Playing With Fire

Her throat moved against his palm as she swallowed. ‘How could I forget? You were so over the line I should have had you charged with indecent assault.’

He flashed a grin. ‘Indecent?’ He leaned close to bring his mouth to hers and licked slowly from one corner of her bottom lip to the other. ‘I doubt you have the first clue of just how indecent things would have become if I’d not called a halt to that little episode – if I’d carried on and done all the things I’d wanted to do to you.’

‘I would have stopped you,’ Annabel said, baited no doubt by his deliberately cocky tone.

Although the heat sparking in her eyes had little to do with anger.

‘Would you?’ he asked, unable to resist teasing her a little more. ‘So far as I remember, you didn’t look like you were up for stopping much of anything.’

She stiffened. ‘Of course I would have. I didn’t want it.’ She tried to escape his hold, but he tightened his grip at hip and throat and lowered his mouth to hers again. This time he captured her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it until her eyelids fluttered closed and he felt her annoyance start to melt back into desire.

He loosened his hold on her hip and ran his fingers along the leg seam of her briefs, tracing the inward line through the sheer barrier of the tights. Releasing her lip, he murmured, ‘Do you want it now?’

Her lashes parted to give him a flash of green as she sighed and murmured back, ‘Fuck yes.’

With that he hooked his fingers into the sheer fabric and with a sharp tug, tore through the tights.

Annabel jolted, her mouth and eyes rounding in shock. While he locked his gaze onto hers he ripped an opening large enough to allow him access, then his fingers were burrowing into her silky underwear, brushing against soft curls and into the slick, soft heat of heaven. He groaned deep and low in unison with Annabel – felt her push against him, forcing his touch to slide deeper into the welcoming wetness.

God Almighty. He wanted her naked and on her back now. Wanted her legs spread and his face buried hard between her thighs. Wanted her mindless and arching against his mouth as he tasted every inch of her and drove her to come on his tongue.

Withdrawing his hand, he silenced her sudden aggrieved growl with a deep, demanding, open-mouthed kiss that conveyed the promise of the more intimate kiss to come. Enfolding her in his arms, he lifted her off her feet and made his way down the hall.

The feel of Annabel’s legs wrapping around him, the plucking of her fingers at his clothes as he carried her towards her bedroom, only maddened his lust further. He heard her shoes hit the floor behind him as he turned into the darkened room and kept walking until he met the edge of the bed. Toppling forward, he released her at the last minute and caught himself on his arms as he lowered her to the mattress. Enjoying the feel of her smaller, curvier body cushioning his, he let his weight settle on her. She seemed to enjoy the sensation too, grasping his face as they continued to kiss, and tightening the legs still wrapped around him so she could grind her pelvis against his.

And suddenly, thoughts of getting her naked could wait. They both needed his mouth on her. Now.

He broke the kiss and levered himself back onto his feet, running his hands down over Annabel’s breasts and ribs and stomach as he did so. When her legs fell from around his hips, he caught them behind the knee, pushed them wide and dropped to kneel between them.

He slid his palms up her inner thighs, hooked his fingers into the tear he’d already made in her tights and pulled to make it larger. With the only illumination in the room the light filtering in from the hall, he turned his attention to the scrap of lacy silk underwear still keeping him from his goal. As it shredded like tissue paper in his fists, he hoped it wasn’t her favourite pair.

‘Hey–eee!’ Annabel’s yelp of outrage turned to a squeal of pleasure as his mouth found her. Under the fast, furious strike her whole body convulsed. Instinctively, her thighs tried to clamp shut but he pushed them apart, opening her to him, holding her there as he lost himself in the womanly taste of her.

A second later her fingers were tangling in his hair, her nails sharp against the top of his scalp as her hands balled into fists and pulled him closer. ‘Yes!’

She wanted more? He was only too happy to oblige.

Using his thumbs to spread her wider, he homed in on her clitoris, working her with his tongue. Bit by bit he felt the tension ratchet tighter until her entire body was strung taut. As the tension snapped, allowing the first quivers of release to set her limbs trembling, he changed tactics and sucked, holding her fast as she bucked and shuddered against him – wringing throaty curses and every last pulse of pleasure from her until her hands fell away from his hair and she was nothing more than a twitching, gasping wreck.

He surged to his feet, dug into his hip pocket and wrenched out his wallet, fingers scrabbling to locate the condom there. Laid out before him like an erotic dream in the half-light, Annabel was limp, dazed, so beautifully fuckable in her state of dishabille that he knew there was still no time to get naked. He needed to get inside her before he exploded in his own pants.

Condom found, he tossed the wallet aside and attacked the fastenings of his jeans, relying on brute force rather than finesse to get the job done in record time.

‘Hurry,’ Annabel sighed from the bed, starting to reach for him.

With the taste of her fresh on his tongue and the scent of her in his nose driving him mad, if she touched him now, this was over. ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered, desperation putting an almost comical squeak into his voice.

His erection sprang free as he shoved the denim and his boxers down his thighs. He had to grit his teeth and mentally recite the Periodic Table as he rolled the condom on. He was so hard, so ready, he almost couldn’t stand to touch himself for fear of losing it.

And then he was climbing onto the bed, settling himself between Annabel’s sprawled legs and guiding himself to her entrance. He kissed her as he pushed inside, swallowing her moans and feeding her some of his own.

‘God, yes. So good,’ he breathed against her open lips. Hot. Tight. She felt every bit as good as he remembered.

No. Better than that. Much, much better …

Christ. His breath stalled. She felt too good. Keeping the pace of that first slide into her slick heat measured was all he could manage. As soon as he was all the way in, his control snapped.

‘Annabel,’ he gasped. He pulled back and drove into her again.

Her fierce ‘Yes!’ had him doing it again, and again. Each forward thrust picking up force, every withdrawal growing shorter, until his hips pumped like a piston.

With a string of half-coherent stutterings and her hands on his arse, urging him on, Annabel met his thrusts, arching up against him when he hit deep. The movement crushed her breasts hard against his chest, making him want to hold their soft weight. Shifting his palms to cup her, he discovered to his dissatisfaction that there were too many clothes in the way. Impatient, he found the hem of her shirt and in one move swept it all the way up to her chest. When he reached her bra, he simply hooked his thumbs under it and pushed that up as well.

Then her breasts were in his hands. Deliciously plump and warm – so soft against his palms, except for the hard points of her nipples.

He ducked his head and closed his mouth over one pale-pink tip as his fingers plucked and rolled its twin. With a ragged cry Annabel surged against him. He answered by sliding one hand under her hip to cradle the cheek of her bottom and tilt her pelvis up for greater penetration.

God, he was in paradise. The last time he’d had his hands on her bare, satiny skin like this, she’d been bruised and battered and he’d had to handle her with the utmost care. Before that, they’d barely had time to get to know each other carnally and he’d had to keep the force of his passions, the darker drives, under strict control. Now she was whole, healed, those passions were stirring, demanding to be sated. He wanted to take her, all of her. Wanted to overwhelm and ruin her … in the best possible way. So that all her past experiences meant nothing. So that she wouldn’t be able to contemplate any future ones that didn’t feature him. Only him.

On that covetous thought, he came. Holy hell, how he came. The rip of pleasure was almost brutal, blurring his vision, choking his voice. Clutching Annabel so tight she wheezed, he locked himself as deep as he could go and erupted hotly until the energy began to drain from him like water down a plughole, leaving him on the verge of collapse.

Muscles quivering, he listed to one side, pulling Annabel with him, nowhere near ready to withdraw from the warm haven of her body. Rolling onto his back, he held her half draped over him and sucked in air.

A grin split wide as he blinked up at the ceiling. Smooth work, Flynn, he congratulated himself wryly. Very smooth. For a man who was wired towards the slower side of seduction, to the sensual games of erotic dominance, he’d certainly displayed some masterful control skills there.

He managed to raise his head off the mattress long enough to plant a kiss on the top of Annabel’s hair. Oh, yeah – with his jeans bunched around his knees and his shoes still on, he’d really shown her who was boss, all right. No woman had ever robbed him of his usual self-possession the way she did. He’d have to work on that.

Not quite yet though. For the moment, he was very happy where he was. Which was lucky, as he doubted he currently had the ability to do much else beyond fall flat on his face.

Chapter Three

Annabel awoke screaming, her wide-open eyes taking only a fraction of a second to register that something was wrong.

No light.

Only darkness. Shadows.

God, where was it – where was the light to stop the spectres of her dream closing in, to keep the dark shapes from looming? She yelped as the shadows above her moved … and then she screamed again when something touched her arm.

This time the nightmare was real.

She kicked and thrashed in terror and suddenly the shape recoiled.

‘Jesus! Annabel …’

She rolled onto her hands and knees, scrambled to the far side of the bed and half fell to the floor, ready to run.

‘Annabel. It’s all right.’

That voice – soft, gentle – made her pause.

‘It’s me, a mhuirnín. Aidan.’

Aidan? The mad swirl of adrenalin and fear made it impossible to pin the word to a coherent thought.

The shadowy figure moved to the bedside. With a click, light flooded the room and Annabel’s knees nearly gave out with relief. Tall and lean, his black hair mussed around his handsome face, it was Aidan. Of course – he’d brought her home after work, asked to stay the night after they’d jumped on each other like rampant rabbits.

Shaking, she reached for the bed and sat down heavily before she fell down. ‘Why the hell did you turn off the lights?’

After a short pause, she heard him move around the bed behind her. ‘You were sleeping,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know they were supposed to be kept on.’

God, what must he think she sounded like? A scared child afraid of the dark. Pathetic. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was just a bad dream.’

She sensed him coming to stop beside her. ‘It was that all right,’ he said softly. ‘Get back under the covers now before you get cold.’

Raising her head from her hands, she noticed that goosebumps were already springing up on her arms and legs. She guessed running around stark naked in the middle of a February night in England would do that. Casting a glance at Aidan she found he was also naked, although he showed no signs of feeling the cold; not surprising when he always radiated such warmth.

She’d had her first real reminder of that warmth earlier, when he’d eventually pulled from her body, turned on her bedside light and undressed them both. After tucking her under the covers, he’d climbed in the opposite side of the bed and settled her against the bare skin of his chest, stroking her hair. She couldn’t recall much more after that. The enveloping heat and soothing caress must have carried her straight off to sleep.

Well, she didn’t feel warm or sleepy now. And she really didn’t like having someone in her private space, witnessing her humiliating loss of composure.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Aidan advanced, hands reaching for her. ‘Anything I can get you?’

Rather than be herded back into bed, she jumped to her feet instead. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said. And she would be, as soon as she’d had some time alone to get her shit together. ‘I, ah … need the loo.’

She detoured around him to pick up her robe and, although he said nothing further, she could feel his gaze following her. Knowing how perceptive it was, how easily it could see beneath the surface, she kept her face averted, concentrating on tying her robe as she headed for the hallway. She didn’t want to be read. Not now. ‘Don’t wait up.’

She locked herself in her tiny bathroom, sat on the toilet lid, let out a long breath and closed her eyes. She had no idea what the time was, but the grit of tiredness behind her lids told her that she hadn’t been asleep all that long. The one thing she did know about her new nocturnal pattern was that, regardless of the hour, now she was awake – that was it. No more sleep tonight.

As though in protest, her body let out a huge yawn while she wondered what to do about the situation. If she was on her own she’d hunker down on the sofa and lose the rest of the night to bad TV. But what was she supposed to do with Aidan here? Insist the light was kept on and then lie awkwardly awake beside him all night? Not that things would be that easy. Not with Aidan Flynn. He’d want to go all Spanish Inquisition on her and find out what was wrong.

But there was nothing wrong. She was fine. It wasn’t like anybody had control over what they dreamed, was it?

She almost wished she’d refused his request to stay the night. When he’d asked, she’d been senseless enough from their mad-bunny sex to let the excitement of novelty outweigh her natural resistance. She’d never had a man share her bed for the night before, had never invited one back to her place. In the past she’d always gone to them, and now she remembered why she’d lived by that rule – so that she could simply leave whenever she wanted instead of finding herself locked in her own bathroom in the middle of the night. She wondered how long it would take Aidan to fall back to sleep.

Letting out a sigh, she figured she might as well make use of the facilities to pass some time. She relieved herself and gave her hands a good wash, trying out the comprehensive, NHS-approved technique she’d seen promoted on posters at the hospital. During the rigorous cleansing, she noticed that her nails were getting a bit long. After she’d dried, she gave them a trim and file, and, as she was putting the clippers back in the cabinet, decided she might as well brush her teeth while she was at it. Teeth clean and flossed, she closed the cabinet and caught sight of her tangled hair in the mirrored door. She combed it through carefully, put it up in a loose twist and inspected the results in the mirror. Much better … except for the mascara smudged under her eyes. As she fixed that up, she was aware of the skin on her hands beginning to pull unpleasantly tight from all the soap she’d used, so she moved on to applying hand cream. Once that was thoroughly rubbed in, she decided that enough was enough. She couldn’t, wouldn’t spend the night held hostage in her own bathroom.

She turned the lock and switched off the light before very slowly and very quietly opening the door. She hadn’t a clue how much time she’d wasted, but hopefully enough that Aidan would have drifted off again. Putting her eye to the crack, she saw a soft glow spilling from the bedroom, indicating that the bedside lamp was still on. Trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible, she strained to hear the smallest noise. After a long minute of silence, she decided it was safe to venture out.

Heading in the opposite direction from the bedroom, she crept along to the sitting room. Entering, she pushed the door carefully to behind her and used the ambient light coming in through the window to pick her way across the room to switch on a lamp. Mindful of making too much noise, she started looking for the remote before turning on the TV so she could mute the sound.

Could she find the damn thing in the half-light? Could she hell. It wasn’t on the coffee table. Or the sofa. Nowhere on either of the armchairs. Or the TV stand.

Muttering to it to show itself, she conducted a quick search of the bookcase. No luck there either. Straightening, she turned towards the sofa again, only to stop short at the sight of the door, now wide open and showing Aidan – very much awake and dressed in jeans and jersey – leaning against the jamb.

Arms crossed over his chest, he watched her. ‘How long have these nightmares been going on?’

Flustered, she deflected the question with one of her own. ‘What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around in the dark?’

Calmly, he unfolded one arm and reached to flick on the overhead light so that the room was suddenly as bright as day, leaving her squinting. ‘How long, Annabel?’ he persisted softly.

Shrugging, she muttered something non-committal and turned to continue her search for the remote, making it clear she didn’t want to talk about it.

From the corner of her eye she saw him straighten from the doorway and come into the room. ‘Are they always that bad?’

That bad? Mostly they were worse. ‘They’re just dreams,’ she sighed.

‘Dreams about the attack, that much was obvious from your shouts. I remember you had a couple when you came to stay with me from the hospital.’

Admitting defeat in her hunt for the remote, she flopped down on the sofa. If Aidan wasn’t going to take her hints, she’d have to state the obvious for him. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

He came to sit beside her, reached out and tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. She was relieved to see him nod. ‘As long as you’re talking to someone.’

Aware of something hard sticking into her behind, Annabel shifted. Reaching under the cushion she found the remote. Typical.

Aiming it at the TV, she was ready to hit the on button when Aidan said, ‘Annabel?’

She glanced at him to find he was looking at her expectantly.

‘Are you?’ he prompted.

She blinked at him. ‘Am I what?’

He let out a slow, audible breath. ‘Are you talking about the dreams with your counsellor, or therapist, or whoever it is you’ve been seeing?’

She gave a short laugh. Therapist? Counsellor? What was he on about? Was he sleep-talking? ‘I’m not seeing a counsellor.’

His brow furrowed as though that troubled him somehow. ‘Maybe you should think about going again?’

‘Again?’ She felt her own brows join the party. ‘I’ve never seen anyone like that in my life.’

Now he gave her an incredulous stare. ‘You didn’t take up the offer of Victim Support?’

‘What?’

‘What do you mean, “What?”?’ Those pale-grey eyes continued to stare. ‘The support service the police spoke about referring you to. At the hospital. After the attack.’

Oh, that. She recalled someone getting in contact after she’d agreed to follow it up as a means to get Aidan to stop harping on it. To say the man could be single-minded about things was an understatement. ‘They did? I don’t really re–’

‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember. Because I do. Very clearly,’ he said stubbornly, proving her point about him not being able to leave things alone. ‘I was there with you.’

That was true. For all his annoying ways, he’d been the one by her bedside almost constantly, the one who’d taken her in and cared for her when she’d had nobody else. But did that give him the right to be as overbearing as hell now? ‘I didn’t follow it up because I don’t need that sort of help.’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘Are you sure about that?’

What was that supposed to mean? ‘Of course I am. That type of thing isn’t meant for someone like me.’ She was affronted by the mere suggestion.

‘Someone like you?’ he pursued, his expression a mixture of confusion and doggedness.

‘It’s for, you know … real victims.’ She sprang up from the sofa, eager to get away from his irritating questions. ‘Do you want a coffee? I’m going to make one.’

Of course her escape attempt was thwarted. ‘Annabel, you were a real victim,’ Aidan insisted, right on her tail. ‘Of a serious physical assault.’

‘Physical being the operative word.’ She turned on the light as she entered her small galley kitchen. She went straight to the kettle and flicked the switch with one hand as she waved her injured arm in his direction. ‘And I’m having the treatment for that that I need. I start physio next week.’

As she opened the cupboard in front of her to take out mugs, she heard him let out another breath. This one shorter, less patient than the one a minute ago.

What was his problem? If anyone had the right to be getting shirty with this midnight interrogation, surely it was her.

‘You know you’re dealing with issues here that run deeper than merely physical,’ he said. ‘Stop pretending otherwise.’

She put the mugs down on the worktop and closed the cupboard. ‘I’m not pretending anything. I’m getting on with my life just fine.’ She opened the cutlery drawer and took out a teaspoon before pushing it shut again. ‘That psychobabble stuff is for victim-y victims – people who can’t cope.’

‘Is that right? So tell me, Ms I-Don’t-Need-Help, have you always had to sleep with the lights on, or is that a recent thing?’

Oh – she froze as she picked up the jar of coffee – she didn’t like that tone at all.

She turned to face him. ‘I don’t know, Mr Stick-My-Nose-In-Where-It’s-Not-Wanted, do you always invite yourself to stay places and then go fiddling with things that aren’t yours?’

He looked at her with the strangest expression, as though he couldn’t quite make sense of what he was seeing. And then he shook his head. ‘I’ve never met anyone so intent on making life as hard as possible for themselves!’ he said, the exasperation in his tone stabbing into a raw nerve.

She slammed the coffee jar back down. ‘You know what?’ She pointed the spoon in his face. ‘This is such shit. You don’t get to walk back into my life and judge me.’

His hand closed around hers and, with gentle but firm pressure, lowered it between them. ‘This isn’t judgement, Annabel,’ he said, his voice striving to convey patience that was at odds with the frustration in his gaze. ‘It’s concern.’

She knew that was probably supposed to make her feel better, but in reality it made things worse. It brought home how little experience she had of handling somebody else’s emotions. She was used to thinking and acting only for herself. That was why trying to get involved with him was a mistake. She didn’t have the first clue how to do relationships.

Both his gaze and his voice softened. ‘If we’re to make this work, you’re going to have to allow me to care about you, a mhuirnín.’

The Gaelic endearment rolled off his tongue like a verbal caress. Sweetheart, he’d told her it meant. But it was the rest of the sentence that thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. She had the feeling this man could turn her inside out if she let him, leaving exposed the hidden parts she’d been keeping safe and secure from harm since childhood. Parts that, if broken, couldn’t simply be reset and healed like her bones. While Tony Maplin wasn’t able to hurt her any more except in her dreams, she suspected that Aidan Flynn could inflict a different kind of suffering. Deeper and more damaging. How was she supposed to let him close and safeguard herself all at the same time?