg to fortify himself for the day to come. On the evidence of last night’s dinner, he could be hungry for the rest of his time here.

‘And as for that pair of airheads you’ve invited – I didn’t know they let girls with minus IQs out in public,’ O’Sullivan continued.

‘I thought Maya and Natasha were the sort of girls you wanted me to be friends with. Good family, posh schools, Royal Ascot, that sort of thing.’

‘I want you to have friends with a good background, but at least pick ones with a couple of brain cells to rub
together. Those two have no talent except for spending money, drinking and making fools of themselves in the tabloids.’ O’Sullivan broke off his tirade to take a mouthful of coffee and pull a face at it.